Scary Obsessed Fan Rattles Brad Pitt on Oprah

(photo courtesy of LaLateNews)

Yesterday, I got a long hard look at myself in the TV set. It was not by any means a pretty sight.

Brad Pitt returned to the set of Oprah plugging the Christmas Day release of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, a movie about a New Orleans man who ages backwards. I hear the special effects are to die for. Heck, the movie was in post-production for almost a year.

Aside from styling reminiscent of the late Clark Gable, Pitt filled the studio with the twinkle of Hollywood stardust, what I call the magic of Hollywood. He’s a person, yes, like everyone else, but with killer good looks and notable acting talent. I hardly ever watch daytime television, but this was one show I wanted to see as it aired.

That Oprah, I have to hand it to her. She’s now peppering celebrity interviews with home audience questions via Skype. These are not your grandmother’s cheesy call-ins with background pictures but real time webcam "I see you, you see me" exchanges. Skype definitely made the show more engaging. One bride-to-be appeared in her bedroom with a bed full of family and friends.

Top of the heap in clout and earning power, Pitt stands toe to toe with the greats, actors admired for craft and popularity not necessarily due to peer recognition, but for opening movies and resonating with a crowd. He’s a big fish in a huge pond glutted with wannabes. Everyone wants a piece of him no matter how those pieces are derived.

The Q and A ran rather smoothly until Christina from Ontario questioned Pitt about his body tattoos. At that point, the exchange turned on its head.

(video may be removed due to copyright and if so, don’t count on a replacement)

In the first place, Christina knew way too much about Pitt for comfort, like prey studied by stalker before ambush. Clearly, Pitt became very uncomfortable, refusing to divulge any personal information or put his tats on display. It was comical, really, in a "Lady, who are you and why do you know so much about my ice man tattoo?" kind of way. Then suddenly, it felt kind of scary. Poor Christina, I could see she felt it too.

At that moment, I glimpsed my reflection. Figuratively speaking of course, but no less startling. I too feed off Hollywood minutiae, petty details of lives steeped in fantasy glamour. What’s the harm in wanting to see a decorated body part? Why even decorate if not to show off?

As Pitt lamented the ever present din of paparazzi, as well as fences and walls he would rather remove but requires for privacy, I too wanted the inside scoop. As if answering Christina’s question might reveal the essence of this movie star’s shine, I really wanted to know about his tats. So did Oprah, though immediately after gentle prodding she backed down.

Despite being offensive or intrusive, Pitt owed a better answer to his fans. He chose acting for his livelihood and should expect people crossing the line. Without fans who feed off his star power, he’s like any other bit player on Broadway.

On the other hand, I can’t imagine what it must be like to live in a fish bowl. The constant presence of cameras and strangers approaching wherever one goes must be unnerving. Can a fan’s desire to connect go too far?

At the end of the day, none of it matters, gossip tidbits or glitterati lives. Hearing Pitt speak about his children, life with Angie, or his Benjamin Buttons co-star, the fabulous Cate Blanchett, another guest on the show, won’t change the world or cure cancer. It’s entertainment like a good book or a day at the races, nothing more than fleeting fancy to pass the time.

Underage Sex Slavery Calls For Response and Mo' Gossip

"Call + Response," a new documentary funded solely through donations, explores the underbelly of the juvenile sex trade. With compelling first hand accounts by activists such as Madeleine Albright, Daryl Hannah, Julia Ormond, and Ashley Judd, along with performances by musical artists including Moby, Natasha Bedingfield, Matisyahu, Imogen Heap, members of Nickel Creek and Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers, the film goes undercover and calls upon everyone to stop the misery.


Too many drugs in the House of O'Neal. Daughter Tatum an admitted coke head and now the boys. Ryan O'Neal and son Redmond were arrested after police found a suspicious substance resembling methamphetamine. Lawyers for the tony two denied any wrongdoing.

