The easy listening Boy George that is Sam Smith said he wrote Writing’s On The Wall, the theme song for the new James Bond movie Spectre, in about 20 minutes. It was released today and it sounds like he wrote it in about 5 after spending 15 minutes sipping wine and snorting crushed-up Ambien. It’s so damn slow. It makes a Lana Del Rey song sound like a sped-up version of “Get Happy” as sung by Shirley Temple on coke. It also sounds like he sang it in a half-sedated state while getting his b-hole waxed. It’s so whiny and sleepy. It’s the musical equivalent of your piece whining at you to cuddle with them after sex times and you just want to go to sleep.
A clip of it is below. If you have Spotify, you can listen to the whole thing here. I just kept waiting for it to swell and for Sam Smith to bring the DRAMA. It never happened. I waited and waited and waited. It felt like I was giving a handjob to a drunk dude who couldn’t get hard. You know, you keep jacking and waiting and jacking and waiting and eventually you pick up your phone with your other hand to play a game of Candy Crush.
If I can’t picture a drag queen in a sequined gown singing or lip-synching it in a gay club as dancers in tuxedos dance around her, it’s not a Bond song to me.
Don’t worry, I’ll wait while you retrieve your jaws from the floor, since I assume they all dropped from shock after reading this BREAKING news. Idina Menzel, the person Lea Michele pretends to be when she gets bored of playing low-budget Barbra, used to have dark brown hair. She pretty much had dark brown hair forever. But yesterday she tweeted a picture of herself with blonde hair and the words:
“Look what me and my girl @jenytamera did today. Needed a change. Loving it! #brunettetoblonde #blondehairdontcare“
I have to admit, those blonde highlights and that middle part are working for her. It’s sort of giving me a 1999 Delia’s catalogue Bottled Emotion 8th grade cool girl vibe, and I don’t hate it. However, I am disappointed that she didn’t complete the look with a baby blue Airwalk jacket, a white ribbed baby tee, 12 glittery butterfly clips, and half a pencil’s worth of chalky white eyeliner.
Idina Menzel didn’t say why she needed a change, but I bet it has something to do with wanting to go incognito after that creepy face-molesting moment she had with John Travolta at the Oscars this year. Is dying your hair part of the Witness Protection Program’s guide to hiding your identity? First it’s the hair, then it’s a legal name change. I see you, Adele Dazeem.
In case you’re looking at the picture above and thinking “Wasn’t Elsa from Frozen always blonde?“, here’s a bunch of pre-bleach pictures of Idina to remind you what she used to look like:
Seen above looking like a rich teenage mermaid who threatens to swim away from home every time her daddy refuses to give her the keys to his seahorse, Hilary Duff announced yesterday on Instagram that she had followed in the footsteps of a million tumblr teens by dying her hair a pastel Crayola shade.
I have trouble describing colors at the best of times, on account of that week I smoked my weight in salvia, but I can’t decide whether Hilary Duff’s new hair is blue or green. It’s like an enigma wrapped in a riddle stuffed into a jar of Manic Panic. Usually when I need to cross-reference a color, I defer to Michael K’s collection of She-Ra dolls, but I’m still having problems. If I squint with my left eye, I get Mermista, but if I squint with my right eye, I get Peekablue. This is BS – She-Ra never does me wrong! Eh, regardless of what color it is, let’s just call it a draw and agree that it makes her look like a sans-fards Kylie Jenner before she started morphing into a liquidation store version of Kim Kardashian.
Here’s more of Hilary Duff doing her daily pap walk to her car, except today it’s with blue-green hair. I think Hilary’s hair looks great, but I would advise her to steer clear of Fraggle Rock unless she wants to be accused by an angry Mokey Fraggle of trying to steal her look:
After taking a couple years off to focus on stuffing her bank account full of Avengers dollars, former attempted singer Scarlett Johansson has decided to return once again to the world of singing. According to Rolling Stone (via People) ScarJo has formed a girl group called The Singles with Este Haim from Haim, as well as singer-songwriters Holly Miranda, Kendra Morris, and Julia Haltigan. Este Haim? Uh oh, ScarJo, you in danger girl. I have a feeling that somewhere in a butterscotch castle in Gumdrop City, Taylor Swift just read the words ‘formed a group…with Este Haim’, whipped out her Lisa Frank Burn Book and screamed “THIS.SICK.BITCH™! Nobody steals friends from Tay Tay!”
So far, they have one song out and it’s called “Candy”. I know what you’re thinking – Mandy Moore would like a word with you, ScarJo. It’s not the worst, but that’s not saying much since you can’t really go wrong with ripping off Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own” and Stephanie Tanner’s after-school band Girl Talk.
