Fug House

BOB: It's so nice to be here with the twins now that they're legal. And still talking to me. I mean, seriously, these are good kids. You don't see Stamos here, do you? No. But they are.

MARY-KATE: I wish Stamos were here.

ASHLEY: Bitch STOLE MY LIPSTICK.

BOB: Although... you know what, I wonder if I should have a talk with Mary-Kate. She's basically wearing a boxer's robe. And that's messed up -- I mean, if anyone tried to fight her, they'd get a KO just by sneezing on her hard.

ASHLEY: Seriously, I can't believe she stole that. We don't HAVE to be LIPSTICK TWINS, beeyotch. You already have MY FACE without my permission.

MARY-KATE: Stamos loves a red lip. He told me that. He was talking about someone his own age, but whatever -- we're soulmates. I knew what he meant.

BOB: And also, she really needs to get her roots done. Like, I'm happy to see her, but the reverse skunk stripe thing is annoying the crap out of me.

ASHLEY: At least I did my makeup without scribbling on my face with a black crayon.

MARY-KATE: When Stamos is here, he always takes me into a corner and wipes all the smeared eyeliner from underneath my eyes. It's the most special time I ever spend with another person. Why else would I show up in public looking like this?

BOB: I'm not good at these kinds of talks. I wish Stamos was here. Everyone listens to that sexy bastard. Even I can't stay mad at him.

ASHLEY: I'm totally texting Stamos later -- he'll understand. He'll feel my pain.

MARY-KATE: I can't believe Stamos didn't show. Sigh. Smile through the heartbreak, Mary-Kate.

ALL: Oh, Stamos.

Fugsic Fugstinct: Fug

"For a woman whose blazer was recently ripped apart by a pack of rabid dogs," Sharon Stone thought, "I look pretty f'ing good."

Fugs on Ice

Oh MY GOD, Oksana Baiul.

What is UP with you? One day, you're dressed like a hooker in a particularly grim Law and Order episode , and today, you look like you woke up and wrapped yourself in a....damn, dude, I can't even come up with a pithy metaphor for what this looks like. It's like a Hefty bag married to a parachute crossed with a bean bag divided by a....GOD, I DON'T EVEN KNOW. I'm out. I'm out of words. I have no more words. If only I could skate my displeasure in a long program titled "Sweet God, What Is That Thing?" and set to a remake of the old Bel Biv DeVoe classic, "(That Dress Is) Poison." That would about cover how I feel.

Well Played: Reese Witherspoon

Britney Spears could learn a thing or forty from Ms. Reese Witherspoon. And not just about how to wield talent, or how to be a loving and attentive mother in Hollywood.

No, she could learn something very specific about The Bounceback: how to rise above a pending divorce without needing to run around town caked in hangover sweat, changing your hair color every four hours but leaving no doubt as to which curtain color matches the carpet because you can't resist airing out all your bits.

Reese Witherspoon kept a low profile until her divorce news died down in favor of stories like, "Britney and Paris: Lovers, Fighters, or Both?" and "Hollywood Nose Jobs: Name That Septum."

And then she showed up on the awards circuit in a series of understated but glam cocktail dresses that show off how toned and trim she is, looking as if she doesn't have a care in the world. She also refrained from shoving her tongue into the mouth, ear, or other assorted oriface of the first guy who looks like her ex/looks like he smells like her ex, or even the second guy she met who fit that criteria. Indeed, she appears to be taking it all in stride and putting bedhopping at a relatively low priority. Whether that's true or not is all her own private business, but the point is, she's done a bang-up job of putting up a public facade of normalcy and class.

However, I will say this: She'd better not drop any more weight, because Reese is getting to that familiar point where she is too skinny for her chin.

See? It's just very... chinny. Which is an incredibly eloquent observation, I know. But her face just needs to carry a little bit more weight to avoid the ol' wicked-witch chin.

So here's my solution: Britney and Reese should become best buds. Reese can teach Britney how to dress, how to behave herself, how to rise above a split gracefully and without providing five tomes' worth of custody-case evidence in favor of her rat-pig ex, how to dial it down a few notches and be photographed taking her kids to the beach or to a playdate or shopping, and how to stop overprocessing her hair; Britney can repay the favor by teaching Reese how to eat enough Cheetos that she takes the edge off her chin. Ms. Spears would thusly up her social profile and her personal hygiene, and Reese comes out of it all looking like a Nobel Prize eligible humanitarian with a face that's got just the right amount of softness.

Everybody wins!

Oh, but Reese: Careful with the cocktail dresses at the Oscars. They were fine for the first two bashes of the season, but don't get stuck in a rut here, okay?

