G. Your Hair Looks Terrific

You know that shitty song you heard today in the elevator when you were leaving work?  The instrumental that you've heard a thousand times already that's always playing at the dentist's office?  The one they pipe into the restroom at that nice restaurant you like so you can't even take a piss in peace?  Well you can thank this Sideshow Bob looking motherfucker for that.  You can blame him for the frappuccino too, or so he claims.

And The Winner Is......

One of my favorite pastimes is watching beauty queens crack under pressure.  There's something incredibly satisfying about watching a girl who's spent her entire life trading on her beauty find herself in the Miss Universe pageant top five, so close to making her dreams come true that she can taste the victory on her lips, only to give a moronic answer to a stupid question or struggle to put one foot in front of the other and end up on her ass.  So of course I watched all three hours of the hairspray and Vaseline teeth mess on Sunday night, only to see Miss Colombia Paulina Vega snatch the crown away from its rightful owner Miss Jamaica at the last possible second while her mother was back home making tortillas for the village.

What Happens in Vegas...?

Stranger things have happened, but on Friday night in Vegas I found myself in the ten table lounge of an off-the-strip Italian restaurant enjoying the musical stylings of national treasure and underrated jewel of pure glamour Pia Zadora.  The star of such instant classics as Santa Claus Conquers the Martians and the trashy incest drama Butterfly, for which her husband bought her she won a Golden Globe, Pia managed to hit most of the notes while looking like a cabbage patch doll run through the spin cycle a few times.  The food was great and I'm so glad we made reservations.  Yes, we made reservations.  I know.

Desperate Housewife

Lisa Rinna and her giant hemorrhoid lips have quickly become my new favorite Real Housewife of Beverly Hills.  She seems like a chick who's in on the joke but desperate to stay relevant, willing to do a Depends commercial or wear a sandwich board in Hollywood begging for a job.  Just the kind of girl I'd hang out with.  In fact, we're having lunch next week.

No Disturbance in the Fierce

From a three tittied carny freak to a head chopping voodoo priestess to Tina beating Ike's ass in the back of a limo, can we talk about how Angela Bassett straight up kills it in everything she's ever done?  I mean, who can forget Bernadine's rage in Waiting to Exhale, where a cigarette and some lighter fluid brought closure to every guy who's ever done her or any of us girls wrong?  Because the world really needs a look at Nippy's messy relationship with Bobaaaay, Angela made the rounds this morning to promote the Whitney Houston biopic she's directing for Lifetime, looking radiant despite the cold.  Is it me, or does she just not age?  I swear she's made a deal with the devil!

And We'll Never Be Royals

I've met Countesses, Princesses and more than a few queens in my day, but today I had the pleasure of meeting the original Fergie Ferg Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York.  Just in time for Kiss A Ginger Day!  We swapped Weight Watchers tips and shared our mutual disdain for Prince Charles over tea and scones at The Plaza.  I paid.  Bitch is still broke.

Taxi!!!!

Last night, in the eighth hour of the Golden Globe awards, somewhere between Prince giving  Jehovah's sexiest witness meets three blind mice couture and Amal Almawhatever's evening gloves getting their own twitter account, I got bored with television.  I know that sounds crazy, but it's true.  TV just isn't what it used to be, and that truly saddens me.  I long for the days of the half hour sitcom with a great theme song that plays through the credits and gets stuck in your head for thirty or forty years that you can sing with your friends when you've had one too many raspberry mojitos at The Abbey.  That show with the great ensemble cast that you'll pause for while channel surfing alone in your hotel on a business trip, even though you've seen the episode a thousand times before, because it feels like a moment with old friends.  A show like Taxi.  Taxi was a damn good show, and they don't make them like that anymore.  And when you get a a chance to meet someone from a show like Taxi, a show you loved growing up in a simpler time and place, you thank them for the wonderful memories.  Which is what I did today with Judd Hirsch.

Money Changes Everything

I didn't think we'd still be writing about them in 2015 but here we are.  Former celebrity douchebag couple Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt are exhausting the 14:58 of their fame with Marriage Bootcamp, which premieres this week somewhere.  I used to work for their attorney back in the Speidi heyday and had the misfortune of cutting their MTV paychecks each month, and they would have blown right past Pavan and I this morning like the insufferable assholes they are had I not brought that up.  Moral of the story: money talks, and today it stopped and posed for photos.