Friday, February 23, 2007
Photo courtesy of Star Magazine, which I, sadly, buy.
The first time I heard that Justin Timberlake had a new single called I’m Bringing Sexy Back I felt sorry for him. Had he never looked in a mirror? Caught a glimpse of himself in the window of Neiman Marcus as he was walking past? Saw his reflection in the hood of his Maserati? That scraggly He Can’t Possibly Have Chest Hair face is as far from sexy as you can get. Dude, call George Clooney and ask him how to do stubble. Shit, call me, I can tell you how to do stubble based on my long history with leg hair.
Then I heard the song and liked it. So I temporarily forgot about his inability to produce decent facial hair and convex pecs. But then I saw him on the catwalk during The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. (I can’t watch PBS all day you know). He’s singing Sexy Back and out comes the Brazilian stomper Gisele Bundchen. And I felt sorry for him. Again. He was singing the right song for the right woman but I kept hoping that one of her wings would knock his manorexic ass off the catwalk and snap his chicken neck like a twig.
Louise McLoserstene just came back from a month in Australia visiting her friends from the band Jeapster and stealing stuff from unsuspecting Aussie homes. A few days ago she and I cruised around the part of the Hollywood Hills where all the really, really big celebrities live. She and I also live in the Hollywood Hills but the slebs on our side of the Hills are Bradley Whitford, Kathy Baker, William H. Macy and the like. Not complaining. Just saying.
A Justin song came on, What Goes Around, Comes Around and we cranked it.
“That is such a kickass song, how could it be from Timberlake?” I asked as we pulled into a Starbucks.
“Because he was in a boy band.”
“It’s a great album; I have the CD.” Note to self, drop Louise as a friend.
“Really?” I thought that she had cooler taste since she listens to bands I’ve never heard of like Silverchair and Ours.
Sidebar: “Owls? That is a really stupid name for a band.” I said when she first mentioned them.
“Hours? That’s even dumber.”
“Oh.” All in all, Ours? Obviously not a great name for a band.
“Yeah, Jeapster and I listened to JT the whole time I was there.” Note to self, no really, get another friend. Preferably one who does not refer to Screech’s doppelganger as JT.
“McLoserstene, he’s not hot.”
“He’s not sexy.”
“He’s geeky and strange looking.”
“I can’t believe you’re not embarrassed to own a boy band singer’s CD.”
“So I guess you don’t want me to burn a copy for you.”
“Did I say that? I didn't say that.”
Buy it. Burn it. Steal it. Worth it. Shut up.
End of boy band chat.
Posted by Suzy at 12:28 AM