SAG Awards Fug Carpet: Kim Dickens

Poor Kim Dickens. Her character on Deadwood -- prostitute/madam/sad sack Joanie Stubbs -- went through a lot of terrible things, most of which I can't remember because I was so fixated on her outfit throughout the run of the show. See, her character had a habit of wearing this terrible wee top-hat, with a long veil attached. I hated it -- perhaps irrationally.

I don't like this either, but I feel totally rational about it:

I was watching a TiVoed episode of What Not To Wear the other morning, and Clinton Kelly made the wise observation that mustard yellow flatters no one. What a terrible tragedy it is that his words of wisdom came too late for Kim. He also, I'm sure, would have said, if asked, that weird schlumpy bodices with bows that both make you look squashed and slumped over are ALSO flattering to no one. I want to run over there, grab the top of her dress, hoist it up about three inches, and tell her to leave the bad posture to the celebutantes. 

Frankly, I kind of wish she'd gone for the hat.

Fugolas Cage

In a desperate attempt to have a worldwide hit in Ghost Rider, Nicolas Cage has apparently taken a page from the Book of Hanks:

Unfortunately for Nic, trotting around in hair befitting an alleyway rapist isn't actually going to make his movie about a flaming skeleton biker look any less wretched.

What it might do is get him randomly sprayed by suspicious people with itchy trigger fingers wrapped around their pocket mace, but somehow I don't think the two experiences are in any way approximate of each other. Still, he does have National Treasure: The Book of Secrets coming up to console him. Movies about made-up mysteries of history apparently SCREAM for lead actors who look like their pockets are bulging with roofies. It will be so awesome when Diane Kruger's character returns for the sequel with a chestnut pixie cut, a French accent, and nothing to do except ask expository and often redundant questions of the male star.

Fugtory Girl

Inside a Factory Girl party, Anna Wintour is caught out without her signature huge dark sunglasses, and remembers too late that half the reason she needs them is because she has no poker face.

SIENNA: Oh, bollocks, look at THAT, it's Anna Wintour! Editor of Vogue! Isn't it amazing that we're both here together -- a total fashion icon on one side, and Anna Wintour on the other!

ANNA: ...

SIENNA: Look, Anna babe, I've got this fab idea for your cover. It's gonna be me, right? Wearing THIS: a fuzzy sweater and nothing but tights as pants. It'll be, like, neanderthal lady meets Shakespeare. But with some serious control top.

ANNA: ...

SIENNA: Of course I don't need control top, Anna! It just keeps my bits warm for whoever gets them later. Between you and me, I'm thinking maybe the Harry Potter lads. Several of them, actually.

ANNA: ...

SIENNA: Anyway, your cover with me is going to make everyone talk, you know, because EVERYONE will be wearing this soon enough and I'm offering YOU the chance to be at the front of the line.

ANNA: ...

SIENNA: By the way, I really like your coat, can I borrow it? I'd like to cut it up into one of these shirts, and then maybe make a pair of furry trousers out of it that I can wear once everyone ELSE is wearing control-top tights-pants, and I suddenly become incredibly bored with them.

ANNA: ...

SIENNA: Come on, Winty, give us something more than just a robotic smile. Are you thinking about how to express how avant-garde I am? Or are you just speechlessly pleased to find someone who understands fashion even more than you do? Or do you want to have a go at my tights-pants? Come on, let's hit the Ladies, you can slip them on.

ANNA: ... Repulsive. Repulsive. You are an utterly ridiculous girl.

SIENNA: Er... uh, what? Sorry, can't hear you, babe! Too loud in here. Anyway, must dash. I see a camera over there that I haven't hit up yet. Kiss kiss!

ANNA: Somebody fire her. Immediately.

Fug The Cover: Washington Flyer

We recently took a trip to our nation's fair capital for a wedding. It was mighty cold in DC, but the city greeted us warmly, and when we took our leave, it was with the satisfaction of a weekend well spent.  When waiting in line for security at Dulles, I spotted one of those freebie magazines you find at places like airports. I am, if you must know, a huge fan of the SkyMall. Where else can you find the Pop-Up Hot Dog Cooker [awesome], the Basho The Sumo Wrestler Table [classy!] AND the extremely unsettling Poison Oak Tree Sculptures, as well, of course, as an assortment of change counters and accessories for your dog? And so I expect this particular magazine to perhaps be trying to sell me a new robotic can opener. But what it is REALLY trying to sell me on is the possibility that the cover model is actually Alec Baldwin:

At first, I thought this publication was called Washington Fever (a rather catchy name for a magazine, I think), and that Alex Baldwin HAD one, which is why he looks so very orange. Frankly, he doesn't look like himself at all. Let me refresh your memory:

See? That's Alec Baldwin. Crinkly, amusing, ready to attempt to sell us some Schwetty Balls, and probably willing to show us his actual ones. We like it. Washington Flyer Alec, on the other hand, appears to coming directly from a Men's Warehouse print ad shoot. In fact, I'm not convinced that that's all Alec at all. I think maybe his eyes, nose, and mouth may all have been placed on the face of another oranger, less eye-bagged, even smarmier model in the hopes that exhausted travelers wouldn't notice that El Baldwin looks -- well, weird. But not us. We know the real Baldwin when we see him, and he's generally not the color of a mango margarita.

