As a entertainment blogger it’s important that I’m able to find just the right picture to go with a particular story. If I’m writing about, say, Tara Reid being a model citizen, as I do, and I type “Tara Reid Model Citizen” into the Google Image search, it’s imperative I find just the right picture of her drunkenly passed out on the streets of Ibiza (the joke comes from the irony!). My blogger brethren and I depend on image searches to add visual stimulation to our pieces, punctuate jokes, and sometimes, to create whole posts.
I’m continually amazed by the accuracy of Google’s image search engine. No matter how disparate my search terms, I can always seem to find what I’m looking for. It gets me to wondering just how far I can test Google’s accuracy. If I type in a celebrity and then add a random word onto the search, what would I find? Would “Jodie Foster + tuna” get me a shot of The Jodes from Freaky Friday, enjoying being in her Mom’s body just a bit too much, or just another boring publicity still from Flightplan? I had to know…
So here is a little experiment I ran to see just how accurate a Google Celebrity Image Search can be (all results found on page 1 of the search results):
Result: I don’t know about you, but that’s the look I had on my face the first time I saw an alien living amongst us and realized it was actually my husband who had signed me to a five-year wedding contract stating I would bear him a genetically created pod baby that looks asian and kinda Chris Klein-y and not wear a bra when I run the NYC Marathon.
Result: Not sure what exactly I expected to find here, but I’m fairly amused that MC Hammer is exploiting the hypothetical death of the star of Kuffs. Greetings and salutations, Slater is NOT too legit to quit.
Result: I don’t understand how anyone could find Keanu stupid. See him walking away from a horny, near-naked Lauren Graham? That’s the wisest decision a man can make in his life! He just chose the grail cup!
Result: Get on her bad side and the last thing you see in this world is her tiny little boot coming down on your face, as you lay limp on the ground of a dirty street in Mexico.
Result: I know that when I think of Halle Berry getting her teeth worked on, the first image that comes to my mind is of the former Bond girl half-nakedly fondling Sarah Jessica Parker. Isn’t it the same for you?
Result: Think long and hard about this (that’s what she said!): of all the contributions to society given by Paris Hilton, from the unpublicized humanitarian work in third world countries to her charitable donations for Cancer research, and tireless work to improve the lives of the US homeless population, when you think of Paris Hilton, don’t you really just think about her sucking on something?
Result: I swear to you I didn’t rig this. It just so happens that when you search for a picture of Renee Zellweger making a bitchface, my award badge for being one of the Best Culture Blogs on the net shows up in the results (as the third image!). What can I say, Google knows where’s it at.
Final Conclusion: No matter what you’re looking for on the net, be it a shot of Val Kilmer coming ashore to rest his blowhole and lay eggs or Halle Berry molesting the star of Sex and the City, Google Image Search has got your back. I deem their celebrity image search dead-on balls accurate!
Better words will come from better writers today, and as such, I will not attempt to editorialize on the impact of 9/11 nor its unending societal reach six years later. I am not a newsman or a pundit, I’m not a D.C. blogger nor a member of a political party. I lost no one in 9/11 and I know very few people that were even remotely affected by the tragedy.
The biggest connection I have to the event is that 9/11 just so happens to be both my father’s and my best friend’s birthday. I don’t go out of my way to have a conversation about politics or world events, and I readily avoid discourse on President Bush. In short, I am exceedingly apathetic both towards the state of the nation, and my need to enact change in the world. I just don’t care all that much about politics.
But in an effort to honor the enormity of the day, I will write what it is I am good at writing about. And that would be sarcastically making fun of celebrities! We’re kicking it obvious style today by doing a star roll call and taking a big old clichéd swipe at each one of them. No subtext, no cleverness, no subtle creative genius, just blatant stereotypical jabs at the public personas of all the celebs who grace those wonderfully patriotic tabloid rags.
I can’t think of a better way for me to memorialize this sad day in American History than by calling Britney Spears a paunchy trainwreck with zero vocal talent (Gimme More!). Let’s start the blatant “honoring”…
Ben Affleck – Was the bomb in Phantoms, yo!