It also sounds like a fake ring-tone from a Law & Order-type TV show that can’t get the rights to anything real, so they quickly record something in the craft services trailer using a karaoke app. And then when the phone rings and the detectives ask what song it is, the youngest “hippest” detective is like “Oh, that’s the Wild Style Girls – they’re all the rage right now.”
Here’s the lead singer of The Singles with her hot French husband (who appears to be fighting the hot, to be honest) Romain Dauriac at that star-stuffed Tom Ford show last night:
The New York City Ballet’s 2014 Fall Gala (I might as well have just typed “Rich People Being Rich”, right?) was held last night in Manhattan, and Sarah Jessica Parker arrived wearing an elegant formal caftan, because I guess the theme was “Shit a ballet dancer would never wear unless they wanted to trip onstage and break both their ankles.”
Sarah wore a dress made by the same designer responsible for the coochie-clutching couch upholstery onesie Taylor Swift wore to the VMAs, and I’ve never been so glad to see a designer’s versatility, because I don’t think I want to see Sarah Jessica Parker’s fabric-wrapped Sex and the City kitty. She’s too classy for that! She married Ferris Bueller, for fuck’s sakes! Besides, it’s a ballet gala; the only crotches people want to see are those hot lycra-encased Baryshnikov bulges.
But SJP has the right idea to roll up to the red carpet – or I guess in this case, a purple carpet that sort of looks like someone shot and skinned Barney – wearing what looks like a fancy Amish housecoat. I’ve never been to a ballet gala (I’m more of a monster truck jamboree kind of low-life), but I bet they’re boring a shit. And when something is that boring, you want to be comfortable. SJP is wearing the type of dress that will air out your bits if it gets too stuffy and trap your farts all night long. Plus, that fancy table runner down the middle is perfect for hiding spills and stains. Aaaaand I think I just realized why I’ve never been invited to a ballet gala.
Here’s more of SJP being fancy, as well as a bunch of other fancy New York types looking all kinds of fancy last night, my favorite being a very fancy lady named Chui-Ti Jansen who looked like an exquisite diamond-covered angel sitting atop an opulent fabric Christmas tree.
You’re like “Uh, is this a trick question?“. Obviously your first instinct is, duh, legendary loony chest-pounding French Canadian chanteuse Celine Dion worked it better, will always work it better, will work it backwards better. But there’s something about Rihanna’s sloppy-as-all-hell sleeves and loose titty draping that has a certain “Je ne sais give le fuck” that is truly risk-taking. Not to mention that her ensemble sort of makes her look like a hastily-rolled human-sized joint, which truly evokes the essence of RiRi. Celine just looks like a lady in a backwards suit. RiRi takes it! However, all bets are off if Rihanna tries to whip out a giant white fedora and shades, because only Celine can pull off something that ridiculous.
RiRi is currently in New York City for Fashion Week, and it’s RiRi we’re talking about, so of course she’s been working that body-oddy-oddy this week. Except that she’s still sort of keeping things covered up, which is uncharacteristic for her, and I’m confused. Normally her outfits look like they were picked out at Sexy-R-Us, if that’s even a store. And if it’s not a store, it should be; the modesty-impaired should have a one-stop-shop for all their slutty clothing needs. I wonder if that’s ever been pitched on Shark Tank?
Regardless, I’m kind of shocked that Rihanna has been dressing so modestly. Not once have her outer space nipple pellets made an appearance! Although the week is still young; today we get refined menswear-inspired sophistication, but tomorrow she could just say “Fuck it” and hire some dude to walk behind her with his hands covering her Barbadian booby balls like Janet Jackson on that Rolling Stone cover.
She’s like “Hmmm, that’s not a bad idea. I was just going to go topless.” You’re welcome, RiRi!
Here’s more of Rihanna looking like a sexy sleepy pajama model while heading to a fashion event, and then later that night on her way to the Versus Ver-SAYCE show:
Since Taylor Swift the Singer is still trying to make Taylor Swift the Actress happen (first seen in the long-running performance piece, A Beard For All Seasons), she appeared on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon for that “Ew!” sketch that will never, ever die. As always, Jimmy Fallon was stuffed into some low-budget Lizzie McGuire drag to portray the long-lost 5th member of the Teen Girl Squad, Sara, who introduced her mom’s friend’s nerdy daughter Natalie. Except to call Taylor as Natalie “nerdy” is an understatement: it’s like Violet Anne Bickerstaff’s severely socially awkward half-sister got thrown into the gene-splicing machine from The Fly with Gretchen Grundler, an asthma inhaler, and Rita from Arrested Development. The only thing missing is a pair of elastic-ankle sweatpants (a true nerd would NEVER be caught dead in a pair of taupe leggings, Taylor), and maybe a couple more scrunchies? She only had like, what, 6?