Which reminds us: we need to order that Margarator.

SAG Awards Fug Carpet: Mary-Louise Parker

Congratulations to Mary-Louise Parker for picking the one pair of open-toed partial-platform heels that are as frumpy as if they belonged to a geriatric stripper.

The pleated ballet costume isn't helping, of course. Its misguided "I'm 12 so I have an excuse for this in ten years when I look at the photos and hate them" youthfulness only further underscores the theory that those shoes were pried off the feet of an 80-year old prostitute named Hazel, whose heart gave out after she heaved the dominatrix whip one too many times, only to have a gross but enterprising Hollywood Boulevard shop owner liberate them and resell them for $50.

Maybe Mary Louise should play Hazel in the movie. America loves 3-hours-in-the-makeup-chair-every-day come Oscar time, so a wrinkled lady of the night who may sag but still shags is a perfect way to stretch her limits.

SAG Awards Fug Carpet: Rachel McAdams

Okay, children. Everyone, lie down on your mats, and close your eyes. We're going to play a little game of pretend.

Pretend you are Rachel McAdams. You are adorable and talented, and everyone likes you -- even mean, cranky bloggers -- because you are adorable and talented and seem normal and friendly and down to earth. You've got everything going for you. You have a totally cute boyfriend who finally shaved off his questionable facial hair, and who's getting nominated all over the place for his latest acting role. We assume that, somewhere in Canada, he's probably building a house for you. You know, just because. Things couldn't be better. And so, when the time comes for you to go with the boyfriend to an awards show, what do you wear, children? Think about it:

No. I'm sorry, kids. I believe in the power of imagination, and I want each of you to have a rich and satisfying inner life, but you simply can not wear that if you are Rachel McAdams. It is too short and too boxy to do your figure any favors and while no one loves the short, kicky Mod look more than I do, this looks like a very posh bath towel. Don't wear a bath towel to an event. Unless it's a pool party, and the 1st Annual Hollywood Pool Party Awards aren't until March.

So this is a setback, children. Keep your eyes closed, and let's all focus on getting Rachel McAdams into something stellar for the Oscars.

SAG Awards Fug Carpet: Jeremy Irons

"HELLO AMERICANS!

I am respected actor Jeremy Irons! You may remember me as the guy who was awesome in that movie where I'm married to Glenn Close and she ends up in a coma and it MIGHT have been my fault, or maybe from that movie where I'm totally creepy twin gynecologists! I was GREAT in those and you probably think, when you think of me, 'Oh, Jeremy Irons! He's a wonderful British actor, and when he's not playing roles in which he does totally creepy stuff to women, he works in poncy British costume drama!' And that's ALL TRUE. But now, I have a new role! In a show coming to YOUR American television sets. That's right! It's called Old Irons' Sides, and I play a
crime-fighter with multiple personalities who has the ability to morph into whichever personality is best suited to the crime in question. For example, here I am in costume as his personality 'Marlton', who's what you'd get if Carson Kressley and Chuck Norris had a baby. He's really good at tracking down people who default on magazine subscription and KICKING THEIR ASSES. Anyway, the show is going to be really riveting, I'm just saying. It's going to change all your preconceptions about me. Check it out! On The CW, of course."

Katie Fugmes

[Photo Source.]

GIORGIO ARMANI: Boo! It's me! HELLO!

POSH: God, I'm fabulous.

KAT(I)E: Hi Karl! Hi! It's me! Mrs. Cruise!

GIORGIO: KARL? I am not Karl Lagerfeld, runt. What kind of IDIOT would think I am Karl Lagerfeld?

KAT(I)E: Oh, wow. I'm sorry. It's just that you're both so... tan. Ha ha ha... ha.

GIORGIO: Quiet, Scientology Spice. Can you not see that I'm trying to start a conga line with the Queen of America?

POSH: That's f'ing right, darling. Thanks to the football deal for David, we're even MORE filthy, stinking rich.

KAT(I)E: That's great, ha ha!  I'm so happy to be here! Kar... er, Giorgio, I just wanted to know...

GIORGIO: BUY A COUNTRY, you delicious pleated diva!

POSH: Too right I will.

GIORGIO: Take the Maldives. No one knows who owns those anyway! Make it Isla Victoria!

KAT(I)E: I think the Maldives...

GIORGIO: LIKE I SAID. Nobody knows.

POSH: I wonder if America will let me have Hawaii. It's closer. I'll pay cash.

GIORGIO: I will make you leis. FABULOUS leis of GLORY. With FEATHERS, just like mama used to make.

