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Hey! America! You know that song you have that goes “Oh say can you see? By the dawn’s early light! Da-da-dum, dee-dee-dee, the actor called Rocket Redglare’s arse glows!” or whatever it is? Well, once again, it will be sung at a major sporting event where you don’t compete against anyone else in the world!
And who might be fluffing the lyrics to it at Super Bowl XLVI?!
Why, it’s the regrettably nice Kelly Clarkson who is very, very difficult to hate – unless you listen to her music.
When normal people have normal problems, it’s boring. However, when a famous person has normal problems, it becomes endearing. It enables us to coo “OOOH! THEY’RE JUST LIKE US!”
They’re not. They’re nothing like us. They are wealthy, bloated maggots who feed on our emotional connection to their image. They expect us to care more about their outpourings than our own.
And in the case of Kelly Clarkson, she wants us to give two hoots about the fact she’s never been in love. That accounts for why her love ballads sound so disingenuous then, eh?
Kelsey Grammer is a magnificently dislikeable human being. Away from his fine role of Frasier, he supports some real crackpot ideas. He thought George Dubya was a cool guy for a kick-off. Of course, this means he’s nothing like his most famous televisual role.
And it seems that us plebians aren’t the only people who wish he was more like Frasier.
On Piers Morgan’s chatshow (another dolt with a face like a doleful yam), he asked Grammer whether he thought his ex-wife, Camille, married him because he was a TV icon. Kelsey replied: “no, I think she married me because I was Frasier.” He really doesn’t know what to do with those toss salad and scrambled eggs.
Twilight fans, otherwise known as Twihards or obese pre-pubescent girls who need to go outside once in a while, are a notoriously crazy bunch. But one woman is determined to out crazy all of them by claiming she has some sort of right to be famous due to some arbitrary link with the series.
Hand model Kimbra Hickey, a woman who we’re sure has made up both her name and her job in order to appear slightly interesting, claims that it’s time she got her 15 minutes of fame from the poorly-written faux-Vampire franchise as it’s her hands that appear on the cover of the first book.
Why didn’t we see this coming? What are the two things that people love more than anything else? That’s right.
Meteorology and mechanically-reclaimed meatstuffs. And that’s why Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs is the weekend box office number one again. It’s not because no good films were released this week, or because all people are stupid. It’s because Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs finally combined the public’s twin loves of overcast weather and globs of nonspecific meat.
Or not. Look, it’s a cartoon about meatballs. We’re finding it hard to care about this one, to be honest.
For anyone who hasn’t seen the original 1980 version of Fame, it’s not exactly what you’d expect. Because you were expecting a grinning mob of leotard whores prancing around, squealing “feel the music!” to one another, whilst occasionally breaking rank to march silently towards a mirror, caressing their bodies, growling like tigers, weren’t you? Weren’t you? Go on, admit it. You were. And, for the most part, you’d be right.
But, the original film was so much more than that. It was bleak. It was brilliant. And the new one, apparently, is a big sack of turds. So says the Boston Herald and LA Times anyway, and they’ve SEEN it.
In the first outing, a cross section of New York “talent” is thrown together in a strict school for special people, who like singing, dancing and acting. The kids sometimes take time to play a cello in the canteen, or dash into the streets because a man in a taxi left his stereo on, and it’s playing loud music. Read More >>>