Lego has created a cadre of glitterati to celebrate its 30th Anniversary. Mini figures such as Madonna, Amy Winehouse, Posh and Becks, and Simon Cowell will go on display, but won't be released to the public.

Another star-studded fundraiser for Barack Obama netted about $9 Million in contributions. The main attraction was a concert by Barbra Streisand. Notable celebrity supporters included Will Ferrell, Jodie Foster, Leonardo DiCaprio, Jamie Lee Curtis, Steven Spielberg, David Geffen and Jeffrey Katzenberg.

And speaking of Obama, actor Ed Norton has agreed to stop publicizing his upcoming documentary about the rise of Barack Obama. According to Norton,

We're making a historical record and not something to play a role in the election, so we have an agreement that this is something we won't talk a lot about or publicize until the election is over. I can't really comment on our access to Obama because it's part of our arrangement with the campaign, but it's a fascinating thing to be able to be documenting. We'll have an opportunity to talk about that process when it's all unfolded but we kind of have to stay off the record about it until it's all resolved.

Manhattan's Times Square Leaves Quite An Impression

Lights, camera, Manhattan!

There's something about the crush of people pounding the pavement that makes my skin start to crawl. I don't know, maybe it's me, but I need space while waiting for the "Walk/Don't Walk" sign to save my behind.

Everywhere you go in Times Square, people, lights, billboards, noise. Thrilling sure, but way too much intensity. Move here. Go there. Outta the way. Gotta get by. People fighting over every scrap of pavement. After an hour, I'm longing for the quiet and boredom of home. Give me the empty after midnight streets of Park Heights any day over the hotbed of Times Square.

Well, maybe not today.

Rube that I am, we hit Manhattan from a huge backup after the Lincoln Tunnel. Talk about traffic at a standstill. You try coming off the Jersey Turnpike into midtown to Times Square. Navigating a free for all doesn't get any more nerve wracking, especially to a clueless out of towner like me. Aggressive driving skills and my own "put a sock in it" attitude got us by, but imagine a courteous driver trying to inch their way into motion.

Meanwhile, the lights turn red, they turn green. Horns honk. Drivers swear. Red, then green. Red means stop and so does green. Nothing but me, the car idling in front of me, and some squeegee guy thrown in for good measure, just in case my innards weren't already coiling like a slinky on crack.

I had more than had my fill by the time we reached our destination. By then, it was all I could do avoiding weavers and darters while scoping out a garage. The last time I had parked on the street cost me a battery and $75 ticket. No matter the price, I'd learned my lesson. Now all I had to do was find a garage. Funny thing about successful public transportation, it makes garage businesses scarce. And jacks up the price in those that remain.

For the record, all day parking cost $35, a bargain when considering the replacement cost of a battery.

With the Caravan safely in the hands of our Samoan valet, we hit the ground running at 47th and 7th. As far as the eye could see, people, signs, lights, action. More action than some people may witness in a lifetime. There's the naked cowboy and lady liberty posing for cash. Cameras and more cameras clicking everywhere you turn. Open air sightseeing buses passing every few minutes. Billboards upon billboards, so many billboards they had to install a jumbotron to get attention. Smack dab in the middle of everything is a performance stage going wild. Live performers dancing, clapping and singing up a storm. And stores. Block after block of anything in the world anyone could possibly desire. If that's not enough, street vendors abound. Just wouldn't be Manhattan without the knock-offs and shysters.

But we were there for dinner and a show and the Big White Way delivered like a champ. Locating the discount ticket booth went well, but paying with cash did not. Nothing about needing cash on their website. Luckily, my blunder was easily remedied. With several working ATMs nearby, the closest at Bank of America, we scored excellent seats to Hairspray at the Neil Simon Theatre. You'd think we natives would tire of a musical set in 1962 Baltimore, but no, we can't get enough of the Pigtown fairytale.

