According to media reports, famed question mark-sexual / crazy person / sometime actress, Anne Heche, has left Coley Lafoon, her husband of five years, and begun shacking up with her Men in Trees co-star James Tupper. Notice something: there’s a lot going on in that sentence.
1. Anne Heche, in her non-infinite non-wisdom broke up her family to bone a fourth billed TV star, adding another to an already long list of reasons her child will need extensive psychotherapy.
2. She continues her crazy streak by leaving her baby daddy to hook up with a co-star who will inevitably drop her on her nutball head the moment ABC gets bored of their show and the cast moves on to other projects.
3. The non-brilliant co-star, James Tupper, knowing all that he must about his new paramour, agreed to this decision. She must be crazy good in bed (pun totally intended), or he’s hoping for some lesbian relapse threesome action for him to feel confident in breaking up a family, even one as potentially nuts as the Heche-Lafoon home.
4. The producers of Men in Trees are doing nothing to stop this eight-car pile up. They have a confirmed crazy person as their star and they’re letting her fuck up her personal life to bone her professional life co-star. Man alive, they need some producing lessons. You don’t let alcoholics go to a bar. You don’t let diabetics go to the jelly bean factory. And you don’t let Anne Heche near the crazy pills.
Am I surprised by any of this? Absolutely not. It’s Anne Heche, after all; she of the sudden lesbianism, and more-sudden heterosexuality sequel. She of the alter ego “Celestia”, the autobiography “Call Me Crazy” (hello!), and the claims of being descended from extraterrestrials. Also, she was in that shitty Harrison Ford island movie.
When you’re dealing with Anne Heche you know what you’re gonna get, and in some respects, that’s kinda nice. You know you’re getting a very pretty, (in a slightly mousy way) above-average actress who at any time may decide to go walking in the desert for a week, speak all of her dialogue in a space language, or bang the script girl or best boy depending on what she had for lunch that day. Basically, you wager all of her talent against the risk of the crazy. A lot of people take that bet and do well. I thought she was great in Wag the Dog, Birth, Donnie Brasco, Volcano, Return to Paradise and Volcano (suck it, Dante’s Peak). But whomever puts their chips down on the Heche line has got to keep in mind what they may potentially lose, should they win (This contradiction is much like the Rosie Perez theory of winning and losing from White Men Can’t Jump, except Anne is infinitely less annoying.).
And this why I have no sympathy for Coley Lafoon.
I mean he married her; it’s like he was asking for it! He married her less than a year after she stopped rug-munching America’s favorite gay day time talk show hostess. He married her after watching her be interviewed by Barbara Walters, where it came out that she had been mentally ill for the first 31 years of her life. He married her after he had met Celestia. With all that knowledge in his head, you have to assume (or hope) that he figured something bad might happen down the road.
This story is just a microcosm for the way we must all treat famous/crazy people. You take all the knowledge gained from seeing their work, their social life and their behavior in the media and you make the conscious decision to accept their bullshit and allow them into your life, or you tell them to sell their crazy someplace else. Coley Lafoon had to expect that Anne Heche would screw him over somehow, at some point. He just had to. I remind you, this was not a stable person. Not even by Robert Downey Jr. standards.
That got me thinking about other people who have no right to complain about their problems. For example, does Jennifer Aniston really have a reason to complain about her marriage falling apart? She married the sexiest man alive and then let him make a movie with the hottest creature on earth. What did she expect was gonna happen? That their respective hotnesses would be repelled like the plus sides of two magnets? She brought this on her self the moment she became Brad Pitt’s lady.
While Anne Heche continues to entertain us with her total psycho-crazery (and not entertain us with her wannabe Northern Exposure dramedy), let’s take a look at some other people with no right to complain (after the jump).
Renee Zellweger: Dammit, did I forget to sew my eyes open today? I knew I forgot to do something. Ah well, hopefully no one will notice.
Patrick Dempsey: Seriously, the hair? Looks good?
Since those glorious bastards at 
Well, I did not see this coming. But maybe it’s just me. The other day I was walking down the street when suddenly I had a panic attack because the whole sky started turning black. Where was the sun going? Then later that night I couldn’t understand why I was so tired at the end of a day. And then my stomach starting hurting, but I’m not sure why I was hungry, after all, I ate once already that day. Why do these things always happen to me? Why do celebrity marriages always end in tragedy? I’m so confused, and scared.
This whole union was, for lack of a better word, inevitable. I would venture that not a soul that follows pop culture would have suspecting these kids would be the next Newman and Woodward. Or even the next Tori Spelling and that first guy she married and then divorced to be with the guy she’s with now who knocked her up and convinced her to bail on Lifetime movies to run a bed and breakfast in NoCal, even though Lifetime residuals were the only thing keeping her from selling her stuff on eBay, and oops, too late (I think his name is Tom, or something). The Spears-Federline dissolution was so inevitable, I had refused to write about it. I’ll make jokes about Reese Witherspoon having talent before I spend brain power and typing time on the thought that this match made in trailer-trash Hostess Heaven would last beyond the release of her next album (which, by the way, is due out early next year). I just didn’t want to waste my time.
