The ever-so-credible Us Weekly blog, along with a few other members of the heterorazzi, is reporting that Jake Gyllenhaal has paired up with US Olympic snowboarder Gretchen Bleiler. With a face that could only be seen ploughing down a steep, frozen tundra, Bleiler may perhaps be the first woman Gyllenhaal has claimed to date since finally calling things off with Kirsten Dunst (alias: Dr. Sunken Tits).
In a move that could only be considered a rearrangement of the sun dresses in the closet, Gyllenhaal has finally offered the payoff to all of those recently planted released photographs of him presumably participating in extreme sports. The PEN15 Club has learned that dating a homely chick with looks that make Helen Hunt’s facial proportions look normal is the standard punishment doled out by the publicists of closeted actors who’ve been photographed too many times with their boyfriends.
Okay, Jake. We get it. You’re not Toothy Tile. But at least there’s plenty of room on that forehead for you to affix a photo of Austin.
US Exclusive: Jake Gyllenhaal’s New Gilrfriend! (Us)
(Special thanks to Socialites Life, Just Jared, and Towleroad for all the photo links)
Page Six seems dead certain that it’s over for SJR at The View, claiming that Rosie O’Donnell’s deal to join the show was contingent on Star’s dismissal. This, if true, would deny us the one pleasure we would have gleaned from O’Donnell’s arrival: Accusing Star, to her face, of undergoing gastric bypass and marrying a homo.
Speaking of which, the source claims Oprah’s “special friend” Gayle King has been mentioned as a replacement - Rosie’s choice, we’re assuming. This saddens us, because Gayle, by nature, seems like a sycophantic yes-woman, whereas The View thrives on boorish, obnoxious ignorance.
And it is in the realm of boorish, obnoxious ignorance that no one could ever replace our sucked, tucked, lifted, freebied, sodomized (I’m assuming), cuckolded, starving wannabe authoress.
Right now it’s difficult to gauge the potential damage if ABC makes the announcement this week, although all Manhattan KFC restaurants were said to be doubling their supply of biscuits and gravy. Fearing an incident, the fur department at Barney’s has been closed indefinitely.
Jones getting ‘View’ vamoose [Page Six]
Despite the hordes of Scientologists buying group tickets at the ArcLight, Mission: Impossible III opened about 20% lower than its 6-year-old predecessor, sending pundits into a “the movie business is dying and Tom Cruise is over” frenzy.
Here’s the deal: It’s a sequel to a sequel to a movie adapted from a crappy 40-year-old spy series. Directed by the creator of Felicity. If more than $50 million worth of people want to see it over the course of three days, then something is deeply, deeply wrong with our culture and its paste-eating citizenry.
Incidentally, exit polls showed that moviegoers named “Tom Cruise biologically fathered a child with his heterosexual life partner - so I like him now” as their third most common reason for seeing the film, after “I have to see it in case Philip Seymour Hoffman takes his shirt off” and “I have to see it in case Cruise makes out with Jonathan Rhys Meyers.”
Cruise…and burn [Hollywood Interrupted]
Movie showdown [Box Office Mojo]
New ‘Mission’ opens weaker than expected [New York Times]
Episode 5 of the PEN15 Podcast is here! This week, Rob and Jordan discuss the Lip Gloss and Prada Queens from Dallas, The View, M:I:III, The “Lost” Lesbian Massacre of 2006, the top 25 pieces of ‘tang Rob missed out on in high school, and Jordan’s faked Craigslist adventure.
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No word yet on whether 19-year-old cut-and-paste artist Kaavya Viswanathan will have to return her $500,000 advance from that cancelled book deal. But we know that a Harvard undergrad with money - much like Scott Bairstow hanging out by the junior high school - cannot be trusted, and that $500k was spent faster than Miss V can learn to say “Tall, grande or venti?”
Luckily, Kaavya’s famous (and famously selective) photographic memory at least allows her to recall how she spent the advance. Plus she keeps her receipts. Here’s why she’s totally screwed if she has to return that money - and by “totally screwed” we mean, “will ask Mommy and Daddy to bail her out.” (Amounts are rounded ’cause, you know, math is hard. We couldn’t all get into Harvard, even if it is much easier these days.)
- $30k - SUV, to double-park on Mass. Ave. while she runs into the Starbucks 8 blocks away from her dorm
- $500 - short-sleeved polo shirts at the Gap
- $10k - amount owed to that woman who wrote her college applications for her
- $2k - bar tab at Red Line…that’s a lot of Stoli Raz and Sprite
- $150 - Harvard Coop bookstore, spent entirely on audiobooks in the chick-lit section
- $400 - iPod, for listening to said audiobooks in her sleep
- $84k - two years’ tuition, room, board - Mommy and Daddy will pay her back
- $1k - airfare to India for purposes of gloating to extended family
- $250k - Alloy Entertainment’s cut, for doing all the “packaging”
- $300 - Cliffs notes
- $150 - Sex and the City DVDs and Ben & Jerry’s pints, for those lonely Friday nights when “I have a publishing deal” just didn’t impress the boys
- Remainder - Satan
No encore for ‘Opal’ [Publishers Weekly]
Jennifer Connelly is arguably the most beautiful American woman in the movies, but what the fuck is going on with her in these pictures? She looks like Paula Poundstone. Honey, you must be getting a decent workout hoisting that giant child of yours, and you’re shooting a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio. Shouldn’t you look, you know, better?
