If you’ve been watching Project Runway this season, you are aware of who the editors have pegged as “the Villain”: Jeffrey Sebalia, he of the weak-chinned and windy neck tattoos. Throughout the season, people have compared Jeff to last year’s pseudo-villain Santino, who at least redeemed himself with a killer Tim Gunn impersonation. Both of them are misfits, and both prefer shredding a hem rather than stitching one. Which is why Santino’s following Myspace bulletin struck us as so funny. They’re friends!
So Bravo’s Project Runway 3 is having a Fan favorite contest…..
Winner get $10,000….
Vote for my friend Jeffrey Sebelia,
If you’ve been swayed by the editing of this complex man, DON’T BELIEVE THE HYPE!
Jeff’s the real deal and I’m in 100% support of him.
P.P.S. Jeffrey is Jeffrey, Santino is Santino. Jeffrey is not this season’s Santino. Or trying to be anything other than himself. McQueen is not trying to be Westwood…. In many ways Jeffrey and I couldn’t be more different. Comparing us, as Heidi did in the first episode, just shows her ignorance. (I often wonder if she knows what she’s looking at, ever?) Unfortunately, I received too many comments already that reitterate Heidi’s sentiments. Jeffrey is as passionate as I am about creating HIS idea of beauty. RESPECT IS MUTUAL.
Defensive much? And I know he did not just call Mizz Heidi Klum ignorant. It seems pretty universal that lederhosen lingerie is so not the sexy.
Instead of making one up, here’s what Brad had to say about this pic: “That’s the picture that’s going to end up when I have breakdown or something … if I get arrested for a DUI later on, make racial slurs or something.”
Well, he set it up, now it’s time for you to knock it down. Leave your Captions in the Comments now.
Ever wonder what it feels like to be Derek Jeter on the field at Yankee Stadium? One easy way is to buy some high-waisted Z. Cavariccis and morph your face into a way handsome baby. But another cheaper, more plausible way is to follow in the footsteps of one prankster, Rob Lathan, who set up a brilliant chanting scenario at Yankee Stadium. It goes like this: Rob walked the aisles “looking” for his seat, while his friends kept yelling “Rob! Rob!” to get his attention. Soon, other strangers joined in with the Rob chanting, while Rob, seemingly deaf, aimlessly looked around for his seat. Some strangers got creative, changing the chant from “WHERE IS ROB? WHERE IS ROB?” to the more straightforward “ROB’S RE-TAR-DED (CLAP CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP).” Every time Rob made an appearance in a section, the crowd would go wild screaming his name. The result? By the end of the game, a Rob apperance would cause the entire stand to jump to their feet and shout his name. People wanted pictures, autographs, starlets threw themselves at him. For the rest of the night, Rob was Derek Jeter. We really hope he gets tested.
Read about the prank and see fan photos here. Pure genius!
Hollywood couples come and go so quickly it’s easy to assume that celebrities don’t work as hard as the rest of when it comes to building solid relationships. We think they’re flighty. We think that once the initial infatuation starts to die down, the average movie star will cut and run, never to think of their ex-lover ever again. Well, in the case of Kirsten Dunst and Jake Gyllenhaal, we couldn’t be more wrong. Those kids gave it their all. Just look at what Kirsten had to say in a recent interview:
â€œJake and I couldn’t last. He’s a stay-at-home boy and I’m an out-on-the-town girl. We tried to spice things up – we had sex in cars, in the bathroom and even by the sea. The only place we didn’t have the guts to try was in a walkway in a hotel because we thought we might get kicked out if we were caught.”
So there you have it; celebrities really are just like us. And to think, if only they were able to have sex in that walkway, maybe they would’ve lasted longer. Like, at least 6 or 7 minutes longer (depending on how tired Jake was).
You don’t want to laugh at this. You really don’t. It’s too soon, you say. The acting is terrible, the effects are amateurish and the concept isn’t all that clever, you claim. But then you watch it. Twice. And that’s when you realize, dammit, that Super Mario Brothers music makes everything kinda funny. Even this.
Thanks to tonygarcia for Dropping this (and once again insuring that we go directly to hell.) Got something you want us to see? Drop it now!
If you were closet fans of the Anna Nicole Smith show on E!, as we were, you will surely remember her teenage son Daniel. It was the strangest thing — there was his Mom, former Playboy Playmate, bit of a loose cannon, tabloid fodder and butt of many jokes. Then there was her son, who against all odds seemed like a really nice, normal teenage boy. Well, we are saddened to report that Daniel Smith passed away yesterday while vacationing in the Bahamas. He was only 20 years old. Anna’s attorney Howard K. Stern reports that they do not believe drugs or alcohol played a part in the passing. This tragic news comes only a few days after Anna Nicole gave birth to a healthy baby girl. We are genuinely saddened by the news — because, let’s face it, deep down we all love Anna Nicole. We wish her our condolences and hope that, for once, the media will step back and allow this woman some privacy.
It’s Best Night Ever for Sunday, September 10th! Michael is here to walk you through the best of Sunday night tv, including The Simpsons, Family Guy, and The War at Home!
While waiting to see Step Up the other night (I positively adore films about people overcoming life obstacles through the power of dance), I saw a preview for Zach Braff’s new movie The Last Kiss, which unexpectedly made me so physically angry that I literally wanted to get up and punch the screen. It’s not that it looked like one of those ridiculous movies with cross-dressing Wayans you always wonder who watches. On the surface, The Last Kiss actually seems like the kind of character-driven dark comedy I tend to enjoy. So why did I want to punch it? Three reasons:
(a) It’s a completely shameless attempt to exploit the few suckers who are so enamored by Braff’s highly over-rated brand of psuedo-indie pretentiousness that they’d actually shell out another ten bucks to see a cynically-produced carbon copy of Garden State, leading me to wonder:
(b) How many movies do we need in which Braff plays a charmingly conflicted twenty-something trying to figure out “what it all means” by staring sullenly at us from artful camera shots until he meets a girl who’s vaguely “different” because she does wacky spontaneous stuff like yelling into canyons in the rain, all set to a soundtrack of last year’s mainstream indie rock, which Braff clearly thinks is “edgy” despite the fact this life-changing music can probably also be found in a Toyota commercial?
(c) Based on this trailer, The Last Kiss appears to be the cinematic equivalent of a sensitive high school kid’s overwrought poetry about loneliness, which falls somewhere between footage of a loved one’s death and ‘Wayans Brothers Film Festival’ on the list of things I’d enjoy doing.
A lot of you probably love Braff and will say I’m being a harsh jerkface for expressing these sentiments, but watch the trailer after the jump and honestly ask yourself whether I’m totally off-base. But whatever you do, don’t help this movie make money by paying to see it, lest we be forced to endure an entire trilogy of Braff’s ‘Emo McHipster’ saga, which would undoubtedly result in an innocent movie screen getting the ever-living sh*t beaten out of it.