Catching up with Jim Carrey and Steve Buscemi

The release of cinematic masterpiece The Incredible Burt Wonderstone (insert laugh track/eye roll) meant it's stars Steve Carell, Jim Carrey and Steve Buscemi would be doing press, and what better place to promote the blockbuster than Good Morning America?  Carell showed up on Wednesday, but I didn't because I've already shot him, and frankly, I find him boring.  Not a fan of The Office, The 40-Year Old Virgin was a painfully long movie with one funny scene, and I really only watched Crazy, Stupid, Love for Ryan Gosling.  Mmmm.....Ryan Gosling.... So no new pics of Steve Carell kids. 

Thursday was Jim Carrey day, and I must say that I'm on the fence about this guy.  He was great on In Living Color, (I defy you to watch a Fire Marshall Bill sketch and not laugh) but his frenetic energy got on my very last gay nerve in Ace Ventura, Pet Detective, and has lived there ever since.  I also blame him for subjecting us to Cameron Diaz, casting her in The Mask and launching her career.  Fuck you  Jim Carrey!  There were fans at the windows when I got to the studio, but it didn't matter.   In a stroke of comedic brilliance or mad egotism depending on your point of view, Jim stood on the ledge in the window, frozen like a statue with the face of a madman, for about ten minutes.  Frozen.  Like a statue.  Only blinking, but not moving.  It was incredible and slightly uncomfortable to see.  But I got a good picture and didn't have to wait through the interview or go to the barricade, so there you go.

Friday was Steve Buscemi's turn to promote, and what a let down he was.  He was already in the studio by the time I arrived, and there were tons of fans in the window, so finding an angle to shoot him was a little tricky.  I finally settled on the far corner, completely diagonal to the chairs and about as far away from the action as you can get without being across the street at Toys-R-Us.  It's where middle America is always standing when Sam Champion comes out to do the weather and ask some lucky middle-aged woman in sweat pants and a bad bob where she's from even though the neon pink sign in her hand clearly says Wichita and all her friends back home pretend to be excited for her but really just want to poke her through the eye with a salad fork when she brags about it at the church social the following Sunday.  Thank God for a strong zoom lens.

Fergalicious!?

I really can't with the Black Eyed Peas and all their Boom Boom Pow shit.  I heard somewhere that Will I. Am (dumb name if ever there was one) wrote My Humps sitting on the toilet, so it's kinda hard to get behind them artistically.  But I love me some Fergie, so when GMA announced that she'd be live in Times Square this morning I was all over that.

This girl is a dynamo.  Incredible voice, killer body, cool vibe, and she's married to Josh Duhamel, who I used to see at the gym when I lived in LA when he'd train with my trainer Nathan right after me.  (Nathan Soudani, best trainer I ever had.  There, I said it.)  Her solo album The Duchess gave us gems like Fergalicious, Glamorous (I really did just sing the chorus to make sure I spelled that right) and Big Girls Don't Cry, which is one of my favorites and which Nathan says he inspired the video for (and we all roll our eyes at that claim and go on with our workouts).

The studio was packed full of people when I arrived, and the paparazzi in the window were on top of each other on the ladders trying to get a good shot.  Tons of fans in the windows made it nearly impossible to shoot anything through the window.

After the segment, I nabbed a spot at the barricades next to Marie (and right behind two huge spotlights, which WTF are they doing there?) and right in front of Miss Klonopin, who forgot to take her meds this morning and was giving full on ghetto crazy, talking non stop about everything and nothing all at once, and bumping into me every few seconds until I was ready to elbow the bitch in the mouth to shut her up and back her up off my ass.  Fingers and toes were frozen by the time Fergie finally came out, and was incredibly sweet, signing autographs and posing for the paparazzi.  She's still got a bit of a meth face though.

Shirley Manson - Bow Down To Her

If Shirley Manson had leaned down into the sold out theater, pointed at me, second row center, and ordered me to rob a bank with a banana and my looks I would be writing this blog on toilet paper in a cold jail cell right now.  With her smeared lipstick, dizzying eyes and salacious vocals, the redheaded firebomb demands your worship.  Hey boy take a look at me, let me dirty up your mind indeed! 