One year ago today I posted the first article on the re-launched TheJay.com (You can read that first post 
In January I made what some would consider an ill-fated decision to 
The third post I ever wrote was called “
Up until that point I hadn’t tried to market or advertise the site. For one reason or another I didn’t think I had written anything worth making a fuss over. But the Tom Hanks piece turned out really good. I happened to chance on the blog site for 
The answer, in short, was Keanu Reeves. I had long since been a fan of The One, and had been defending him to my friends and family for years. After seeing the success of writing about a quirk of a celebrity near the time of the release of their new movie, I knew it was time to write a Keanu piece, in time for his new (quality draining) Sandra Bullock weepfest The Lake House. So on June 6, 2006, late in the evening I posted “
Total # of Visits: More than 375,000
Some first impressions you never forget. The first time you saw Rocky facing up Apollo Creed. The first time you saw Christopher Walken dance. The first time you saw Angelina Jolie’s perfect untainted, un-Billy Bob-ed bumblebee lips in Hackers. Those first impressions help to shape our judgments of celebrities. Some first impressions are good (i.e Hugh Jackman kicking ass in the bar fight in X-Men and signaling there was a new badass in town) and some are not so good (It’s hard to take two-time Academy Award winning actress Hilary Swank seriously when the first time I saw her she was being romanced on 90210 by the be-mulleted Ian Ziering). But once you have that first impression, it’s very difficult to change it. 
You see, Mark Wahlberg has a giant mouth. It’s huge. I’m watching Boogie Nights wondering what the big deal is about his schlong, when I just saw him swallow the entire left side of Julianne Moore’s head. The damn thing freaks me out. So whenever I’m watching a Marky Mark movie, be it Three Kings or The Italian Job, I’m enjoying myself and his performance, but I’m always silently waiting for him to open his hugenormous maw and take a T-Rex size chomp out of the guy blocking his close-up.
Talk about first impressions. I’ll always remember her from the pilot episode of Lost where she’s running from the Black Smoke Monster, hides under a tree and starts counting slowly to five. It’s a close-up of her face, with her mouth taking up nearly the entire bottom half of the screen. You needed a wide-screen TV just to stop ABC from having to Pan & Scan. And seriously, why was she so afraid of the monster? She should have just gone out, opened her mouth and growled. Black Smoke Monsters are just like any other fictional animal, you show them dominance and they’ll back down. Either that, or be Mr. Eko. He doesn’t need a big mouth to take down the Black Smoke Monster, he just needs his sweet bible staff, molasses-slow delivery and non-symmetrical facial hair.
I really think Christopher Nolan got it wrong in casting Heath Ledger as The Joker in the next Batman flick. Sure it seems logical to have a one-time gay cowboy / blonde-ringlet sporting jouster / teen heart throb play the most famously sadistic villain in all of comics’ history. But wouldn’t it be more logical to cast someone who actually looks like a cartoon character? I mean, good lord, did Teri Hatcher always look like that, or did she fall into a vat of acid and couldn’t afford a better plastic surgeon? Her smile is literally ear to ear. I’m frankly scared of watching Desperate Housewives now. Who knows when she’ll open her mouth to talk and Eva Longoria will just fall in and disappear. It’ll be like the scene in Hook when the stuffed crocodile eats Dustin Hoffman. “Eva’s gone.” And then all the Wisteria Lane townspeople rejoice.
You know you have a big mouth when a movie bases its entire marketing campaign around it. Rosario Dawson’s mouth is almost legendary now, what with her half-kissing / half saliva face coating of Clive Owen in Sin City. Not to mention nearly decapitating wee little Colin Farrell in Alexander. Their sex scene was one part erotic, one part torture, and two parts snuff film. No wonder Colin turned to booze and pills. Anything to make him forget the time he spent in Rosario’s mouth. And let’s not even go into her work in Clerks 2. Watching her kiss the lipless Brian O’Halleran was more traumatic then the Jason Mewes tuck scene. She should stick to gnashing on A-list stars and espousing on the joys of dry humping like she did in Kids. That’s how I like to remember her.
Seriously, go back and watch Fear. We were a half-inch smaller Reese Witherspoon squirrel chin from losing the future Elle Woods to the gaping maw of Marky Mark. He just should not be doing kissing scenes with petite actresses. What if he misjudges his approach and ends of chewing on their ear, Tyson-style? He needs to stick with the puffy lippers, as we can’t afford to lose anymore thin lipped beauties. Kissing Charlize Theron in The Italian Job was the safest thing he’s ever done. Her puffy lips created a makeshift damn, thereby containing the Marky Mark Maw. Just think of who he could take out: Christina Ricci, Keira Knightley, Lucy Lui, Anna Faris. We need to stop the starlet swallowing while there’s still time. 
I know she’s a singer, but remember, not only was she on You Can’t Do That On Television (where I first was introduced to her), but she also played God. If I’m including Jesus on this list, I gotta include the big man (or woman, as it were). Alanis’s mouth is big beyond belief. Whenever I see her perform live the microphone looks like it was made to scale. When she opened her mouth and screamed to blow up Ben Affleck in Dogma, the ensuing carnage wasn’t even surprising. It just confirmed my fear of what she and all the other big-mouthed stars are capable of, should we ever truly piss them off. Ever wonder why Alanis-fiancée Ryan Reynolds got so buff so quickly? He was making sure that when the made love she’d have a harder time trying to swallow him. His muscles are a just a mere mouth deterrent. These are the measures one must undertake to survive in a world where at any moment the Morissette Mouth could end us all. I would say pray to God, but that won’t work, because Alanis is God!