POSH: Damn, babes, you're WAY more fun than Karl Lagerfeld. All he does is scowl and glove-slap people. F'ing awkward sometimes if you ask me.

KAT(I)E: Sir, Mr. Armani, if I could just ask you about this dress...

GIORGIO: Or you could buy A SITCOM. We could be in one of those lively half-hour comedy shows! Where we live together and work in a pizza parlor that is also a tanning salon, and have strange neighbors with children who won't stop talking! IT WILL BE HUGE.

KAT(I)E: Yes! And I could play the...

GIORGIO: No, no, I want that Michelle Williams girl -- she's DYNAMITE.

POSH: Tanning and pizza, eh, Giorgio? We could call it Mystic Pizza.

GIORGIO: I've never heard of ANYTHING so divine, my queen. IT WILL CHANGE THE WORLD. Now, CONGA, you vixen! 

KAT(I)E: Mr. Armani, if you'd just look at me for a second, I don't think these weird pleats...

GIORGIO: Child, no shop talk -- not when I'm about to break into the macarena. You know the rules.

POSH: Look at that. Giorgio Armani, following ME around. Wanting to ride MY coattails. My life is f'ing amazing.

KAT(I)E: My life is awful. He won't even look at me.

GIORGIO: Actress girl! We need an inanimate object to be the limbo rod. Can they use you?

KAT(I)E: Thank God I had this smile surgically locked in or else I would be SCREAMING at some people right now and then Tom would make me sit in the audit closet for a week.

POSH: Allegedly.

KAT(I)E: Oh, whatever.

Evan Rachel Fug

Dear Evan Rachel Wood,

Hello. How's it going? Are you feeling okay? Having fun at Sundance? That's nice. We just wanted to check in with you and make sure it's been a fun, relaxing vacation.

Oh, but before we go: WHAT IS THE DEAL, woman?

I mean, seriously. Has it escaped your notice that you appear to be shacking up with Marilyn Manson? And that you're 19, and he's, like, 38 or so, and also a horrific prince of doom? Did he give you beer goggles that make him look like Kiefer Sutherland? Does he turn back into a cuddly little pumpkin after midnight? Is his junk made of Diet Coke? WHAT? What is it?

Because it's rather well documented -- we're certainly not the first to say it -- that you are starting to turn yourself into his ex, Dita Von Teese.

Here you were B.R. -- that's Before the Reckoning -- looking fresh faced and normal as you eased into womanhood.

And here's a little collage of you and Dita now, after you (allegedly) took a twiddle on the skin-flute of Satan's high priest of contact lenses.

We're not criticizing the hair and makeup, per se. You're a very pretty girl. But you are dating a notorious nutbar and mimicking the very distinct look of his incredibly hot, bodaciously bodded former wife. Did you think no one would notice, child? Are you not at all curious about the timing of this, and whether he's engineering you as some kind of younger SuperDita, meaning you'll be raven-haired and frolicking in giant martini glasses in a matter of weeks?

And I have to ask again: WHY? For the LOVE of GOD, why?

Look, I know I shouldn't judge books by their covers, but at the same time, there has to be something in the title, or the jacket, or the spine, or even in the font they used, that makes me want at least to check it out from the library and then leave it on my To Be Read pile until I have to return it to avoid late fees.

Do you really want to be riding bareback on this particular wang carousel, Evan Rachel? Does it really turn your crank to come home and gaze soulfully into the Giant Plastic Iris of the Apocalypse? Is there nowhere else you can play out your days of girlish rebellion than a man who is 19 years your senior and not yet divorced and, well, freaking MARILYN MANSON? I mean, REALLY?

Was Justin Timberlake busy? We need to clone him and start renting him out as a rehabilitative measure -- Britney could have one, and Lindsay could rent one for a week, Cameron could buy one for her nightly surfing of those waves of jealousy that rise up in her throat and threaten to choke her, and now Evan Rachel could snag one. It would be a great little cottage industry.

Let's get on it. Because it can't be good for a 19-year old soul to wake up every morning and stare across the bed at the leader of the undead.

Random Fug: Veronica Maccarone

See? THIS is the sort of thing we wish American starlets would go back to wearing:

You know, to give us something to talk about.

Her boobs! They're in jail! What heinous crimes could her boobs have committed? Arson? Espionage? Extortion? Conspiracy to commit murder? Assault and battery? We must KNOW. Have they been committed for life, or is there a possibility of parole? Might she let them out for good behavior? Or are they going to end up in the hole? So many questions!  At least they have each other, as they waste away behind bars.

Pieces of Fug

An Ode To Katie Holmes-Cruise:

Dear Katie, imagine our horror

When we saw they snapped you getting out of the car.

"Dear God, no!" we exclaimed

"Why, we'll burst into flames!