I've been a Garbage fan since the first strains of Stupid Girl in 1995, and have seen them live more times than I can remember, including another show this Friday night at Terminal 5 in Manhattan.  Their shows are a full-throttle sensual attack, a technofied mistress spanking you for ninety minutes before softly kissing you goodnight, so the opportunity to see Shirley Manson up close and personal was something I was NOT going to miss!

The setting was the IFC Center in the West Village, where the Modern School of Film was screening 'In the Mood for Love' followed by a panel discussion with Shirley Manson, who had chosen the film as one of her favorites.  I jumped on the B train right after work, and got to the theater at 5:45 for the 7:00 showing.  Tenth in line, I was stuck between a snotty girl from Delaware who's every other word was 'like' and an aging gay couple eating takeout pizza, which made me realize that I forgot to pack my Pure bar in my bag and was gonna be damn hungry by the time this was over.    Doors opened at 6:45 and you would think it was the damn White House Easter Egg hunt the way people rushed into the theatre, all scrambling for the front row, center seats, best view, aisle seats, and then, finally, for those at the end of the line, the last row of the hundred seat theater.  I, of course, got stuck next to the fattest guy in the room, because God has a sick sense of humor and can't let me have just one perfect starstruck night.  Just as the lights were about to go down, I noticed Shirley sitting in the back of the theatre, all porcelain skin and ruby haired perfection, and my heart started racing.  OMG!  OMG!  OMG!  Pull it together girl!

I can't even with the movie, which was 98 minutes of subtitles, Chinese angst, and noodle eating.  Lights up, Shirley was introduced and talked for about half an hour about the movie, but I can't tell you one word she said because I was in a Manson Family daze, snapping pictures and just basking in her randy, angry, vindictive, hurt aura.  Yeah, you try keeping your senses.  I'm not sure if anyone was there for the movie, because when the discussion ended everyone lingered, asking for autographs or pictures as we moved from the theatre to the lobby to the sidewalk.  There was no way I was leaving empty handed, so I defly maneuvered to the sidewalk, where I was rewarded with a smile, a sexy maniacal laugh, and the best picture of my fanboy life! 

'You can touch me if you want, but you can't stop' - Shirley Manson

Jessica Alba - bitch please!

Tuesday, March 12 - Good Morning America - Jessica Alba is the guest today, hawking some kind of healthy food/cosmetics crap that every celebrity feels entitled to release a line of the minute they push a kid out and become an authority on life.  (Paging Gwyneth Paltrow, Drew Barrymore) Tons of people in the studio, and a zillion teenage girls shrieking outside for some black boy band inside, afros and goggles getting in the way of a clear shot.  There is NOTHING in the world worse than the shriek of a teenage girl.  I'd rather listen to Yoko Ono sing while scratching her nails on a chalkboard than hear the high pitched wails of a prepubescent female, but you can't punch them in the face to shut them up because that's just wrong, so I headed over to the barricades.  Marie was there, right up in front as usual, so I squeezed my way through the crowd (sorry kids, but I'm pushing my way through and it's too damn bad if you were here first) and stood between Marie and the wall.  On her other side was this autograph girl I've seen before, who always looks like she's in a Klonopin haze.  Did I mention it was raining?  Well it was, and Klonopin was holding the umbrella, except that the drugs were kicking in and she could barely hold the umbrella up, so I was getting poked in the face when the umbrella wasn't just getting in my way.  Seriously, if you're going to hold it that low just buy one of those stupid umbrella hats that tourists wear at Jersey shore beaches or ballparks and stop getting in everyone else's way.  I pushed the umbrella up a few times, before just grabbing it and holding it myself.  Seriously bitch, please! 

Jessica was very sweet when she came out, signing autographs and posing on both sides of the barricades.  And that's when Marie lost her shit.  Screaming at the tourists pushing behind us, 'Stop pushing!  We're here every day!  Go away!'  It was SO funny!!!  Marie doesn't usually lose her temper, but today she was all Real Housewives of the Bronx crazy, shouting at a German (French?) tourist who insisted that 'I deedn't do anything and you can't talk to me like that' and wouldn't back the fuck off even when I asked her to please just go away.  Bitch please!  The drama we go through for a damn photograph sometimes! 

