Someone's In Trouble

According to People, Lindsay Lohan's recent hospitalization for "heat exhaustion" pissed off the head honcho at the production company for her upcoming film, Georgia Rule. A letter outlining his displeasure below:

Dear Lindsay,

Since the commencement of principal photography of Georgia Rule, you have frequently failed to arrive on time to the set. Today, you did not show for work (all day). I am now told you don't plan to work tomorrow because you are "not feeling well." You and your representatives have told us that your various late arrivals and absences from the set have been the result of illness; today we were told it was "heat exhaustion." We are well aware that your ongoing all night heavy partying is the real reason for your so called "exhaustion." We refuse to accept bogus excuses for your behavior. To date, your actions on Georgia Rule have been discourteous, irresponsible and unprofessional. You have acted like a spoiled child and in so doing have alienated many of your co-workers and endangered the quality of this picture. Moreover, your actions have resulted in hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage. We will not tolerate these actions any further. If you do not honor your production commitments, including your scheduled call time for tomorrow, and any call times thereafter, we will hold you personally accountable. This means that in addition to pursuing full monetary damages, we will take such other action as we deem necessary to preserve the integrity of the Georgia Rule Production as well as Morgan Creek's financial interests. I urge you to take this letter seriously and conduct yourself professionally.

Sincerely,

James G. Robinson CEO, Morgan Creek Productions

You mean it is theoretically possible that she was doing rails of coke on the toilet seat of the club she was at the night prior to her hospitalization and lied to the public about it? Unthinkable!

Ronoldo Says "Happy Birthday!"

A special birthday wish to myself this weekend. Ironically, it's not my birthday, it's Puffins'. Regardless, I need all the wishes I can get in order to actually make it through Spin Class at the Equinox, drinking at several bars followed by early morning grub followed by possibly more drinking and more eating, eventually ending when I crash on the floor of his apartment in a vodka tonic-Red Bull-coffee-whatever has caffeine in it-induced haze.

I'm not sure my liver is going to be able to handle this; I'm not 13 anymore.

But in all seriousness, happy birthday to the Puff; I know we'll have a blast and I'm glad to be a part of it.

I Want One

Contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart, and it is not black.

For proof, visit this LINK of the cutest thing on the face of the planet. Besides me, that is.

Jake Likes To Ride

Nice...um...bike.

This I Promise You

In shocking news, Lance Bass of the former boy-band N'SYNC has officially come out of the closet to People Magazine.

Yes. Shocking, indeed. Almost as shocking as that one time I paid Russia millions of dollars so I could be launched into outer space with some of their top astronauts. Oh...wait. That was Lance Bass, too.

FORE!

I'll be away this weekend on a work-related golfing excursion that I voluntarily signed up for; a decision I quickly began to regret. Chasing a small white ball around a meticulously manicured lawn sounds like a lot of fun and all, but may I remind you that my Scandinavian skin gets burned by the sun when I sit in the shade. With SPF 30 on.

I guess my apprehension also has something to do with me never having played the sport. Nor watched it on television. In college I took a golf class as part of the mandatory Health & Physical Exercise curriculum; I dropped it after the first class.

But let's look at this in a positive light, shall we?

1) I get to buy a new outfit in which to golf - yay for cute argyle sweater vests!
2) All the Heineken Light I can drink.
3) Two words: Golf. Cart.
4) My B&B has a frignormous (somewhere between enormous and ginormous) Whirlpool tub. A bottle of wine, some candles, a good book and some bubbles and I'll be set for the night.

So really, when you look at it that way, a 5-hour car ride doesn't seem THAT bad, right? Right?

Ashlee Simpson Selling House To Pay For Rhinoplasty

Ashlee Simpson has put her Encino, CA estate on the market. You, too, can own a piece of the talentless, cesspool of Hollywood for a mere $6,000,000 or so.

Amenities include "Mountains on one side, the city on the other". You also have a direct view of Papa-Joe Simpson's house.

As fun as that sounds, I'm scheduled for an intestinal scraping this afternoon which I simply CANNOT wait for; do you know how long I've been on the waiting list for this procedure? I mean, living next door to a man who appraises his daughter's breast size publicly is great and all, but...intestinal scraping. What a BLAST!

Jesus Doesn't Like Stem Cell Research

I would just like to take this opportunity to thank our President for vetoing a bill that had the potential to save hundreds of thousands of lives, and end the suffering of many more, all for the sake of his Dark Age Christian morals.

After all, why research a cure for cancer when the pharmaceutical business makes so much money on slowly killing patients through chemotherapy and radiation therapy?

Tilda Swinton

I liked Tilda Swinton as the sexually ambiguous angel (whose name escapes me now because I've never willingly stepped into a church, let alone never taken the time to learn anything about the Bible) in Constantine which was a terrible movie and I don't remember much about it except for Tilda Swinton, who, as I mentioned, played an androgynous angel. Now that we've come full circle, let me draw your attention to the photo.

Either Ms. Swinton has a case of painful indigestion, or the reason she played an asexual being so well is because it hit so close to home.

I vote the latter. She looks painfully uncomfortable in...yeah, we'll call that a dress.

I would make a joke about her having no chin, but that might be a genetic malformation, and I would never stoop that low. Instead, I'll joke about her Amazonian complex and her She-Ra wrist bands. And she has no chin.

The State Of Rock

Dave Navarro and Tommy Lee: everything that Rock & Roll is not.

It's not funny. It's not hot. It's not even gay in a homosexual way. It's just gay in the sense that they both used to be married to Playmates and now they have to pretend to tongue in order to get publicity.

Also...Navarro scares me because he doesn't seem to know which way he should swing.

