Birthday Candles, Cake and Celebrities

Having no control over anything, I turned 44 today with the usual facebook fanfare from friends I haven't seen in awhile or never met in the first place, Magnolia cupcakes from coworkers determined to fatten me up for the winter despite my daily calorie protestations, and slightly less dread and weariness than I anticipated at this age, although I reserve the right to have a nervous breakdown at a moment's notice.  A few celebrities even stopped by (or rather, I found them, if we're being honest) to wish me a Happy Birthday, including Neil Diamond, who actually sang a bar of the birthday song to me in what is probably the coolest thing to happen today

and Melissa Etheridge, who asserted her alpha-male dominance by saying Happy Birthday without looking up, smiling, or taking a photo with me.  Lesbians!

Bad As Can!

Anyone who isn't a Howard Stern fan will think I've hit rock bottom with this one (how else to explain my excitement meeting a pinheaded dwarf in a cheap pimp suit?) but fans of the show are gagging at this photo with Beetlejuice right now.  The know he's bad as can.  And they know he's the best.  And they get how fucking cool this picture is!

Revenge!

Emily Van Camp is one of the loveliest actresses around - but unfortunately, her publicist is not.  We all know that publicists are glued to their celebrity clients as they walk the red carpet or make appearances to promote their latest project, protecting them from awkward questions and making sure they get where they need to be on time, but this nasty bulldog also gets off on blocking any interaction with the fans.  Case in point: my friend Pavan and I caught Emily leaving Sirius Thursday.  We're both huge fans of Revenge (season four premieres tonight at 10PM on ABC) and it was just the two of us - no graphers, no paparazzi - a golden moment!  Emily happily posed for photos and talked about the show and an indie movie she's hoping to take on the festival circuit while the publicist fumed in the background, finally announcing 'We have to go!' and hustling her off like a goddamn Chinese lady selling illegal Louis Vuitton on Canal street.  If this was the first time she had done this, or if Emily really had somewhere to be, I'd understand.  But it wasn't.  And she didn't.

Note to publicists: It is your responsibility to get press for your clients.  You are not their bodyguards.  If there's fan interest, you are doing your job.  But we are fickle, and if you turn us off it leaves a bad taste in our mouths, one that we will likely remember when we reach for the remote, choose what film to see, book to buy or music to listen to.  Your job depends on the fans.  Cunt.

A Little Ditty About Me and Elaine

In late 1990, doing research for a college term paper about the impact of the AIDS epidemic on businesses, I found myself standing outside the 69th Regiment Armory as socialites, designers and supermodels arrived for Seventh on Sale, a fashion industry sample sale to benefit the New York City AIDS Fund.  I remember meeting an up and coming Marc Jacobs that night, seeing Iman and David and Ric and Paulina arrive, and watching Naomi, teetering in platforms, a white beaded mini and towering afro, screeching 'Christy, wait!' as Christy Turlington rushed to greet Calvin and Kelly.  It was freezing that night, and I of course was underdressed, so it was a pleasant surprise when a beautiful girl attending the party stopped to speak with me.  She introduced herself as 'Elaine' and we talked briefly about the event and how the fashion industry was responding to losing so many talented people to HIV.

I went on to get an A on my paper, while Elaine went on to become one of the first Victoria's Secret supermodels and an eighteen year marriage to John Mellencamp until he cheated on her with stretch faced Gumby Meg Ryan.  I've always had an affinity for Elaine, so I had mixed feelings about this photo with John this morning at Sirius until I realized she's probably not reading this blog and it's okay.  Oh yeah, life goes on...

Beauty And The ...

It's always nice running into Sports Illustrated supermodel Chrissy Tiegen, especially when she remembers me.  I just wish I'd shaved.  And lost five pounds.

Only Rock 'n Roll, But I Like It!

I'm about to tell you some next level, Divine-eating-a-dog-turd shit that may gross you out or have you giving me serious side eye for the rest of my life, but I don't care.  I've got to confess.  For the last twenty six years I've had a mad crush on Slash from Guns N' Roses.  Sure he looks like someone who crawled out of the woods one night to pick up supplies at the local Wal-Mart and he probably smells like Jack Daniels and blended dead babies, but there is something seriously sexy about him that I can't quite put my finger on.  He's the kinda guy you fuck in the alley of the club when you go outside for a smoke, then go back and drink with your friends like nothing ever happened, and he's probably the type who won't even pull his pants down, he'll just stick his dick through the zipper hole.  How romantic!  No wonder my no-no was saying "Yes!  Yes!" today when I saw him!

Psycho Beach Party!