Jack Black – He’s so zany! Can you believe how zany he was in King Kong? I couldn’t get over all the zaniness! This is a tribute.
Nicolas Cage –Hit or miss. Also, totally cooky! Love his choice of women (Michael Jackson’s ex, Alabama Worley, that Asian chick who waited on him at Sushi Roku).
George Clooney – Likes to bang hot chicks. Oooh! Consider yourself pwned, Danny Ocean!
Dane Cook – IS. NOT. FUNNY. For reals, yo!
Russell Crowe – Uh oh! Russell’s on the rag again, watch out for flying Black Berry’s. Zing!
Tom Cruise – Short. (Other jabs redacted for fear of litigation.)
John Cusack – Ah man, so edgy and cool! He’s like the personification of indie cred. Also he totally ruled in Con Air.
Matt Damon – MATT DAMON!
Colin Farrell – Kind of a manwho-er.
Richard Gere – It’s a myth, people! Suck it hard, urban legends! (But yeah, it totally happened! I know a guy who has a sister who dated this dude who used to buy weed from this drug dealer who knows a lab tech that sleeps with the nurse who blows the doctor who actually performed the surgery. You can’t buy that kind of intel!)
Winona Ryder – She steals stuff! Sacre bleu, Heathers!
Charlie Sheen – Yay for hookers and blow!
Will Smith – Has big ears. Aw, hell no!
Ben Stiller – Looks like an ape! Is quite neurotic in a diminishing comedic returns kind of way. Do it! No no, DO IT!
Hilary Swank – Big teeth. Might be a dude. Encourages Paul Haggis. Ditched her beard when she won her second Oscar. Used to be Steve Sanders’ plaything. Excellent credentials… for me to poop on! (that joke courtesy of Late Night with Conan O’Brien. Thanks for the solid, NBC!)
Donald Trump – His hair is weird! You’re fired! Who-damn that’s topical!!!!1!!
Vince Vaughn – HahahahaROTFLMAO! He’s so funny with all the fast talking and the jerkiness! I ignore his expanding belly, receding hairline and Gucci luggage-sized bags under his eyes to appreciate his ribald humor and his nailing of Jennifer Aniston on screen. What a pretty slash funny couple they make. Golly jee!
Reese Witherspoon – Perky and not at all a total bitch. Snapadoo, Elle Woods!
Renee Zellweger – Her face is so scrunchy! Why is her face so scrunchy? Someone tell her to layoff those Lemon Bitch shots. Hiyo! What what?
I follow dumb celebrity behavior so closely that oftentimes I can’t see the forest for the celebritards. I begin to assume that the whole of Hollywood is caught up in the basest of actions, lowest of morals, and heights of ineptitude, both mentally and physically. I am now immune to obnoxious socialites, inane quotes, patronizing interviews, and dumbed-down entertainment. I have begun to hate the thing that I love.
But then I remember that that’s not the case. Sure, not everyone in Hollywood is a Rhode Scholar, but surely not everyone is an idiot, either (hell, Geena Davis is in Mensa and Dolph Lundgren has a PhD from M.I.T.!). I remember that some people still care about the craft of acting, the craft of filmmaking, and the craft of being a respectable human being. Most of all, I remember that the reason I feel this way is not due to the majority, it’s due to three people.
Britney, Paris and Lindsay.
The bad apples, the flat beer, the assy chicken McNuggets, or whatever bad food analogy you want to use, those three girls are the reason I hate Hollywood right now. It’s just them. And their inability to keep their crazy in check. Their remarkable way, and I do mean remarkable, to continually find new ways to screw up. To destroy lives others would kill for. To piss on their god given talent (for the one that actually has some). To hate themselves, so wholly and so publicly.
We used to just joke about it and let it slide. “Oh, there goes Paris driving drunk again! What a spoiled little girl! Another scary, yet hilarious, cry for help from Britney! Let’s ignore her and instead post pictures of her fatty thighs. BURN!” But you know what? It’s just not funny anymore. And it has got to stop.