The Sexiest Man Alive - 2010 edition

Ryan Reynolds is a hot piece.

People magazine's Sexiest Man Alive 2010, the star of such classics as 'National Lampoon's Van Wilder,' 'Waiting,' and 'Green Lantern' took time out of doing crunches and drinking protein shakes to promote another epic movie, 'The Croods' on The Today Show Friday morning.  My personal favorite movie was 'Blade Trinity' when he spent like 3/4 of the movie tied up and shirtless. Since then I've dreamed of doing my laundry on his abs, so it was a no brainer that I'd brave a snowstorm to snap a picture.  The talking eight pack showed up just before 8 AM, an umbrella protecting him from the snow for the 10 foot walk from the curb, all but ignoring the few fans waiting.  Whomp Whomp.

Nicole Richie arrived a few minutes later, looking like a fabulous Upper East Side lady who lunches in her sunglasses, fur wrap, hat and heels rather than the Dorothy Zbornack Roper Endora middle-aged housewife from the 70s who swings with her husband on the weekends shit she usually wears.  She posed for a few pictures before going inside, never muttering a word.  Not bad for someone who's gone from succulent Cornish Game Hen with extra juice to poster girl for "Feed the Children."  YOU BETTER WORK BITCH!!!

Freezing my ass off waiting for Ryan to leave got my mind wandering to his dating history.  Engaged to Alanis Morissette, married and divorced Scarlett Johansson, rumored to have rebounded with Sandra Bullock and Charlize Theron before settling down (for now) with Blake Lively, this boy's peen has seen some A-list poon.   Scarlett Johansson claimed that the nude photos that were hacked from her cell phone were for Ryan, and I'm sure he returned the favor by slapping a dick pic on her cell phone screen.  Where are those pictures?

Hovering at the corner of the corridor leading to the exit after his interivew, Ryan looked like he wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, so it was a pleasant surprise when he posed for a few photos with fans before jumping into the waiting SUV.  I was able to snap a decent shot before I went home and put a pin in my Blake Lively voodoo doll.

The Lullabye of Broadway

Broadway shows are one of the greatest things about living in New York.  There are twenty or so shows to choose from at any given time, and celebrities popping in and out of shows as their schedules and talents allow.  Right now, Tom Hanks, Scarlett Johansson and Edie Falco are starring in shows, and Vanessa Williams, Bette Midler, Cyndi Lauper and Alec Baldwin are all rehearsing for spring openings.  Waiting for a celebrity at the stage door after a performance can be exciting, or a complete let down if they brush by their fans or leave through another exit. (Paging Angela Lansbury!)  My boyfriend was away this weekend, and the weather was nice on Saturday, so I grabbed my camera and headed down to the great white way.

First stop, New York City Center, hoping to catch Edie Falco leaving the matinee of The Madrid.  I staked out the stage door on 56th street and the front door, which Broadway fan forums indicated actors also used to leave shows, but no sign of Edie. 

Racing over to the Cort Theater, I was able to get a spot at the barricade just as Breakfast at Tiffany's was letting out.  Fans didn't seem to linger, and there was plenty of space at the barricade.  I'm not sure who else was in the show, but when George Wendt came out I had to fight not to shout out 'Norm!'  He went largely unrecognized, except for the man next to me getting his prebill signed, and was happy to smile for a picture before shuffling off down the street.  He was literally just walking really slowly down 48th street toward Broadway, no car, no entourage, unrecognized.  During my senior year of college, my roommates and I used to make midnight McDonald's runs and watch 'Cheers' during study breaks, so it was pretty cool to have that little memory come rushing back. 

A lady next to me asked my thoughts about the nudity in the show, and when I told I hadn't seen it yet she went on and on about how it demeaned the show and she was going to write a letter to the producers and let them know her thoughts and I wish she would have started that letter right then and there because I really didn't care about her opinion and just wanted to get out of there and get to the next stop on my theatre tour.  Navigating the crowd in Times Square to get to the Golden Theatre was a nightmare.  Anyone who lives in New York will tell you that you avoid Times Square at all costs, and especially on the weekend, but here I was pushing my way through carraige-pushing, picture-taking, window-shopping, slow-walking tourists stopping mid-sidewalk to gawk at the lights and the tall buildings and the M&M store, and oh my God I can't believe the have a whole store devoted to M&M's!  Why?