Here you are three months ago at the premiere of Harrison Ford is Too Old for This Shit Part XII. You and Virginia Madsen are wearing matching terrycloth kimonos. And you look pretty. You look like you. House of Sand and Fog you. The one who tends to get raped and humiliated in every movie she makes. Because, you know, she’s a serious actress. “Ass to ass” Connelly. “Ass to ass!”
Nobody ever looked at Paula Poundstone and shouted “ass to ass,” Connelly. Nobody.
And by the way, if you insist on looking this frumpy, you’re going to have to stop being married to Paul Bettany. I’m sorry, but those are the rules.
The Da Vinci Connelly [JustJared]
In the neighborhood I live in, there are a lot of lesbians. It’s a veritable haven of labia. Labia covered in overalls. There’s at least one UHaul rental shop within eyesight. There is no Starbucks, but 47 real estate agencies line the street. I’ve accidentally hit on more women than I care to admit on the fine streets of JP, and likely have been confused for one myself.
My point is that I’m pretty familiar with how much the lesbians like sign language. I’m not sure why - I’m sure it has something to do with their ability to replace almost anything with masterful finger maneuvers, including speech. But when I read that Marlee Matlin, the only most famous Deaf actress in the world, was taking a role on Showtime’s “The L Word,” I began to wonder if the rest of the world wasn’t clued into the connection. And here I thought everyone knew that ASL was every dyke’s second language.
But seriously. Isn’t that like casting Anderson Cooper in a role on “Queer as Folk”? Or sending Star Jones and Kathy Griffin off to do a two-woman comedy standup tour? She’ll be eaten alive. LIterally. It’ll happen in the second episode.
Matlin will apparently begin dating a leading character in her first episode, and discover just how difficult it is for Deaf people to adopt children and buy wedding China by, uh, the end of her first episode.
Marlee Matlin joining ‘The L Word’ [Miami Herald]
Before getting to my real post this evening, I have to take issue with someone we try desperately not to talk about. Paris Hilton, looking ever-so-much like the Bride of Frankenstein on the cover of Out magazine, tells Michael Musto a whole lot of nothin’ in next month’s issue. However, when he presses on whether or not she considers herself a fag hag, Paris responds with:
‘Yeah,’ Paris replied happily. ‘Gay guys are more fun and they dress better and they’re usually hotter. All the hot ones are gay.’
Really, Paris? That’s like the lamest, most gay-novice answer ever. If I hear some flouncy, halter top sportin’, coin slot showin’ rotund chick in a bar say that, I know we’re only moments away from, “Will you go shopping with me?” or “Have you ever had sex with a girl?” or even the dreaded, “Can I have just one kiss?” Before you know it, I’ll be on the dance floor in a booty-grinding train with two of her other fat girlfriends and the actual fag to their faux-hag, a 115-pound closeted twink named Justin.
Don’t tell me you haven’t been there.
Out with Paris [PH]
Anderson Cooper somehow managed to write an entire memoir without directly referring to his own sexuality. Highlights include “How I lost my virginity to…somebody” and “I felt really alienated and different during my adolescence…for some reason that I can’t really discuss. Wait - it was my father’s death. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Dead Dad.” Vanity Scare re-packages the obfuscation into an even vaguer excerpted cover story. Apparently he spent a large portion of his childhood hanging out with Truman Capote and Andy Warhol. You don’t say. [Vanity Fair]
Geena Davis’ career remains smothered in loser dust, as Commander in Chief (aka The President Used Tampons) gets the long kiss goodnight to cutthroat island. But what will become of First Hottie Matt Lanter?! [Zap2It]
The new full-length trailer for Superman Returns will leave you as stiff as Brandon “Rhymes With Mouth” Routh’s delivery. It’s official: Kevin Spacey and Frank Langella have morphed into the same bald, queeny, middle-aged character actor. [Apple Movie Trailers]
Published by Rob on May 1, 2006
in Anal and TV.
Part I: Lessons of The Sopranos
- In New Hampshire, there exists a small, idyllic town filled with handsome, rugged, masculine homosexuals. We’ll call it “Gayberry.”
- These men work hard cooking up hearty meals in the local diner, and rescuing children from burning buildings. If you’re an obese, middle-aged mobster, you can beat the shit out of one of them, and then a short time later, be making sweet love to him on the vast, beautiful, sandy beach.
- New Hampshire has a vast, beautiful, sandy beach.
- Two people can have an intelligible conversation while riding two separate motorcycles.
Part II: Lessons of Desperate Housewives
- Retards are dangerous, and don’t know their own strength.
- Especially those black ones.
- White girls beware!
- Poisoning your mentally ill son is a plausible alternative to allowing him to be confined to a mental institution.
First, a note on The Sopranos’ much-touted gay storyline: As my New Hampshire-born lesbian friend put it, if a town like that existed, everyone would know about it. And, I’m sorry, if Vito’s getting laid, there needs to be some explicit mention of chubby chasers or bear bars. Otherwise we’re just not buying it.
As for DH, we’re not even talking about shark-jumping. We’re talking about breeding genetically engineered, super-intelligent sharks like the ones in Deep Blue Sea, then jumping them. Last night featured Nicollette Sheridan getting tackled by three Hooters girls amidst a pile of chicken wings, and that was the artistic high point. How the “retard-chained-in-the-basement” storyline hasn’t elicited boycotts from both NAMI and the NAACP is beyond my comprehension. By the time we made it to Eva Longoria’s climactic “I want my baby back!” meltdown - a performance that would guarantee her freedom from only the wettest of paper bags - I was so exasperated I almost started reading.
At least Family Guy is offensive on purpose.
