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Archive for the ‘with these phonies in this hollywood bar’ Category

If you are under 13, good. Stay here and learn this now, because body parts are body parts and the more you know about them the less scary they are. The less scary the less likely you are to misunderstand and misuse them.

Really, though, I know most people who read my blog are well past 13 and probably already know this. Still, I figure I’d better put it out there.

Last night I was watching a week-old episode of Conan on TiVo and he was talking about a woman who flashed her “vagina” on So You Think You Can Dance. I did whatever I do whenever anyone mentions a Celebrity Vagina Sighting. I looked it up on the internet. Because I know that rumours of the Celebrity Vagina Sighting are greatly exaggerated. Despite all the glimpses of famous nether regions we’ve all been treated to in the last 10 years or so, I can’t think of a single time we’ve seen a vagina.

We have certainly seen pubic hair. And Labia Majora. Labia, which is Latin for ‘lips’ is also the name given to the two sets of folds concealing the actual VAGINA from the harsh outside world. Frankly, in order to see an actual vagina you need a) a woman’s permission and b) a very direct pose. You will no more see a candid shot of a vagina than you will a candid shot of a lung or a sinus or a medulla oblongata.

This is the female genito-urinary anatomy, as depicted in ASCII format because I’m on a borrowed computer and can’t upload a drawing and am not going to link to a picture in a medical textbook because I’m too lazy and too on a roll with the text writing. And also because I think ASCII depictions of anything are hilarious.

Anyway:

({B})

() These things are the Labia Majora. They are the large outside folds of skin, fatty deposits and muscle. Unless groomed or sexually immature they will have pubic hair on them.
{} These things are the Labia Minora. They are the small inside folds of skin, nerves, and blood vessels. They are called “minora” because they are thinner than the outside lips, but it is perfectly normal if they extend beyond the outside lips on some women.

Together these two sets of organs are the VULVA. And these are what you see in all those unfortunate crotch shots of stupid young girls who think fame is worth compromising your dignity.

B the top loop of the B is the urethra, where urine exits the body. The infamous clitoris sits atop the urethra, but I don’t know how depict that in ASCII. So just know for future reference that the top loop of the B is a busy place.

The bottom loop of the B is the actual vagina itself. It’s tucked away under quite a lot of things, as you can tell. This is where the penis goes during intercourse and where the baby leaves during a vaginal birth. This is also where menstrual blood leaves the body during a woman’s period, and where mucus discharge leaves the body before ovulation, after intercourse and (although thicker and a different colour) if a woman has a vaginal infection of fungus or bacteria.

If you are kind of squicked out reading this, I understand. We apparently don’t like to talk about this stuff, given the fact that a highly educated Harvard graduate who is the son of a doctor, married and the father of two children thinks that the Vulva is the vagina.

But still, I must set the record straight.

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In a conversation about the WGA Strike (no,this post isn’t about that…) a few days ago, Jackson Miller said that the true future of revenue in television was most likely in product placement. I’ve been re-reading that statement in my head over the last week, and I have to tell you. I think Jackson is dead-on. And I have to further tell you that I think I find product placement in my shows both entertaining and memorable. For the most part, that is.

I was watching NCIS [shut up! It’s a good show!] last night, and the Diet Coke product placement was both subtle and entertaining, but I remembered the product. Arrested Development‘s tie-ins with Burger King were hysterical and left me craving BK for a week afterward.

All of that being said, I am sick and tired of the product placement in the reality shows I watch. I’m not big on most reality TV because I just don’t find it all that entertaining, but I will cop to both Little People, Big World and Deadliest Catch. After last night, though, I’m about ready to cancel my season pass to LPBW. It’s been obvious for awhile that Matt Roloff is gaming the popularity of the show to cash in on endorsements and product placement. I started watching the show to see how someone with a unique condition faces the obstacles and challenges of daily life. I kept watching because I liked the family dynamic. But now? I can’t help but think all of the strategic product placement is ruining the show AND the kids. On the last episode there were 4 minutes devoted to watching Amy Roloff and two of the kids play with a new Wii. We even got a close-up of the box and a mention of the product name. A recent episode mentioned “Mountain Dew” about 11 times. [Don’t even get me started on all of the underwritten trips and home improvements that I initially whined about a year ago.]

I guess I don’t mind seeing products crop up in a subtle way when the show works them into the plot. But when the entire point of the show is diverted to such mindless pursuits as “watch us play with our Wiis!” then I feel like I’ve been tricked into an infomercial.

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One of the 82 thousand Death Of A Princess shows I’ve watched in the last two weeks had some person–Dodi al Fayed’s masseuse, I believe–saying that if you’ve ever bought a tabloid you have Diana and Dodi’s blood on your hands.

Okaaaay.

I suppose appearing on a tabloid-like show about them doesn’t encourage ongoing fascination with celebrity in any way, does it, Ms. Holistic Touch Healer?

I don’t buy tabloids anymore. Why? Because I’m not generally interested in the people they feature. I like Poor Lindsay Lohan, and I don’t want to see her drunk. Beyond that, I’m still not clear on who’s who among the tabloid fodder set. If there were a “match this name with that picture” I’d probably score an 11%. I know the words “Beyonce” and “Fergie” and “Justin”, but I have no idea which of the various heroin-chic shiny people go with which moniker.