I made it just as the crowd was gathering at the stage door, which was really more of a loading area under construction, and not more than five minutes later Sigourney Weaver walked out.  The crowd went wild.  You could tell who had seen the show and who hadn't....one guy even had an Avatar poster for her to sign.  She signed, posed for a couple pictures, and was very gracious as she made her way through the crowd, walking down the street and disappearing around the corner.

Lily Tomlin

I've been racking my brains trying to come up with something to write about Lily Tomlin, but I've got nothing.  Apparently she was funny in the 70's when I was a kid, but the only thing I know her from is '9 to 5' (costarring Ms. Dolly Parton) and a hysterical rant against a film director during a script reading that Howard Stern always plays.  Hmm....I guess she is funny?

Anyway, she was at Good Morning America promoting something that I haven't seen or heard or read or cared about, but because she's a lesbian and I support my people I went down to take pictures and say hello.  There were lots of people in the studio, so it was nearly impossible to get a clear shot while the interview was going on, but she was incredibly nice when she left, taking pictures and signing autographs, including at least twenty for Joe alone, joking that 'you'll make about $12.00 off of these.'  Again, I have to say that the younger celebrities could take notes from the old guard when it comes to interacting with fans.   This is how it's done kids.

Reach out, touch faith!

Okay, I'll be the first to admit that sometimes I'm taking pictures for the sake of taking pictures, and sometimes I really care about the people I'm taking pictures of.   Today I actually cared.  I took a late lunch and headed over to 53rd and Broadway around 2:00, hoping to catch Depeche Mode arriving at The Late Show with David Letterman.  (Thank God it's only one subway stop away!)  I've been a Depeche fan since college, and can still remember when Violator came out and MTV would play the Personal Jesus video on heavy rotation back when MTV played videos.  We'd all go over to my friend Robert Uribe's apartment Saturday night after my part time job and get ready to go to Tracks, the big gay disco down in the skeevy part of Washington, DC.  I used to love that club.  Sigh.  And then there was the concert where my Citibank contact Greg, who I later realized was interested in me, invited me to their skybox and I invited the guy I was dating at time.  Awkward!  Or the free concert they gave back in 2009 at the corner of Hollywood and Vine that had crowds jamming the streets for five blocks in every direction and helicopters flying the skies like we were under attack.  Ah, the good old days!

When I arrived there were three other fans waiting, and the barricades were set up across the street from the entrance.  This can be a little dicey depending on the traffic as the guests arrive, but thankfully today there weren't many buses or large trucks passing by.  Half an hour ticked by, and fans slowly started to collect at the barricade, but there couldn't have been more than twenty when the first SUV pulled up, and out stepped Dave Gahan.  Dave Gahan!  Dave Gahan is a rock and roll God in my book, and he looked every inch the part in head to toe black. 

Not long after, Martin Gore and Andrew Fletcher arrived in separate SUV's (which I will never understand, but whatever), one after the other.  Like literally, one after the other.  Martin looked a little yenta-ish in a ski jacket and cap, a far cry from the gender bender glam days, and Andrew would have blended in with anyone on the street.  Sadly, none of them crossed the street to sign  or pose for pictures, but I will still rock my ass off when they tour later this year.

My name is Dita...I'll be your mistress tonight...

What is there to say about Dita Von Teese?   Glamour girl.  Femme fatale.  The Queen of Burlesque.  Sheer perfection every time she steps foot out of the house in head to toe vintage glam.  Every time I see a picture of Dita, I get an intense craving for candy. The woman looks like she's made purely out of sugar. Her skin is like fluff, her hair and eyebrows are made of black licorice and her lips are covered in candy apple coating. Delicious. Now I really want something sugary. I don't have anything sweet in the house. I know. That should be illegal. I'll have to settle for a cup of sugar water. Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.