If we have to see shots of your flora."

But although you have married a nutbag

This situation ain't all bad

Sure, the brain-washing's a bit of a hurdle,

But THANK GOD,  instead of for-going panties,

You've quite wisely gone for a girdle:

 

Hooray!

Well Played: ...FINE. Sienna Miller

Well, they say that even a stopped clock is right twice a day. And so it has come to pass that I have stumbled upon a photograph of Sienna Miller at Sundance and thought, "Heavens, I quite like her coat."

Is it possible that, beneath her coat, she's wearing a torn and saggy promotional tee shirt from Discover Card, belted with a vine? Yes. But right here, she looks pretty cute. It's kind of a relief to see her so toned down -- no crazy hat, no hot pants. It's very simple (almost boring, even, although the cut and color are classic and classy), and it turns out that, without all that crap distracting us, she's actually very pretty.

Also, we're pretty sure that she and Steve Buscemi here are going to be the next big couple. Call them Buscemiller.

Alicia Fugs

From the waist up: cute and comfortable and flattering. From the waist down: OH MY GOD I CAN'T SIT DOWN IN THIS SKIRT, WHAT WAS I THINKING?

Um, that's tight. And shiny. And 80s. And shiny. And tight.  And shiny.

When you're a pear-shaped girl -- as so very many of us are -- it's not the greatest idea to shrink wrap the bottom of the pear like this. Every single fashion magazine in the world advises you to find a skirt that lightly skims the pear, and every time I read that, I think, "blah blah, skim the pear, yadda yadda, where's that article about how using the right night cream will prevent me from needing Botox next week?" And yet, it seems that the fashion magazines are correct. Which I suppose means that I need to go out and buy that cream.

Fugly Betty

"Well. I'm sure it's very nice for Penelope to have her little Oscar nomination -- I mean, how thrilling for her that people aren't questioning her ability to act any more, you know? I wonder how that felt. Probably not very good, much like all her English-language movies. Ha ha! I mean, who was she kidding with the Mandolin one? Nicolas Cage? Really? But that's not her fault -- I mean, we can't all be in a summer blockbuster like Wild Wild West with Will Smith and that other person, right? Anyway, it's just so exciting for Penelope to be able to lose to Helen Mirren on national television, which she totally knows how to do now that she's already lost to Meryl Streep at the Globes in front of all those people. I can sympathize, of course, but I can't empathize, since my show won and that makes me a Golden Globe-winning executive producer, AND the actress I fought for won her category, too, which is really like me scoring two trophies on one night. But you know, I don't need to bring that up, because I don't really need to be the center of attention here -- I mean, I'm not even going to campaign for myself to get an Emmy nomination for my really long guest-turn on Ugly Betty, which by the way was in ENGLISH, bitches, and that's not my first language EITHER and yet you all managed to love ME in it, but of course I'm not going to say that to Penelope because it will just make her feel bad about her own failures and we are VERY CLOSE friends, and oh LOOK, there she is up there staring at me. THANKS FOR THAT, producers, because it reminds me that I'm so pleased for Penelope that I even put on my very biggest fake bangs for this announcement and it has NOTHING TO DO with wanting to hide my eyes at all, because they are full of nothing but thrilled thrilledness that my VERY BEST PAL got an Oscar nomination for prancing around with lots of eyeliner on and wearing a prosthetic ass, and seriously, I am so happy. SO HAPPY. Did you not hear me scream before? I AM REALLY, REALLY HAPPY. STOP LOOKING AT ME."

Fugly Moore

Why so angry, Mandy? Did you not get that part in The Crucible you were angling for?

Or are you simply mourning for the box-office prospects of your irritating-looking new movie with Diane Keaton, I Don't Even Care Enough To Look Up What It's Called? You know, the one that looks like a maddening and icky hybrid of two OTHER Diane Keaton movies, Something's Gotta Give and Hanging Up? Is that it? Yeah, that would upset me, too. It's tough when the only work Diane Keaton is getting these days are in a movies that are basically all about how much she needs to get laid. But hang tight -- someday you'll be in something good again, and you can stop lashing out at us via misplaced black tights, prim shoes, and grouchy, overlong, frumpy jumpers.

Fuggifer Connolly

Oh, Jennifer. We told you to put your leggings in a trash bag...

Not put them on under a trash bag. Please listen more closely next time.

Also... those can't be mesh shoes. Can they? Would you really do that? Are you that untrustworthy now? Do we need to ground you until you can see reason more clearly than we can see your feet? Oy, lady. You're giving me a headache.