If Lindsay Lohan was an athlete, they would have kicked her out of the league two seasons ago. If Paris were a student at a University she’d have been on double secret probation since the last millennium. If Britney were just an average girl, she’d be tragic. Even more so than she is now. But society would have taken care of the problem. Society would have treated the problem with respect. Society would not have put these lost girls back into harm’s way. And we should all be ashamed of ourselves that haven’t followed suit.
Every photographer that sells pictures of these girls coming out of clubs is contributing to their downfall. Every tabloid that popularizes them, while at the same time exploiting them, is contributing to the breakdown of their mental health. And every producer, executive or company that employs them is contributing to their never-ending means of acquiring that which destroys them.
Lindsay Lohan was arrested yesterday for drunk driving, possession of cocaine, and for chasing down her assistant who had resigned because she couldn’t handle Lindsay’s crazy lifestyle. This, while she was wearing an alcohol monitoring device put on after her last drunk driving and cocaine possession arrest earlier this year. And let’s not forget, she’s fresh out of her second stint in rehab since the Super Bowl.
Britney has been having a breakdown of Anna Nicole-like proportions since her divorce last fall, and she’s a mother of two. She’s shaved her head, been to rehab no less than 7 times, posted countless insane messages on her website, partied every night, flashed her vag and her tits, disowned her mother, ignored her children, dressed like a crazy person, and generally looks like more of a scumbag than her scumbag ex-husband. And again, she’s a 26 year-old mother of two.
And Paris, well… she’s Paris. She was back in the clubs twelve hours after getting out of jail. And she went on a vacation to Hawaii while on probation (a crazy big no no).
What do these girls need to do to get the help they so desperately need? Rehab is a joke to them. The justice system favors their celebrity and throws leniency at them to the point where the girl’s don’t see consequence to their actions (it took five driving mishaps before Paris saw jail time. I’d have been in jail after the second one.). Their friends and family are obviously no help. And the blog community reveres them because their wacky shenanigans drive up traffic (I know I’ve reaped the benefit of their misfortune). So where’s the recourse for their actions? Where can they go? Who will step up?
This goes beyond preferential treatment. People make mistakes and are forgiven. Hollywood loves to embrace those seeking redemption, provided they are worth the effort. If Lindsay didn’t show enormous potential, she’d have dropped off the face of the earth years ago. Just ask Jodie Sweeten, she’ll tell you what it’s like to be on the other side. But we’ve flown far past letting these girls off the hook in the service of marketable or worthwhile talent. Whatever abilities Lindsay has are negated by her reputation and public perception. I will never again buy her as an ingénue, as a professional or even as an innocent, likeable girl. Those parts are gone for her. And I don’t even buy her as the stripper she plays in her new movie. And why would I? I’ve seen her do worse a dozen times. I know the person she truly is because she’s fucked up so egregiously so many times that we are unable to ignore it.
I can watch Bruce Willis drunkenly curse at a basketball game and not think less of him. I can watch Victoria Beckham try to be funny and accessible on her reality show and not think poorly of her (case in point: she’s a celebritard who takes care of her kids, never gets arrested for drugs or alcohol and seems to be in a loving, stable relationship. That’s how you do celebridom!). I can even look at people like Matthew Broderick who killed a person with his car, or Halle Berry who performed a hit and run, or Winona Ryder who so famously shoplifted, and not decry their existence or continued career. They made mistakes, they apologized, they didn’t let that part of their behavior continue. They never glorified in their malfeasance. Paris and Lindsay seem to revel in their ability to do harm and get away with it. They seem to enjoy being this character they play (though I think the idea of them playing characters and it not being their true personality has long since been abandoned).
I’m just sick and tired of awarding popularity to these stupid girls. And I refuse to endure it any longer. If one of those girls was a friend of mine I would not being laughing at them, or pumping them up. One of my three best friends is a functioning alcoholic. She used to like to stay relatively sober for most of the year, than go completely balls out of her mind during the summers. She called it “her time to drink”. And I had to watch her destroy herself every time it got warm outside. One summer I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was tired of the bad behavior, tired of holding her hair back while she puked on her lawn, tired of walking in on her hooking up with some sleezy dude (on my bed!), and just tired of her being an all-around shitty friend. So I told her I was done; that when she decided to clean her shit up, she could come find me. And I walked away. It was the only way I could get through to her how much I felt her actions were hurting her. And we didn’t speak for a long while. Eventually she called and apologized, promised not to hit the drink so hard. And I forgave her.