The play has been running so long they now have George Wendt (Norm!) in the role of Edna Turnblad. And to our utter delight, Ashley Parker Angel as Link Larkin. Really, he is to die for, and such a good sport. After the show, he came out to sign autographs, even posed with us as souvenirs (which is more than I can say for old George). We were in heaven.

I suppose it would be rude not to mention other actors, but only a handful stood out in my mind. Ken Marks as Wilbur Turnblad, definitely a funny man of ultimate caliber. And the understudy for Penny Pingleton, whoever she is, hit a high note with excellent timing (sorry I lost the last minute change in casting or I'd mention her by name). And of course, Charlotte Crossley as Motormouth Maybelle. Loved the rhyme, loved the sublime.

Marissa Perry was fun and energetic, but needs help with her Baltimorese. The nasal twang got to me right off the bat and is so NOT the accent. Honestly, the "uh-oh-oh" in Good Morning, Baltimore sounded like Betty Boop on the crapper. After she graciously came out to greet fans and sign autographs I didn't have the heart to say anything bad.

But the cartoon nasal has got to go!

Wrapping this up because I'm tired and over extended. The food in New York is amazing. We dined at My Most Favorite Food, a clean upscale cafe with outdoor dining. No table for us outside, but snagged one in an out of the way corner with a bridal shower unfolding below. Hungry women unwrapping presents, now there's entertainment of a different color. Loved the homemade gnocchi. Hated the bill.

But hey, parking, good food and a show I expected to pay out the wazoo. The rest of our Manhattan experience? Priceless.

Hilary Duff Lands in Pool of Paparazzi

Once again the public's insatiable appetite for "stars as they are" causes apparent anguish in Tinseltown. This time, paparazzi trail former Nickelodeon powder puff, Hilary Duff.

But is everything as it seems?

The hunt for Duff as she jaunts about el Lay is a nagging head scratcher. Her career marinates in tabloid style sections, yet a gaggle of camera people jostle to document a rather blase ensemble. Run of the mill oversized undershirt pulled over black body suit topped with matching go-go boots, a definite fashion whatever. The in your face presence of multiple photogs seems oddly out of place for a routine trip to the mall.

Is anyone else thinking what's wrong with this picture? Seriously, how did that many lenses pinpoint Duff's location? Better yet, why?

Maybe they've planted imperceptible trailing devices on celebrity vehicles broadcasting locations over a secret short wave radio channel. Much like amateur crime busters monitoring police scanners, the paparazzi decide when to send out the dogs. On the day they trailed Duff, it was a slow one for broadcasts.

On the other hand, Duff's father is once again in the news, this time to report his arrest and incarceration in a Texas jail. Good photo opp? Unlikely.

Perhaps boyfriend Mike Comrie is really a mole, working behind the scenes as a double agent texting photogs known locations in exchange for cold hard cash.

Could the anguished Duff be her own tip off? Stars have been known to "leak" their location to tabloids, hoping to increase public exposure. Duff is currently shooting the Mark Polish film Stay Cool, along with Josh Holloway, Winona Ryder, and Chevy Chase. Word from the top may be to get out the buzz.

In that case, they have our attention.

Keely Bares Icky, Madonna Tour Sticky, and Phelps Gets Wicky

Pierce Brosnan's wife, Keely Shaye Smith, gets tongues wagging by going boogie boarding in an itsy bitsy teeny weeny very mismatched blue bikini.

Director Christopher Nolan's first choice to play Catwoman in his next Batman movie may already come with a lifetime supply of whips and masks. Rumor has it that Cher is in negotiations to join the tentatively titled "Caped Crusader" film which begins shooting in Vancouver early next year.

France's new First Lady may be with child. Speculation is running rampant after paparazzi photographed President Nicolas Sarkozy affectionately patting Carla Bruni's rounded tummy during a seaside vacation.