Thus is the state of rock. Emo man-sluts.

Dear Girl In The Office Next Door:

I understand you work in an office full of Italian Pygmy Men and that general standards of existence in your office are probably quite low, but that does not make it OK to blow dry your hair in the public restroom of our office building. That being said, giving your bangs a trim prior to blowing it dry can also be considered a corporate faux pas.

Consider this a friendly "heads-up" on my behalf. Because publicly condemning you and/or stoning you to death is generally considered "too severe" a penalty these days for stupidity and I read in a pamphlet entitled "Accepting Differences In People" that not all trailer parks are dirty and full of toothless, fat Southerners on Public Assistance.

So I guess my point is...take the fucking tax dollars I contribute to your monthly stipend and go to a god damned salon so I don't have to look at your filthy hair clinging to the side of the sink you fat hick.

Respectfully,
-Min

Nicole Kidman Definitely-Probably Pregnant

More amazing than the little bump protruding beneath that cute little maternity-esque summer dress is the fact that the brand spanking new Urbans just left a Target. Next you'll be telling me that celebrities take poos in public restrooms. Lies! All Lies!! I just won't have it.

Nice Purse...

...Pansy.

Color Me Warhol

Friends of mine recently opened every artist’s dream studio. It’s in the center of a quaint New England town – on “The Green” no less. Jay, artist and part owner, takes two steps off the studio’s porch and three cars drive by; each driver honks their horn and waves, and Jay’s boyish smile reciprocates the greeting. While waiting in line at the local coffee house, no less than 10 people ask him how his day is going.

Back at the studio, Sharon, artist and other part owner, is busy splitting her attention between the three toe-headed girls painting ceramic unicorns as part of the Village Center for the Arts “Open Studio”, in which passersby can pop in to paint, draw, use one of three pottery wheels or glue random shapes of wood to a piece of paper: anything goes.

The space was built in the 1800’s as a Masonic Temple and has since been used as a hardware store, an antiques shop, and now the VCA. The first floor is split up into an art supplies store and general studio. The floor of the supplies section could keep an antique advertisements enthusiast busy for hours. Sharon and Jayson spent hours filtering through old magazines to create the decoupaged canvas that greets you as you step through the front door. Ten coats of polyurethane later, it almost seems blasphemous to set your dirty sneakers on the work of art.

The 2nd floor is a musty open space with 30-foot high cathedral ceilings, the paint pealing off in large swaths. The acoustics beg for the space to be used as a funky underground jazz club on the weekends, but it will take years and tens of thousands of dollars to renovate it into something habitable.

Wanting to be a part of the magic that surrounds the partners, an air of part-mischievous-debauchery but mostly-incredibly-skilled-artistry, I offered my assistance in setting up shop. Yesterday I gardened for the first time in my life. On Saturday I’ll spend half of the day helping 9-year-old girls paint ceramics. Spending time with Sharon and Jayson infects me with a love for life, and that is exactly what their art imitates.

Italy Wins

I guess Italy won the Cup yesterday. I didn't watch the game. But I will say that I don't think the cup could have gone to a hotter player. I mean team. Team. There's no "H-O-T" in "T-E-A-M" or something. Maybe not. Whatever. I'm going to clean up the drool on my screen now.

Mischa Shops

Mischa "McFatty" Barton makes her second important decision for the day. The first one was: "Do I wash my hair today?" The second is "Do I eat this week?"

The answer to the first: obviously not. I've stopped speculating about the second.

That's Hot

Nicole Richie has undeserved money. A lot of it (compared to my little nest egg currently valued at $0.30 - calling all sugar daddies!). So why she has an entire closet full of clothing designed with the sole intent to make its wearer ugly is beyond me.

She looks like she's filming a 70's Porn flick in which her only line is "Yeah, baby...I'll pump your gas."

Nice...Shirt?

Sienna Miller in NYC the other day.

This is why New Yorkers get a bad rap for being rude to tourists; someone could have told her the nearest unpolluted beach is over an hour away. Then again, it is fun to play "Count The Vertebrae" on celebrities' backs.

Marco. Polo.

Pharrell Williams, whose profession is limited to either Pimp or R&B Singer based on his wardrobe selection, shows us what not to wear while meeting the future king of England.

He's very White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, while His Majesty, Prince William is very "I'm number one." Yes--yes you are. Rowwwrrrrr.

Paging Dwight Yokohomo

A friend came to visit from upstate NY, so we did what any good New Yorker does: we took her on a double-decker-tour bus of the downtown loop because we've always wanted to go but never had a real tourist to go with. My code name: Dottie Mae. I was joined by Puffins, a.k.a. Dwight Yokohomo, and Nan-the-blogless-Porkchop, henceforth referred to as Phyllis Freidman.

The Gray Line was actually very nice; I think I saw more of Manhattan in 2 hours than I've seen in 6 years. We passed the Flat Iron building that I've always just known as the Flat Iron building without ever realizing that it's called the Flat Iron building because it looks like a flat iron. I'm blonde. Leave me alone.

After a stint in Longchamp in which I gazed at $700 bags made of cow, we made our way across the street to a Burberry (nice snag, Phyllis!) before heading to Lasso: the best cheap gourmet pizza in SoHo. May I suggest the Pizza Giardini? Dwight is thinking of having his B-day there. It's a chic Chuck E. Cheese for grown-up Manhattanites; what's not to like?

At several points during the day/evening I, as a tourist, wanted to whip out my Cannon and take photos of the hawkers on Canal St. and maybe even the sign we saw for "New BJ's, only $0.99!" However, Dottie Mae didn't think to bring her camera.