That is until the behavior returned. And I promptly disowned her. I wasn’t going to show her that I tolerated her actions. We stopped being friends for more than a year. It was sad and lonely and awful. I missed my bestfriend. But she cared more about destroying herself than about herself or our friendship and I can’t abide by that. One day many moons later she was in town, we hung out, and it was nice. She was her old self again. She was in school. She had direction and purpose. She was past her recklessness. She was my friend again. If my cutting her out of my life helped in any way to prompt her life change, than it was worth it. Now we are as close as ever, and I even take her to wine tastings every now and again!
I hope these three famous lost girls have someone in their life that will treat them the same way. I hope they have something to push for and look forward to when they finally turn it all around. I hope one day they look back and are disgusted by how they acted. I hope they apologize for taking away the potential we saw in them, and for degrading the opportunity we afforded them.
I’ve past the point where I find this funny, so I’m not longer gonna allow it on this website. From this point forward I will no longer be writing about Britney Spears, Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan unless it specifically relates to their acting or singing work. I won’t make fun of their partying, their drug use, their alcohol dependency, their clothing (or lack thereof), their boytoys, their obvious insanity or anything else that is tragic about them. I’m just not going to do it. That’s my contribution to their recovery. It’s my contribution to the recovery of the belief that Hollywood has good people living and working within it. That all actors aren’t sad, drugged-up, party-whore burnouts.
My contribution to the hope that future generations of Celebritards learn that this type of attitude and behavior is, as Paris stated in her Barbara Walters interview, “no longer cute”. And to the hope that I never have to turn my humor website into a soapbox like this, ever again. I like to have fun and make fun here, and nothing about this story, or any of the hundreds of similar stories that have come out about these girls, is funny anymore.
Please check out this clip of Craig Ferguson talking about his feelings on the February Britney Spears head shaving trainwreck. I agree with what he says 100%, and it was this speech that prompted my questioning of how I write about celebrities, and the effect those choices have on me.
In many ways celebrities are exactly like Transformers. They may walk through the day in their “civilian” form, but when the time comes they transform into all manner of characters (doctors, lawyers, cowboys, the pervert from Happiness played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman; which should not be confused with the pervert he played in Boogie Nights. Or Capote.). Their livelihood is predicated on the audience believing their transformation. And their ability to do so convincingly is what makes us love them. This is why the success of Michael Bay’s Transformers is not at all surprising. Audiences want to see transformation, whether in celebrity or robot form (it also helps that in robot form they blow a bunch of shit up and fight each other. Also, long lingering shots of Megan Fox’s abs doesn’t hurt.). We want to watch an epic spectacle of people overcoming obstacles, growing up in the face of adversity, finding love, becoming better people, and long lingering shots of Megan Fox’s abs. Transformers has all of those things, plus occasionally big fucking robots fight each other.
Watching the flick got me thinking about what I’d want to transform into. I doubt I’d pick a vehicle, just because I’m not that big a fan of cars, I have no interest to be around other cars (especially on a LA freeway), and I’m not exactly practical should the need arise to transform into my robot self and I got a car full of people (unless I wanted to crush the hell out of them, but then I’d have blood all over my paint job and that’s not cool. You cannot get blood off of leather, I’ve tried.). I’d rather be something cool like the Decepticon who transforms into the CD player. I’m completely invisible in a room, I don’t call attention to myself, I can choose not to play country music and when I want to do some nefarious shit, no one suspects the dinky Sony with the broken six-disc changer to transform into this bad ass little robot that can hack the planet Zero Cool-style. Or maybe I’d just transform into Dakota Fanning, so not only would I be a well-respected young actor with limitless potential, but I’d also be an infamous, exceedingly lethal Master Assassin. Also I’d be blonde, and that looks like fun.