Celebrate the Sweet 16 of Miley Cyrus at Disneyland this October. Be the first of 5,000 outrageously ga-ga fans to splurge $250 a ticket, and you too can party like a teenage rock star. Tickets go on sale August 30th at 9 a.m.

Sticky and sweet doesn't do justice to these photographs from Madonna's new world tour. The 50-year old pop sensation still has the moves of a woman half her age. Go Madge!

Could Jennifer Love Hewitt be getting cold feet? After shedding 18 pounds, the Ghost Whisperer star postponed her wedding to Sottish fiance Ross McCall, claiming different shooting schedules caused a strain on their relationship.

A hospital reportedly run by Celebrity Rehab star Dr. Drew Pinsky is under investigation. Within the past five months, three patients have died under mysterious conditions at the Pasadena facility.

To kick off Rock The Vote's voter registration drive, singer Sheryl Crow will give away digital copies of her new album Detours to the first 50,000 people who register three friends to vote. People who log on to the Rock the Vote website or join the group mailing list can also get a free download of her new song, Gasoline.

Before the Olympics wrapped, there was Olympic freestyle. Or maybe it was doggie style. No joke. Read all the sordid details direct from an Olympic insider.

Sure, everyone wanted to see photographs of Fred Phelps, estranged father of Olympic superstar Michael Phelps. But now comes word that Michael bought a multi-million dollar Baltimore condominium, snagged a book deal, AND is snogging fellow Olympian, the "racy Aussie dolphin" Stephanie Rice. Bet Fred must be kicking himself about now.

David Arquette Struts Obama Stuff and Other Celebolitic Shorts

This site isn't the only one mixing up politics and celebrities. In today's "Bastard Child" feature, a sampling of mutant celebolitic spawn from around the country.

Is the "man-tango" too shocking for prime time TV? Celebrities weigh in on former 'N Sync star Lance Bass possibly dancing with a same-sex partner on ABC's Dancing With the Stars. The show's Season 7 cast will be announced on the August 25th broadcast of Good Morning America.

Little Coco Arquette's doting dad made an attractive fashion statement for Barack Obama. Better late than never, buzzchrome.

Hoisted "by his own petard." Sorry, but there's something hilariously funny about John McCain preceding the word "petard" in the same sentence. The belabored controversy over who's the biggest celebrity politician, Obama or McCain is starting to grate on my nerves. Who cares about McCain's scrubbing his website of celebrity references? Isn't it time for the candidates to explain their positions on more important issues like healthcare, the economy, energy development, and securing our borders?

Congressional legislation has become so boring they're packaging it as a movie preview to grab attention. Are the editors of The Congressional Record just frustrated screenwriters in disguise?

And speaking of screenwriters, now they're mining movie dialogue for political "truth." Oh brother. Valliant effort, but just another rehash of movies with a political theme. Where's the insight, the truth, the pizzazz? Maybe the line between celebrities and politics is so blurred, even a seasoned reporter can't separate fact from fiction.

Katie Holmes Goes Molly and Mo' Gossip

To beef up the profile of our virtual Hollywood correspondent Moan Quivers, we're starting a new Monday morning weekend wrap of tacky gossip and related oddities. No relation to celebrity politics whatsoever. Moani needs more to do around here.

Oh, oh, I'm so excited. I finally get my own regular weekly feature. This is such a step up from that tired pink bot. Thanks, peoples! I'll try not to let you down.

IT'S MOAN QUIVERS !! Wow. I'm getting slightly misty-eyed. Play it, Bruno!

No, wait. That was my other gig. Ah-hem, moving on.

These Aussie guys are party animals. Haimish and Andy, get it? You'd have to be really old. These two aren't. Feeling a tad kindred spirit with young Andy, if that is indeed his real name.

Miranda Kerr and Orlando Bloom continue to deny rumors of a break-up. Kissy-kissy. Next time don't be so public when cozying up to the grease.

Peek-a-boo Nahla Ariela Aubrey (aka Halle Berry's daughter). Oh, show her blink'n face already! That kid's gonna be driving a car before we get a good gawk at her.

