“Well, by 25 or 26, I want to see myself, like, married or start looking for a family. I want to be a young dad. I want to be able to have done what I wanted to do – to be successful, to do a movie or whatever.”
Well, this is it, ladies. The time’s come to saddle up and move in on The Biebz, and may the best woman win. It’s going to be rough out there – I’m not going to lie, there could be casualties – but this is the moment of truth. This is the time to decide if you’re tough enough to follow your heart and woo Justin to make all his dreams come true.
My first step? Well, I shouldn’t tell you, but I’m going to send Selena a letter describing my (fictional! [so far]) secret affair with Justin so that she leaves him, that way I won’t have to worry about some bitch and I can swoop in while he’s emotionally vulnerable.
Then, a week ago, we discovered that Ronnie didn’t murder Mike after all. Instead, Mike gave himself a concussion, ha, ha, when he rammed his own head into a stone wall. For the rest of last week’s episode, Mike moped around in sunglasses and a neck brace, milking his minor injuries for more than they were worth. Snooki—who is still furious with Mike, incidentally—was, alas, the only sucker who bought into Mike’s one-man pity party. The entire episode, in a hilarious nutshell:
OK, you’re all caught up.
In this week’s episode: Seems like Ronnie genuinely terrified-slash-embarrassed himself with his own out-of-control temper, and now he’s trying really hard to be sensitive and wise. Last week I was unconvinced by this new leaf, but this week, I felt like he was maybe sincere. He keeps trying, especially, to make amends with Mike; after a therapeutic talk, Mike agrees to, uh, take off the neck brace. (Finally!)
In the meantime, Vinny and Pauly D have come into their comedic own. I’m not kidding. They have a natural, witty rapport that—listen, I’m really not kidding.
Vinny and Pauly D have never been the Cast Idiots, no, but they’ve finally achieved some meta self-awareness, and now they’re acting like the chorus in a Greek tragedy. Y’know: mocking their fellow castmembers; staging parodies of events that have just transpired; serving as the audience’s lens, basically. It makes a certain sense—Pauly is the eldest of the cast, while Vinny is probably the brainiest.
Cliff Robertson passed away yesterday, just a day after his 88th birthday. Younger filmgoers will know Robertson best as Uncle Ben Parker in all three Spider-Man movies.
Robertson won an Academy Award in 1968 for his heartbreaking starring turn in Charly. He was especially memorable in 1963′s PT 109 for his portrayal of President Kennedy—in fact, Robertson was Kennedy’s own first choice for the role. Robertson wasn’t above TV, however: he appeared in episodes of Batman and The Twilight Zone, among others.
But Robertson is best remembered for, of all things, reporting that his then-employer, David Begelman—who was, at that time, the head of Columbia Pictures—had forged a check for $10k. Robertson’s report launched “Hollywoodgate“; in all, Begelman had embezzled $75,000 (in 1978 dollars!).
Blowing the whistle on Begelman had been a gutsy decision, and indeed, Robertson was blacklisted as an actor in the following years. His career never quite rebounded. (In 1980, Begelman became CEO and president of MGM.)
On the subject of his latter-year career revival, Robertson said:
Since Spider-Man 1 and 2, I seem to have a whole new generation of fans. That in itself is a fine residual.
Robertson was reported dead once before—in 1941, following the attacks on Pearl Harbor. (Obviously, he was OK.) In a twist of irony, he wasn’t actually able to serve in WWII due to his eyesight—which is funny, considering how many “war pictures” Robertson made as an actor.
Us Weeklywants you to know that little Suri Cruise stepped out onto the streets of Greenwich (NYC) wearing a pink bowler hat and bright red lipstick. Ugh, the camera loves this child.
It makes me nervous when kiddies don’t wear age-appropriate things, maybe, but Suri looks darling. Plus, she dresses like a little old lady. No harm in that! (Maybe Suri is the next Tavi Gevinson! But only if she wants to be.) And the kid gets away with so much “dress-up”—just like the little girl who convinces mom to let her wear her sequined tutu to Wal-Mart.
Anyway, I was looking for better pictures of Suri on the ol’ photo wire, and the paparazzi were still waiting for Suri at the door of the family’s apartment later in the afternoon (creepsville). By then, Suri had lost the bowler hat and matching wrap, as well as most of the lipstick—all her little accessories, packed away by the nanny, no doubt.
I guess grown-ups do that, too: we leave the house in uncomfortable things that looked nice in the mirror, but a few hours later we’ve taken off the jacket, the scarf, the earrings, trading style for practicality. Kids refuse to suffer as long as adults do, though. As soon as that felted hat gets itchy, it comes right off. Take notes, grown-ups.
Listen, drunk girls of New York City: I know you’re super excited. You’re so excited about everything. But the next time you are at legendary Rock and Roll Karaoke Night at Arlene’s Grocery, and Emmalovin’ Jim Carrey, freaking Jim Carrey, gets up to do a rousing rendition of Radiohead’s “Creep,” please, please refrain from screaming the lyrics—which, congratulations, you almost know!—over the top of the guy with the microphone.
I understand the instinct to scream all the lyrics. I do. But when I went to see Weird Al live in concert three months ago, I sat between two friends who knew all the lyrics and therefore sang all the lyrics. I knew all the lyrics, too! And it was hard for me to not sing along! But instead of hearing Weird Al, all I could hear was D on one side and M on the other side, and it was exactly like sitting in their living room and listening to them sing along with YouTube, as they do. Also, I briefly dated a guy whose excited “Hey! I know all the melodies!” scream-humming (yes, scream-humming, because there weren’t any lyrics) features prominently into every video I ever taped of the band the Advantage. THANKS A LOT, GUY-I-BRIEFLY-DATED.
OK, I watched the video a second time, and sure, maybe Girl-Singing-Along isn’t that loud. But in watching this shaky iPhone footage on YouTube, I am reliving the horror of A) being too short to see anything, and B) having to stand next to someone who also knows all the words.
Otherwise, this video rules. What do you think? Is Jim Carrey’s rendition of “Creep” better than Conan’s?