Fuga Malone

Oh, Jena Malone, you adorable ragamuffin:

There is nothing cuter than an apple-cheeked youngster such as yourself attempting to look "street," as your pose suggests, especially when you're actually decked out in an ensemble that probably cost upwards of several grand. I just can't wait until you take your faux-disaffected youth attitude and hook up with Kevin Federline. You two can strut around town and attempt to panhandle, say, Emmy Rossum. The two of you could totally shake that one down -- she seems easily intimidated. Later, you can terrorize Encino in Federline's ride, knocking down mailboxes and egging your agent's house. It'll be simply adorable.

Naomi Fugbell

Anika Noni Rose thought she was posing with a drag queen who'd been tapped to play Velma Kelly in a progressive production of Chicago. She didn't realize until it was too late that the person next to her was Naomi Campbell, holding a giant purse -- perfect for a violent hissyfit. Admirably, Ms. Rose remained totally calm in the face of this terror; we congratulate her on coming out with her face and her composure intact, although we shouldn't be surprised. After all, the girl survived From Justin To Kelly, so she's pretty much bulletproof.

Naomi, on the other hand, looks a bit like the emaciated child derived from the bizarre love triangle of Tyra Banks, Kerry Washington, and an alien.

Hustle and Fug

I am not one of those women who is all, "white shoes after Labor Day? My lands! Why, this misstep will rend the very fabric of decent society! Where are my smelling salts? Loosen my stays, or I shall swoon!" But white shoes are very, very hard to pull off, especially with a white dress -- unless you are a bride, a nurse, or a stripper dressed as a bride or a nurse. As Taryn Manning so helpfully illustrates:

Oh, my god. While the dress isn't bad (in a totally Stars on Ice kind of way), these shoes actually cause me physical pain.  Are they orthopedic slippers of some kind? Why would she do this? Why? When she could have worn a silver strappy something and looked totally acceptable, as opposed to looking like someone's grandma trotting out to the shuffleboard court? Listen, we have a finite amount of time to wear painful yet attractive shoes, and we must embrace it. Avoid the orthopedics until absolutely mandated by your poor sad feet!

And seriously, even then, you don't need to wear these.

Fug Pie: An Imaginary Missive From Chris Klein

"Hello, I'm Chris Klein.

I know, you've all been wondering what I've been up to lately.  Well, right now, I'm at Sundance, promoting some movie I made, the title of which I can't actually recall. I've also been cultivating a haircut that I think makes me look dashing and debonair, sort of like a 21st century Peter O'Toole. My girlfriend keeps telling me to cut it, though. She says she wants me to look the way I did in Cruel Intentions. I wasn't in Cruel Intentions, but I haven't told her that, mostly because she's finally completed the last steps in my Anonymous Starlet-to-Katie Holmes Transformation Process (Patent Pending). Check it out:

Pretty awesome, right? From a distance, it's like they're totally the same person. I just squint a little bit and it's like Katie never left me for Risky Business on the sofa over there. Sometimes, this one even calls me "Pacey," just like Katie used to. She also apparently has some role on a television show playing a slightly naive girl in a relationship with a dude who's kind of self-absorbed and into other women. I don't know -- I don't watch it, just like I didn't watch Dawson's. It's seriously been an almost seamless transition from the Original Katie to Current Katie. I know: you want to know how you can get a Katie Holmes of your own. Imagine the possibilities: she could read your  Dawson/Pacey slashfic to you after tucking you into bed. Or she could clean your house in the nude, if you're into that kind of thing. Or you could jump on your couch and then drag her out of the bedroom to tell her how amazing she is and how much you love her, which is actually pretty sweet, especially with Valentine's Day coming up. It's really up to you. The good news is that the Anonymous Starlet-to-Katie Holmes Transformation Process (Patent Pending) is going to be available on HSN on February 1st, for the low, low price of three payments of $39.99 each. (Anonymous Starlet not included, but the good news is that I'm pretty sure any girl who's ever spoken in public works.)

Thanks for checking in, America. I had a rough couple of months there, but as you can see, I have totally bounced back from my break-up with Version 1.0 and I am happier than ever before."

Celebrity Terror Watch: Tyra Banks

We here at GFY HQ would like to issue a Tanorexia orange alert, pun fully intended, because of word of an epidemic sweeping the America's Next Top Model gang: It would appear that Jay Manuel's rampant affinity for turning himself orange is terribly, toxically catching.

To wit: Here is Tyra Banks in her Emmy dress (and exposed wig tape) late last year.

And here she is as photographed at the PGA awards -- which is thrown by the Producer's Guild of America, and not, in fact, a ceremony devoted to the very best in golf, at which her presence would be a tad more confusing. At any rate, have a gander.

That is one tall orange woman. We have never in our lives seen Tyra Banks that unnaturally orange -- and, thanks to her campaign for global domination, we've seen a lot of her. Was she so engrossed in lying on the beach eating ribs that she forgot to turn over? Did she shoot an episode of her show entitled, "Confronting Your Fear Of The Surface Of The Sun?" Did she too hastily try cracking open a can of whoop-ass on a poor unsuspecting Tyra Banks Show guest, only to find out too late that she grabbed a can of self-tanner instead? And most vitally of all, WHY did she agree to leave the house looking so ... fluorescent? Nobody in the world needs to be neon orange.