Britney Spears would be meshuganeh to poo-poo her parents now. She looks better at this Generation Rescue gala than she has in years. Brit's back in the recording studio and taking a stab at a comeback. Now if she would drop that hideous paparazzo and date some normal people, I might have to stalk other places for dirt.

Daisy, sweetheart, no doubt you are the inspiration for this incredibly funny SNL skit. Dave, darling, there are better scraps in the dumpster.

I feel like I'm reading a spy novel. "The departure began at 3:50 a.m. .... minibus with darkened windows ... sudden spray of light ... very quickly organizing themselves inside ... 'Pouf!' they were gone." No wonder the French reported the birth of Brangelina's twins as a major American news event.

Katie Holmes has been channeling her inner Molly Ringwald. TomKat must be on the prowl for Hilary Swank roles.

Ooooo. Kelly Osbourne engaged? Doooo tell!

Dumkopf. If you hadn't pressured him to marry you in the first place you'd still be together. Sarah pines for George. Duh.

Speaking of pressure, if Jennifer Aniston knows what's good for her, she'll stop swooning all mooney-eyed. Dog Norman has taken an intense disliking to new beau, John Mayer, for good reason, I'm sure.

One of our favorite producer/directors Brett Ratner will be working with his Rush Hour trois star Chris Tucker again. The two plan to bring a big tell all Sinatra biopic to the big screen.

Brenda's back. Shannen Doherty will return for multiple guest spots on the new Beverly Hills 90210 spin-off, 90210. That muffled sound you hear is Aaron Spelling turning over in his grave.

So... ya think they should expand this spot to a daily?

Kung Fu Panda Kicks Chinese Behind

Since we can't seem to retaliate against the Chinese for poisoning our toys, tainting our pet food, and hacking sensitive computer operations, let's make 'em scream at the box office like a little girl. I'm talking a good old fashioned American patootey whooping.

Hiiyyyeeaa!

Over the protests of loyalists and nationalists, Chinese audiences turned Kung Fu Panda, Dreamworks latest animated feature film, into one of China's biggest summer blockbusters, grossing more than $12 million in a little less than two weeks. Chicken feed for Hollywood but big bucks in a country rife with piracy and anti-American sentiment. The movie is showing in various cities throughout the Communist regime, including the recently devastated Sichuan Province.

I don't know what's more idiotic, trying to exact retribution against Steven Spielberg by boycotting his production company's fluffy entertainment piece or withdrawing from the Beijing Olympics in an attempt to pressure the Chinese government to end genocide in Darfur. As if.

Look, I applaud the efforts of Spielberg, Mia Farrow, George Clooney, and everyone else trying to end the horrific Sudanese tragedy, but mixing politics with a world sporting event, or for that matter a benign cartoon, is a at best a symbolic effort making not an iota's worth of difference. The arts end up taking the brunt of the beating, a sad casualty of well-meaning but misguided efforts to rid the world of government oppression.

Just look at what they did to Harvey Weinstein. You tell me that isn't tit for tat.

Over Her Dead Body Official Competitor for 2009 Worst Picture Razzie

It's official. Over Her Dead Body bites the dust, is D.O.A., dreadfully formulaic, completely devoid of redeeming spirituality, not worth a pulse check, lifeless, makes six feet under look attractive, and fills otherwise earnest bloggers with a desire to commit suicide. Why throw away good money at a cinemaplex when the two minute and thirty second version does a brilliant understudy? Better yet, if you can stomach the black background, download the spoiler for your next bathroom break.



Too bad, really. "She was crushed (not touched) by an angel" is a great line. Sorry, Google still hasn't enabled line through wording at Blogger.

Isn't anyone willing to plug the twenty or so screen minutes of Eva Longoria Parker's firmly toned torso, skin tight arms, and pouty yet perky puss? Grapevine buzz for Paul Rudd's dead on comic timing isn't enough reason to endure this ninety-five minute requiem. But with a slightly different angle, testosterone might soon be lining around the block.