You may recognize her from Six Feet Under, but to me Lauren Ambrose will always be Chicklet, the mad surfer girl with multiple personalities in Charles Busch's beach movie/slasher film masterpiece Psycho Beach Party.  Think Gidget goes psychotic and you wouldn't be far off.  Of course it's one of my all-time favorite movies (I swear I had a normal childhood) so I had to meet Lauren while she was in town promoting some Lifetime Civil War widow movie that I didn't watch because I don't like dirt, history or pioneer clothing, Big Brother was on and I had to see who won Head of Household (thank God it wasn't that human flamingo Frankie!) and I'm really more of a Psycho Beach Party fan than a Lauren Ambrose fan anyway.  She's a bit of an oddball, signing my DVD right through the title so it looks like a mess and posing sideways for a photo that showed off the giant pimples that will be her costars in her next project, a ProActiv commercial, but it was still cool to meet her.

Crafting and Cupcakes with Amy Sedaris

Fishes Eddy managed to combine two of my favorite things on Saturday: cupcakes and Amy Sedaris.  The love of cupcakes is self-explanatory, but I love Amy Sedaris for gems like Strangers With Candy, the way she turns a talk show appearance into mini performance art, and for being joyfully zany and different from everybody else walking around on the planet.  She's like a criminally insane girl scout circus freak amped up on amphetamines, and if you're unfamiliar with her you should jump right over to YouTube and look her up.  Go head, I'll wait.

................

So this demented funny lady has turned her love of arts, crafts and entertaining into a housewares line called 'I Like You'- think Martha Stewart on crack - which would explain why I was at a place called Fishes Eddy on a rainy Saturday afternoon buying handmade potholders.  Oh, and she made the cupcakes too!

Take A Walk On The Wild Side

Holly came from Miami F-L-A.
Hitch-hiked her way across the USA
Plucked her eyebrows along the way
Shaved her legs and then he was a she
She says, "Hey, babe
take a walk on the wild side."
Said "Hey honey,
take a walk on the wild side." 

Anyone who knows that song, and let's face it, we ALL know that song, is familiar with Holly Woodlawn, the little Puerto Rican boy turned drag queen who shot to Warhol Factory superstardom as the garbage collecting whore who fucks herself with a beer bottle when her heroin junkie boyfriend can't get it up in Andy Warhol's Trash. Interviewed last night by legendary director Paul Morrissey, Holly celebrated a hedonistic New York City of garrulous maniacs running around in chemical and sexual abandon, when bathhouses thrived and the whole city got coked out of their minds at Studio 54, while the audience sat in rapt attention like she was Jesus Christ if Jesus Christ was a drag queen or the world's first club kid. 

Oh Henry!

As regular readers know, this blog is usually filled with bitchy commentary about celebrities (and quasi-celebrities) whoring their latest project and behaving badly (or not) with their 'fans.'  But on the anniversary of 9/11, when terror alerts are at an all time high and Islamic militants are videotaped chopping people's heads off, it seems trivial to focus on someone's shitty song, crappy book or box office flop.  Unless that person is Henry Kissinger, the Archduke of conservative foreign policy (or a law breaking war criminal, depending on your point of view) who is currently promoting his new book that I won't even pretend to be interested in when I can be reading Sheila E.'s memoirs instead.

Dancing With The Who?

Dancing With The Stars announced their new cast yesterday, and apparently we've finally run out of stars and moved on to star-adjacent because good God what a mess it is!  I know my brain is the wikipedia of a lot of useless shit - like, I could name every character that ever appeared on Dynasty and tell you who they were related to, slept with or fucked over -  but I don't know who the fuck half these 'stars' are!  There's some chick from YouTube, a NASCAR guy, your third grade teacher, the understudy for Elphaba in the touring company of Wicked and the lady eating McDonald's french fries and talking to herself on the F train home tonight, but WHERE ARE THE STARS?

I shot a few people I recognized, including Lea Thompson (making the worst career move since Howard the Duck),

my cousin Antonio (our great grandfathers were brothers according to family legend)

my friend Cindy's friend Aaron Samuels from Mean Girls

and Alfonso Ribiero, who is going to bust out the Carlton Dance all the way to the mirror ball trophy while Aunt Viv #1 does a dramatic reading of one of her rants against Will Smith.  

The Glamorous Life

Before Fergie spelled it out for us like some kind of meth faced Sesame Street gold digger, Sheila E. schooled us all on the glamorous life, singing about some chick running around all summer in her mink trying to find a man.  She clearly didn't live in New York, because it's humid as fuck in the summer and the JAPS on the upper east side don't like to sweat.  I mean, I'm wearing underwear and socks under protest and sweating my ass off ("You wish!" - my scale this morning) but a mink?  In summer?  That's nuts!

From the first time I saw the video - Sheila drumming, kicking the cymbals, twirling around and bouncing, then catching the drumsticks - I was a fan, and the song still makes me smile when I hear it.  I've seen her in concert a bunch of times, including once with my Mom when she opened for Lionel Richie (I know!) and last spring when my boyfriend and I danced on stage with her at BB King's, and girlfriend puts on a show!  She's in town this week to promote her memoir, The Beat of My Own Drum, and is not only the most successful Prince protege, but the nicest, signing autographs and posing for photos outside Rockefeller Center today.