I know Taylor is going for the whole “I’m not a model, I just live with one” thing, but I actually like Natalie a million times more than Taylor. Here’s what I know about Natalie: she has a bandaid collection (weird), she builds popsicle stick castles (awesome), she wears shirts on shirts on shirts (why not?), and bitch loves accessories. And here’s what I know about Taylor: she reminds me of Special K cereal. Natalie wins!
Here’s more of Nerdy Natalie’s boring alter ego, Take-A-Nap Taylor, on her way home from The Tonight Show last night.
James Franco was on The Colbert Report last night to promote his new movie Child of God, and for the most part it was as if Stephen Colbert was talking to a human-sized drugged squirrel. But towards the end, it sort of all falls off the rails into awkward town when that stoned rodent tries to get Stephen Colbert to break character.
It all starts around the 5:52 mark, when Stephen Colbert decides that it’s time to wrap up his chat with James Franco and slowly pushes his ass towards the door by saying “Well, it was great seeing you again”. Except instead of realizing that the signal to go backstage and collect the bag of Cool Ranch Doritos his publicist promised him if he was able to get through the interview without falling asleep or reciting his shitty poetry, he tries to trick Stephen Colbert into breaking character by asking him questions about his new job as the host of The Late Show when David Letterman retires. That, or he tried to have a real discussion with a fake character. And if that’s the case, then now would be a great time to remind ourselves that James Franco is a PhD candidate at Yale. “We done fucked up” – Yale.
Of course, Stephen Colbert shot him a look as if to say “Like hell this obnoxious douche is going to trip me up.” So he stayed in character and cut him off by saying: “Now, here’s the interesting thing: I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
And even though we have video proof of what happened, James Franco is going to write a “non-fiction” short story about the time he managed to successfully bamboozle master improviser Stephen Colbert, blowing his cover and forcing Comedy Central to cancel The Colbert Report.
Shay-Lean Woodley, the organic free-range flower child with the monster truck rally name, wanted to go to the movies to see A Walk to Remember 2: More Cancer, More Tears aka The Fault in Our Stars, but she didn’t want to be mobbed by her fans (all ten of them) so she decided to pull a Pistachio Disguisey and concealed her identity by wearing a wig. Just a wig. Dear CIA: I think I’ve found your next head of Spy Training.
Shay-Lean’s co-star Ansel Elgort posted this picture of the two of them to Instagram at a screening of The Fart in Our Shorts on Sunday with the caption: “Shai’s amazing disguise to go see #tfios last night without causing a scene!”, but has since deleted the picture, probably because Shay-Lean was pissed that after working so hard on crafting such an elaborate disguise, Ansel went and blew her cover. HOW RUDE! Now she has to use her fall-back costume: a pair of Groucho Marx glasses.
Even with the wig, Shay-Lean should know she’d never get away with going incognito to the movies. It would be game over the second she pulled up to the valet station at the ArcLight asking where she could plug in her Nissan LEAF (“I think that’s Shay-Lean Woodley”), then she’d start loudly complaining that her movie tickets were printed on paper and not processed hemp sheets using soy-based inks (“That’s definitely Shay-Lean Woodley”), then demanding to speak to the manager to find out if their popcorn is certified non-GMO local organic fair-trade kettle-cooked maize (“Shay-Lean, you can take off the wig now, we know it’s you”).
In yet another attempt to shake up some interest in The Amazing Spider-Man 2: No, You’re Thinking of Spider-Man 2, This Is Different, We Promise, Andrew Garfield appeared on The Tonight Show Thursday night and showed Jimmy Fallon that he’s just as good at movie pimping as his girlfriend Emma Stone by whipping out a guitar and singing the Spider-Man Theme. Obviously this was a terrible idea, since the bar for acoustic Spider-Man Theme covers was set pretty high by a drunk Jack Black years ago, and unless Andrew Garfield was going to use that guitar as a penis and pretend to fuck a dude in a Spider-Man costume, it wouldn’t be worth it for the audience. Buuuut I guess no one at The Tonight Show had the heart to tell him, because he did it anyway.
Normally I would when it comes to Andrew Garfield (hot face + hot last name = yes I have a thing for Garfield the cat, what of it) but the second he picked up that guitar, I immediately got the same douchechill down my spine that I’d get every time I went to a party in college and some asshole in a Love Your Mother t-shirt would pull out a guitar and “You guys wanna hear a little DMB?” And for that reason, I can’t.