Perhaps this is all for her talk show's Undercover series, in which she pulled the wool over all our disbelieving eyes by masquerading as an overweight woman, a stripper, and a male member of the entourage of a somewhat mortified Chingy. We can't imagine what she's pretending to be -- mama oompa loompa seems too obvious; a cautionary tale about the dangers of eating a surplus of carrots, too self-sacrificing -- but we hope her radioactive hue dies down soon.

Appendix: TANOREXIA WATCH TERROR CHART

SEVERE: Jayden James Spears-Federline -- as in, find his inescapable prison, the one formerly enjoyed by Suri Cruise,and lock yourself in it until your flesh tone returns.

HIGH: The Simpson sisters

ELEVATED: Jennifer Aniston

GUARDED: Hollywood Starlet whose agent gave her four gift-certificates to Mystic Tan

LOW: Sane, sensible person

Fugolat

It's always awkward when you're looking at a photo of an actress and you wonder, " a) is she pregnant? b) Does it make a difference if she is pregnant?"

The answers, I think, are a) I don't THINK so, but maybe, and b) probably not. There's a lot going wrong here: for one thing, why is everything fastened at the boobal-area? The fur bed jacket (very Alexis Carrington) plus the satin bath towel/bedsheet, both precariously pinned/tied/knotted in the same area, give her some extra girth that you don't want even if you ARE with Binchocette. So there are some weird fit issues -- honestly, it looks like she came straight from a romantic assignation (way to go, Juliette) to the premiere without having time to stop home and change, so she just threw on the admittedly decadent satin sheets (again, way to go), and ran over there. But even if this little number fit perfectly, the color makes her look like said assignation took place at the local hospital, where she's being treated for anemia and possibly being actually made of wax.

Golden Globes "Golden Globes" Police: Sharon Leal

We love to see a girl with a soap background make good. It's especially important to us now, with all those actors on Passions about to be unemployed come August because the show was just cancelled, pouring into the market a stellar group of people who are experienced at acting opposite and/or as zombies, sinister sheds, the floating head of Adrian Zmed, talking candles, kidnappers masquerading as clowns, a living doll, and a witch who is beholden to the devil's minions living in her basement. Come on, Hollywood, scoop them up and give them a future someplace else. Or, if nothing else, The CW is probably desperate enough to pay Galen Gering to take off his shirt every week. They could give him his own show, and call it -- I'm just spitballing here -- Galen Gering Takes Off His Shirt. And each time someone new could show up to sit around and be shirtless with him while a random object in his "apartment" becomes possessed by a demonic force and starts hissing warnings at them. I'd watch.

At any rate, let's stop digressing: We were happy to see Sharon Leal, who was on Guiding Light ages ago, show up on the big screen in Dreamgirls as (spoiler!) The One Who Replaces Jennifer Hudson. She's a lovely girl and she's got pipes, and we hope this leads to more opportunities for her.

Including opportunities to put this behind her.

Methinks something is trying to liberate itself. Every which way Sharon stood, that side of her dress sagged dangerously and her right breast seemed ever more ready to run for the border. We appreciate a breast's desire not to be pinched, as this one appears to be (somewhat painfully, I might add), but once the boob is inside a couture gown on a red carpet, it kind of needs to suck it up and stay put. We don't think it ever actually did pop out, but this is a perfect example of why you should never commit to a strapless gown without first waving your arms around, jumping, stretching, and otherwise making a fool of yourself in front of a mirror to ensure that everything still stays where it should.

Fuguary Jones

Congratulations to former Josh Groban flame January Jones, who just won the lead in that hotly anticipated sequel, Newsies II: These Urchins Were Made For Catwalkin', in which a jolly band of depression-era guttersnipes are forced to save the newspaper that employs them as streetcorner vendors by staging an elaborate fashion show -- which, this being the Depression, would be impossible to pay for without first putting on an uplifting song and dance benefit to solicit donations. But since most people didn't have any coin to drop into their coffers, a few intrepid youths start a prostitution ring to wring cash from the seedy for the needy while the remaining ragamuffins begin this merry chain of events by robbing a bank and, rather than keep it, distribute the proceeds very thinly around town so that all the happy donating can start and be a tax write-off.

It's exactly the mix of Robin Hood, Bonnie and Clyde, The Full Monty, Annie, and Les Miserables that we've been needing in our lives. 

Golden Globes Post-Party Fug: Paris Hilton

Never let it be said that Paris Hilton is not resourceful:

Why, she made this entire dress herself, out of tin foil!

