Woody Allen, so not down.

For the first time in years, I read (if you can even call it reading) Star this morning: the celebrity-gossip-ass-wipe of a magazine with the "52 Best and Worst BEACH BODIES!"  It's much more hilarious than I remember. The "best bodies" happen to be striking a favorable pose. The "worst bodies" are slouching, or bending down to pick something up (the fat fucks!).

I don't think gossip magazines will be hit too hard by the "print media tragedy."  There will always be a market of people interested in the fact that Mary Kate drank vodka on a plane without (gasp!) eating anything, a market of people that need to be reassured that "Celebrities" are "Just Like Us," which basically means that they eat Cheese Doodles. 

On the contrary, I prefer to think that celebrities are alien creatures that never eat Cheese Doodles, sleep, defecate, or form thoughts: they simply have 6-year-long publicized love triangles and occasionally appear in motion pictures. 

My favorite quote in the entire magazine:

"He's...the Silm-Fast, Diet Coke of vampires." -Stephen Moyer of True Blood on Robert Pattinson. Hells yes.

After submerging my brain in goo, I decided to redeem myself by reading The Onion. You should read about The 12 Things Woody Allen Just Doesn't Get.  I also found a great article yesterday that is totally on point about the difference between Pixar and Dreamworks.

Oh, and end note: two six-year-old black kids on the 6 train told me I'm cute. Their lesbian parent's proceeded to cute-call me as I exited.  My day is officially made.