Fuck! Now I Gotta Write About...

So it's the end of summer, and I'm realizing that I have a shitload of pictures to upload and write about because my lazy ass has been laying on the roofdeck working on my tan every weekend or jetting off to Greece for three weeks instead of keeping up with this blog like I hoped to when I first had the misguided idea to chronicle my celebrity stalking exploits in the big city, before it turned into the mess it is right now.  Oh well, at least I'm tan.  Without further ado, here's the super abbreviated catch up version of this blog, just in time for the new fall season (and TV stars making appearances to promote the new fall season)!  Buckle up kids.

Jeremy Piven leaving Sirius radio, nowhere near as douchey as I expected him to be even if he is dressed like the kid in the Open Your Heart video.  (I miss Entourage!)

Olivier Martinez, whose death on Revenge (pushed into an airplane propeller!) I clapped for since I couldn't understand a motherfucking thing he said on the show with that thick French accent.  Oh, and he cheated on Kylie Minogue while she had cancer and is married to crazy Halle Berry.  For now.

Speaking of Revenge, season four premieres Sunday September 28th (two days before my birthday for anyone who was wondering.  Read: no one.) Super sexy Nick Weschler was in town to promote AIDS Walk New York and couldn't have been any cooler!

Roseanne, still batshit crazy and everything I hoped she would be, taking a photo with me and then refusing everyone else waiting!

A constipated looking Mike Myers rolling the window down at a stoplight to sign an autograph and give a thumbs up.  No clue who the twink is with him.

Bobcat Goldthwait, still alive and completely unrecognizable at Sirius to promote God only knows what.

American Idol reject Chris Daughtry performing at Fox & Friend's All-American Summer Concert Series, proving that the folks at Fox are just out of of touch with music as they are with politics.

Richie Sambora fucked Cher, Heather Locklear, Denise Richards and the fans, refusing to sign autographs or take photos when he arrived at the Today Show

while Dan Aykroyd, star of such films as Crossroads, Yogi Bear and Intern Academy (remember Intern Academy?  Me neither.) blew us all off the same day.  Sure he also starred in The Blues Brothers, Ghostbusters, Trading Places and Doctor Detroit, but he's still an asshole!

Nelsan Ellis tore it up, playing drug dealing looker, hooker and cooker Lafayette on True Blood for seven seasons.  Did I mention Lafayette was also a medium who was possessed by a slave seeking vengeance for the murder of her baby back in Olden Times, and then murders his boyfriend after being possessed by the spirit of a dead witch?  Oh True Blood, I'm gonna miss you!

Ariana Grande looking like a toddler Charo hooker while singlehandedly causing a hair extension shortage on the east coast.  Her brother Frankie is just as awful.

Dee Snider performing at Fox & Friends All-American Summer Concert Series because Fox & Friends really has their finger on the pulse of America.  They're also a block from my office.

Or how about super hot future Academy Award winner Vin Diesel in Times Square to promote his latest piece of shit?  Seriously, if he's not naked in the film a tape recorder in a mannequin could do his job.

Will.i.Am promoting something that wasn't the next Black Eyed Peas album and is therefore irrelevant in my world.

 Dame Helen Mirren at the premiere of The Hundred Foot Journey, refusing to sign blank pages because she didn't know what photos would be printed on them.  Does she have some nudes floating around somewhere or something?

James Cameron taking time off of making Avatar 2 to talk about the Titanic.  Again.

Tyson Beckford promoting the Kiehl's LifeRide at Macy's Herald Square.  This man is so hot he could promote Satanism and I'd buy it!

 We're almost done, I swear!

George Takei making the rounds to promote his new documentary To Be Takei.  I was never a Star Trek fan, but his contributions to The Howard Stern Show are hysterical, and it was really cool to meet him even if he was a bit abrupt with fans.

The Beach Boys performing at Fox & Friends All-American Summer Concert Series.  Did I mention that they have free BBQ, which draws a line of homeless people around the block?

Emmanuelle Chriqui promoting something that isn't the Entourage movie.  God I loved that show!

Rita Ora arriving at Fox & Friends to get some free BBQ promote her new perfume, because who doesn't want to smell like the juice that comes out of the mustard bottle if you forget to shake it first?

Pierce Brosnan arriving at Rockefeller Center, reminding me why he was cast as James Bond in the first place.

Not Apollonia 6.  Not Vanity 6.  Not even Carmen Electra.  It's 3rd Eye Girl, Prince's latest girl group attempt.  I took this shot as insurance in case they make it big.  They won't.

Why are you even still reading this?  God you are patient and kind!  Happy Labor Day.  Now go get some BBQ.  But not at Fox & Friends.