I do have people that I really like, whose work I really enjoy, and whose careers I’ve followed, though. Funnily enough, they don’t seem to draw a lot of press usually. Except for this week. I have to say I do feel a little bit sorry for Liev Schreiber and Naomi Watts. All they want is some dinner with their kid, and they’ve got these monstrous folks chasing them with cameras. (Dudes, that second link is VIDEO.)

Then again, they were taking a 3-week old baby into a restaurant. And that’s a whole other kind of annoying.

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 If you go to Noshville today and sit in the booths just stage left of the bar area, second one back, if you look down you’ll see a white bag from JJ’s Market.

In that bag are two magazines: a National Geographic on the History of the Maya and a Vanity Fair with that wierdly named kid on the front.   I left them there in my haste to depart.

I’m not driving back downtown for them, although I really would like to know the History of the Maya and am kind of curious as to whether the Weirdly Named Kid can be The Next Tom Hanks.

Speaking of that kid, I had a tirade about him half-formed in my mind earlier.  I may as well put it in this post, as opposed to starting a whole new entry.   There was a story in this week’s Entertainment Weekly about poor drunk little Lindsay Lohan.  In a sidebar, they compared her to Weirdly Named Kid by listing a series of career stats side-by-side.  You know the drill:  “He made his first movie at 3; she made her first movie at 4”  That kind of thing.   I think the general point of it was that we were supposed to see how sad it was that she’s now a drunken mess headed for freefall and he’s this rising young Hope For the Future.

What their cute sidebar failed to point out is that WNK is a boy.  Grown adults don’t overtly sexualise boys until they’re oh, 18 or 19 usually.  There aren’t many covers of magazines adorned with peach-fuzzy young lads in Speedos.

Not so for girls.  Young girls are sexualised all the time in the media.  Of course, sometimes they play into it by offering up convenient glimpses of Big Rock Candy Mountain as they get in and out of cars.   But the fact of the matter is, they know that’s what people are buying so they happily put it on offer.  Our media doesn’t really encourage self-respect in young female stars.  So why are we surprised when they resort to drugs and alcohol for coping?

Nowhere in that little sidebar did EW mention that Hollywood had pretty much decided to wring Lohan’s sexuality out of her by this point, but are just now gearing up to put WNK into play.

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My mom used to tell me “Life isn’t fair” whenever I’d whine about not getting the same treatment as other kids at home or school. Now, I pretty much say the same thing when people complain to me…although instead of my mom’s polite verbiage, I tend to just say “suck it!” really harshly.

And just now I looked at myself and said “Suck it!!!” really loudly. Because I read this story over at People Dot Com.

“I think I was just bored, and I had seen everything”

Yes. That right there is Nicole Ritchie’s excuse for abusing drugs. She was bored. Yeah. God forbid you get a library card, lady! Bored. Please.

I don’t believe there is any such thing as boredom–boredom is only a failure of imagination. You feel bored? Read a book. Learn a craft. (Here’s a hint– boiling down rock cocaine in your parents’ pool house doesn’t count here.) And if all else fails….take up blogging.

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Back in May I said I wouldn’t read the Warren Zevon biography. I had good reasons. But then I saw the book in the store on my birthday, and the heavy slab of words on Warren would not be ignored. I made a compromise with myself and checked it out of the library.

Frankly, I wish I’d listened to my first instinct.

Hanging out with the Warren Zevon in the book was one of the least enjoyable reading experiences I’ve had in my lifetime.

I do need someone to explain something to me, though. I do not understand how women–and according to this book there were A LOT–can let themselves be treated like toilets by another human being. At one point, Zevon tells a girlfriend that having sex is for him merely a physical release on par with defecation. (He uses a different phrase, but my mother reads this blog.)

Granted, I’ve not talked with any of the women involved, so maybe they’re all fine with having a guy call them up on occasion for some random boinkfest. But given the number of “Girl X is stalking me now” entries in Zevon’s journals I’m guessing there were more than a few who pinned big fairy-tale hopes on their rock star “boyfriend”.

Yes, I may be the world’s biggest prude. Even as I write this I feel like I sound like some old grandma warning the young’uns to save themselves. But after spending chunks of a week dragging through the cyclone of anger, recrimination and deep psychic pain surrounding Warren Zevon I honestly wonder if sex without love is worth even the momentary thrill.

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Anne Heche’s ex-husband says she’s mentally unstable. Really, I have to ask. Is Anne Heche’s ex-husband illiterate? Did he not read the book she wrote about how nuts she was? The book called Call Me Crazy: A Memoir? Because she is obviously a person suffering from mental illness, and has been for most of her life.

He knew that going into the relationship. Is it really fair for him to play the “she’s nuts” card, now that she’s dumped him for her co-star?

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I had a weird dream.

Someone made a movie of my life.   The role of “me” was played by Truman Capote.

Friday Random Ten after the jump.

(more…)

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It’s one of those milestones in life where you say to yourself “I’d really like the town drunk from Hoosiers to weigh in on this one.”

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Jake Lloyd, the kid who played Anakin Skywalker in Phantom Menace is working at a Pac Sun in a mall outside Indianapolis.

Wow.

Just remember this next time you think YOUR life has taken odd twists and turns.

And while you’re at it, maybe you can explain to me why there’s a surf duds shop in Carmel, Indiana.

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