So imagine my excitement when I found out Dita's burlesque show 'Strip Strip Hooray' (I know, right?) was coming to the Gramercy Theatre!  I've seen a ton of male strippers, and by ton I mean TON, and my roommate Julio and I were regulars at this club Zippers in Miami Beach (R.I.P. Zippers) to the point where the strippers had our table and drinks ready every Friday night (R.I.P. Zippers), but with the exception of my friend Adrian taking me to a strip club in DC to celebrate my 18th birthday (no gaydar on that one) I've never seen female strippers, and I've never seen it done as glamorous as burlesque.  

Ticket in hand, I marched my happy ass down to the Gramercy Theatre Wednesday night excited about my date with Dita.  All day I toyed with the idea of upgrading to the meet and greet after the show, but the extra $182 (random) just seemed too steep, so I settled for standing in the general admission area hoping to get some good pictures.  Sadly, the management informed us numerous times that 'At the request of Ms. Von Teese, photography, flash photography and video were not allowed.'  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  There's no way that I can describe the glamorous imagery that is burned into my head.  Feathers!  Swarovskis!  Louboutins!  A giant martini glass sponge bath!  A powder puff come to life!  I can't!  I can't!  I can't!

Toward the end of the show, I noticed a girl next to me discreetly taking photos with her cell phone.  This got me thinking that if the show is almost over, sneaking a few pictures during the finale wouldn't be so bad.  Throw me out?  Who cares, the shows over!  So here, in all her glamorous glory, is Dita Von Teese, my new queen!

 

James Franco IS James Franco!

James Franco is a man of many talents.  The actor/student/director/musician/professor/author/poet/artist/failed Oscar host is incessantly involved in EVERYTHING EVER, so it was no great surprise that he was at Good Morning America to promote his new film 'Oz, The Great and Powerful.'  Looking like he came straight from a lower east side dive bar without bothering to sleep or shower, he deftly handled George Stephanopolous's softball interview, both of them wishing they were somewhere else.  Over to the barricades, I waited briefly before James came out to sign autographs, surrounded by a film crew I later learned were his USC students, doing a documentary 'behind the spectacle of making a movie.'  Ah...the tip of the ALWAYS-unexpected and ALWAYS-bizarre iceberg that is James Franco.  I guess you could call him a performance artist, although his art is lost on me, because the only thing I ask myself while watching him is 'Why is this bitch wearing so many clothes?'

A Hollywood Princess and an old Queen

My friend Marie's texts were like TV Guide with A.D.D. this morning.

 'GMA Clyde Davis.  What time @ today for Joan?'

'K some one said lady Annabel.'

'Anjecila Houston today show.'

'Omg michelle Williams'

My original plan was to stop by the Today Show to see Joan Rivers, who I've met before, but when Marie told me 'Clyde Davis' was at GMA I decided to head over and see the man who discovered Whitney Houston and Alicia Keys for myself.  His pre-Grammy party is the stuff of legend, with Whitney dying one year and Chris Brown beating up Rihanna another.  Nobody throws a party like Clive Davis!   

When I arrived, there was a crowd gathered around the window, and some curtains in the foreground, partially blocking the view.  Of course there were.  On top of that, three of the largest girls I've ever seen were in the studio, shifting from one foot to the other, twirling their long, frizzy hair, and effectively creating a cellulite wall that it was nearly impossible to shoot around.  Thankfully, I'm getting really good at this, so when Michelle (Not the Destiny's Child One) Williams came out, I managed to dodge the fat and flying hair, find an angle that minimized the glare from the electronic billboards in Times Square, and snap a few shots.  She was great in 'My Week with Marilyn', but someone needs to give her a hug or hand her some TUMS already, because she always looks like this fragile humanized pixie stick with indigestion.

Clive's segment was next, and although they sat him in the chairs across the studio he never once looked toward the window.  I'm not sure if he mumbles or his microphone was turned down low, but I couldn't hear a word he was saying to promote his new memoir, in which he comes out as bisexual for anyone who cares about the goings on of 80 year old genitals.  At least he was pleasant when he left the studio, signing a few autographs and posing for a few pictures before jumping into his SUV, off to plan next year's pre-Grammy party.  I guess my invitation got lost in the mail.  Again.

Oh, and this guy from Lady Antebellum was there, but the other members of the group walked straight to the SUV like they were Brangelina or something.