"I Got A Rock" And Other Halloween Treats

I've been holding back some stuff for tomorrow's fright fest. Once it's Halloween, this year will go on the fast track to New Year's Eve. Thought it might be nice to take a brief breather, starting with that coke machine - a stand in for the temporarily discontinued Whose Shoes game.



Ginny Weasley must have taken a wrong turn during her last quidditch match. I heard rumors to the effect that Dumbeldore's coming out party and the end of the popular series turned Mrs. Potter into a functioning alcoholic. Must have tried too hard to catch that dern snitch.


In a never ending quest to rid the world of malevolence, The New Fantastic Four do battle against the evil alien clone (emphasis on "new"). A fantasy film without thrills and chills. Doesn't actually fit the Halloween theme, but fancy footwork makes this clip too catchy to overlook.



Here's a real treat. It's me in my Halloween costume. I thought I'd hit the bars as Ruth Buzzy this year. Is she even alive? How I miss the old bag.

I'll end with a memorable viral vid, right on the money for those who revel in gore. Unfortunately, censors slapped it with an "R" before I had a chance to weigh in...[more]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, CHARLIE BROWN!

Reese Witherspoon and Jake Gyllenhaal Back Together...Again

I wish these two would make up their minds. They're on. They're off. They're canoodling. They're not. Their reps confirm. Their reps have nothing to say. After a painful divorce, she needs to spend her free time with her children. He's a soul searching settling down kinda guy. She's not ready to bring him home to the kidlets. He's already planning a Thanksgiving homecoming.


Please. Somebody. Stop the madness. I have to get off.

Revel in the quirky chemistry. Trust again. Let the love vibes flow. Don't push too hard. Don't be so needy. Before fans can spurt "Gyllenspoon" all over the Internet, create something lasting. Make it work this time. Don't make me beg.

Call me a cock-eyed optimist, but I think there's more to these two crazy lovebirds than meets the eye.

Adam Sandler Pounds Potter at the Weekend Box Office

Okay. I'm late on this. I know. Can anyone keep up with all the breaking news on the Internet? Come to think of it, I have been more distracted since I started this blog. Is it any wonder? Now I understand why most stories are reduced to a sound byte here or a video clip there. There's simply too much information to process. Eventually, I'll get the hang of things, but for now, please be patient while I develop a rhythm.

I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, the new flick featuring Adam Sandler and Kevin James, trounced Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at the weekend box office, to the tune of $34.2M v. $32.5M. The statistics already are obsolete. The part that interests me is how the take compares to previous Sandler blockbusters. Kinda shabby. And those didn't include Jessica Biel, sexiest woman alive, semi-nudie scenes. Hmm. Could be a sign we've only seen round one of Harry Potter and the Pounding of Potter Mania.

I forgot about second runner-up, Hairspray, rounding out the field at $27.5M. Just like Ross Perot tipping an electorial win for Clinton in the 1992 presidential election, Baltimore's own star-studded musical may have tipped the weekend gross in Sandler's favor. Unlike the presidential elections, in the movie biz, there's always next week. Critics can spend the rest of this week pondering and analyzing whether Sandler's triumph was a blip on the radar screen, TKO, or down for the count.

Quite accidentally, while phishing around YouTube, I came across this amazingly funny SNL skit. Saturday Night hasn't been this good since Phil Hartman, rest his soul, was one of its stars. I can't get over how much Travolta, who must have been guest hosting, looks like his Saturday Night Fever self. And Sandler's Epstein is a riot. Yes, under that Kotter fro is the voice of Shrek. And the suprise appearances from major TV stars of Kotter's time...well...I'm not going to spoil it. You'll just have to watch.

If anyone knows who played the part of the principal, will you please let me know? This time, I'm for real.