Whenever I pull a J.D. from Scrubs and start daydreaming absurdist pop culture scenarios (like really, where would I hide all my body hair if I transformed into Dakota Fanning? Precocious child stars do not look like tiny manscaped clones of Robin Williams.), I like to extend my imagination into the realm of celebrity. As soon as I started picturing myself becoming the tiny star of Uptown Girls, I was flooded with thoughts about what celebrities might transform into, besides the characters they play on-screen.
Here’s what I came up with (categorized in proper Tranformers good vs. evil groups):
My power is more powerful than your power.
My funny is funnier.
I’m Scrunchy Von Scrunch Scrunch
My whoa is better than your whoa.
L-I-V-I-N!
My manly is more manly than your manly.
My talent is funnsmartandgreat.
I’m already my prepping my next reality show.
My TV show is more confusing.
I’m hotter.
I’m more annoying.
Your Oscar speech isn’t very good.
My batshit crazy is crazier than your batshit crazy.
Your cleavage owes my cleavage $20 bucks.
My jiggy smells like baby wipes.
My better.
My better.
Is better than your better.
My better is better than your better.
Thank you very much for coming.
Better words will come from better writers today, and as such, I will not attempt to editorialize on the impact of 9/11 nor its unending societal reach six years later. I am not a newsman or a pundit, I’m not a D.C. blogger nor a member of a political party. I lost no one in 9/11 and I know very few people that were even remotely affected by the tragedy. 
It’s just not funny anymore. And I’m sick of it.
Britney has been having a breakdown of Anna Nicole-like proportions since her divorce last fall, and she’s a mother of two. She’s shaved her head, been to rehab no less than 7 times, posted countless insane messages on her website, partied every night, flashed her vag and her tits, disowned her mother, ignored her children, dressed like a crazy person, and generally looks like more of a scumbag than her scumbag ex-husband. And again, she’s a 26 year-old mother of two.
I’m just sick and tired of awarding popularity to these stupid girls. And I refuse to endure it any longer. If one of those girls was a friend of mine I would not being laughing at them, or pumping them up. One of my three best friends is a functioning alcoholic. She used to like to stay relatively sober for most of the year, than go completely balls out of her mind during the summers. She called it “her time to drink”. And I had to watch her destroy herself every time it got warm outside. One summer I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was tired of the bad behavior, tired of holding her hair back while she puked on her lawn, tired of walking in on her hooking up with some sleezy dude (on my bed!), and just tired of her being an all-around shitty friend. So I told her I was done; that when she decided to clean her shit up, she could come find me. And I walked away. It was the only way I could get through to her how much I felt her actions were hurting her. And we didn’t speak for a long while. Eventually she called and apologized, promised not to hit the drink so hard. And I forgave her.
In many ways celebrities are exactly like Transformers. They may walk through the day in their “civilian” form, but when the time comes they transform into all manner of characters (doctors, lawyers, cowboys, the pervert from Happiness played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman; which should not be confused with the pervert he played in Boogie Nights. Or Capote.). Their livelihood is predicated on the audience believing their transformation. And their ability to do so convincingly is what makes us love them. This is why the success of Michael Bay’s Transformers is not at all surprising. Audiences want to see transformation, whether in celebrity or robot form (it also helps that in robot form they blow a bunch of shit up and fight each other. Also, long lingering shots of Megan Fox’s abs doesn’t hurt.). We want to watch an epic spectacle of people overcoming obstacles, growing up in the face of adversity, finding love, becoming better people, and long lingering shots of Megan Fox’s abs. Transformers has all of those things, plus occasionally big fucking robots fight each other.
Whenever I pull a J.D. from Scrubs and start daydreaming absurdist pop culture scenarios (like really, where would I hide all my body hair if I transformed into Dakota Fanning? Precocious child stars do not look like tiny manscaped clones of Robin Williams.), I like to extend my imagination into the realm of celebrity. As soon as I started picturing myself becoming the tiny star of Uptown Girls, I was flooded with thoughts about what celebrities might transform into, besides the characters they play on-screen. 
The Celebrity Decepticons
