During my lengthy (i.e. 48-hour) vacay at my parents' house,
I caught up on two Bravo reality shows I've been dying to see:
the new season of Kathy Griffin's "My
Life on the D-List" (aka one of my favorite reality shows
of all time), and Paula Abdul's "Hey
Paula." As much as I pretend I'm above watching D-List
celebs try to transcend their mid-level stardom with reality shows,
watching them order around multiple assistants is way more fun
than watching, say, Diana Ross.
For the show's third season, Kathy travels to London, and meets
Gervais. Gervais is, of course, the creator of the UK version
of "The Office."
It's hilarious to watch Kathy grill Ricky about his A-list friends
and what he really thinks of Madonna.
Kathy even makes up with my blog idol, Perez
Hilton, with whom she engaged in a vicious public feud.
Paula Abdul's show turned out to be as much of a trainwreck as
I expected. It's filled with bizarre ramblings and loopy speeches
I'm hoping are drug-induced. Otherwise, this woman needs help.
It's a miracle Paula's still famous, and hasn't been fired from
"American Idol" yet. She somehow holds it together on
"Idol" for a couple hours a week. But most of the time
she throws hissy
fits, cries, and generally makes her assistants' lives a living
hell. It's hilarious.
It's really only a matter of time before Fog City Journal gets
its own reality show. In the meantime, Luke Thomas and I plan
to apply for TLC's "Trading
Spaces" when the show comes to San Francisco. Of course,
we would actually need to trade spaces with two other fame-seeking
My first choice? Chris and Sarah Low Daly. My second choice is
h. Brown, but making-over an SRO might be a little too real for
I figure with my penchant for eccentric headwear, and Luke's
accent, we're shoo-ins. Americans love English accents. Duh.
Contrary to popular belief, just because I appear to be young
and hip does not mean that I'm actually young and hip. For a twentysomething
nightmare that fancies herself a D-List local celebrity, I don't
go out very much. I know, I know, it sure looks like I go out
a lot. But I mostly go to events (read: anywhere with an
open bar), and hear about hot spots through friends but rarely
make the effort to show up anywhere.
(Publicists, please put us on your lists for all open bar events).
Last night, our usual crowd of progressives and hangers-on attended
a bash for Julian Davis to celebrate his new job. Thankfully,
he decided to throw the party at Fog City Journal's newest neighborhood
on 7th and Market.
Despite the trendy trappings, it ended up being the usual salon
crew and lively conversation. The staff was nice, the music wasn't
obnoxiously loud, and the drinks weren't too overpriced. I'm always
a sucker for those specialty menus on the bar, and after one Adam's
Leaf, Luke and I switched over to the pomegranate margarita special
everybody else was ordering.
When Elaine Santore asked Bruce whom the Guardian would be endorsing
he replied without hesitation, "h. Brown."
Joe Lynn, Marc Salomon, h. Brown and Entertainment Commissioner
Kim Shree-Maufus, Debra Walker
CrackBerry Blind Items
Which political has-been keeps squatting in every political race
in the City, but probably won't run for anything? He and his coterie
of dreamers need to stop living in a time warp. It's 2007 and
y'all are no longer hot.
Survey says: "Time's up, loser!"
As my BFF, Aaron (aka CrackBaby), would say, "Time to retire
in Palm Springs, 'cause your Playas License has been revoked."
No More Heroes
Which blogger said the following about a newly appointed blog
editor: "He makes me ashamed to be a homosexual."