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Renee Zellweger

Oh, Renee. You've been in the cocoon of work for months and months now, and this is how you emerge? Wrapped in a shapeless green sheath that hits you at the wrong point on your leg, wearing your signature puffy, pursed-lip smirk and generally looking like you are allergic to fun? Sigh. What are we going to do with you?

Personally, I think you need a sandwich, a tailor, and a good lay, possibly in that order. But maybe a good belly laugh would do the trick with significantly less effort. Just try something, okay?

Golden Globes Red Carpet Fug: Well Played, Lots Of People

As many nits as there were to pick at the Golden Globes, there were a lot of people who looked glorious. And in the spirit of karma, I've decided to spotlight a few of them. Although it might just be the soothing back rub Intern George just gave me; he does put a girl in a good mood.

Let's start with Sara Ramirez from Grey's Anatomy.

In addition to being a Tony-winning performer who held her own in that original star-studded Spamalot cast (check out "The Song That Goes Like This"; it's funny, and she's got a great voice), she is also, in my opinion, really wonderful and tough and funny on Grey's. And here, she looks like an old-time movie star, utterly glamorous in ruby-red with a sweetly feminine coif. (See, Cameron Diaz? It's possible to wear red lipstick and not look like a five-year old smeared it on for you.)

It's also refreshing to see her working a real woman's body. Forgive me if this is a pale retread of Jessica's America Ferrera entry of yesterday, which was brilliant, but the point bears repeating: Remember on Ally McBeal, when all the actresses skinnied up because they had to go to work every day with Calista Flockhart and it made them insecure? Well, the Grey's set has so far avoided such catastrophes, with Chandra Wilson and Ramirez (and to a degree Kate Walsh and Katherine Heigl) balancing out the very tiny Sandra Oh and Ellen Pompeo. I dearly hope none of them start emaciating themselves in a McBeal vein; in an interview, Ramirez once admitted that it was hard for her to watch the show in the early days because she felt she looked hulking, and that the underwear-dancing scene was a challenge to shoot for that reason -- and so she hired a trainer and has felt better about herself. And that's great and all, as long as it's for her health and not because she thinks it's required of her by the viewers or anyone else. Because Ramirez has been smoking hot from day one on that show, and she doesn't need to change a thing.

Another stunner who got almost no attention on any of the red carpet shows: Edie Falco.

Grecian draping was in this year, and Edie's little-seen dress was one of the loveliest. It's a great color on her, and she appears to be in kick-ass shape. Up yours, cancer!

I was also pleased to see Jennifer Love Hewitt pull it together.

She looks really, really pretty -- she's propped up without popping out, and the color flatters her hair and makeup. The dress is sort of risky because it has a lot going on, with the waist-bow and the glittery pattern and the shimmery sheen, but somehow it all comes together and works beautifully on her hourglass.

And finally, this year's Jessica Alba is officially Jessica Biel. Remember when everyone was fussing over Alba at the Oscars, largely due to her bod and her glamorous image makeover? Well, welcome to Biel's world, because we are a flighty, flaky culture, and since she came along, does anyone even know where Jessica Alba is, or care?

Not so much. Because Biel and her bodacious butt have taken a very average, borderline messy hairdo that keeps falling in her face and gown that I'm not actually all that crazy about -- it's a bit disco -- and made the whole thing downright eye-grabbing. Nay, eye-assaulting. And generally I am not thrilled about anything attacking me in that general area, but here, no one can help but stare.

She should enjoy it while she can, though. By the Rule of Jessicas, next year it will be Jessica Capshaw's turn, and then, well, we probably won't need an ACTUAL Jessica D. because we're sure Lindsay Lohan will have changed her name to "Jessica Dohan" just so she can get a bit of the glory.

Golden Globes Red Carpet Fug: Rinko Kikuchi

Presenting An IM from GFY HQ:

HEATHER: Oh dear, Rinko Kikuchi.

JESSICA: It's like she's mocking us.

HEATHER: She DOES seem to be having a good time.

JESSICA: I know it's couture Chanel....

HEATHER: I know that I want to use it to apply my astringent.

JESSICA: I know that it reminds me of dust bunnies.

HEATHER: I know that I'm relieved she's not wearing spats.

JESSICA: I know that we probably both want her shoes.

HEATHER: Shoes are the great uniter.

JESSICA: Thank god for them.

Golden Globes Awards Fug: Dreamgirls

EDDIE: Just look suave, Eddie, just look suave. If you act cool enough they won't even remember you have another one of those fat-suit movies coming out in a few weeks.

JENNIFER: Wow, my hair really DOES look good this way. And I'm so glad I chose this navy dress -- I have to say, I feel pretty hot right now.

BEYONCE: Yeah, fine, smile it up, TV bitch - let's just all remember who only held back on her singing voice because they MADE her, because she was TOO FIERCE for her role. Was it you? NO. Was it the From Justin To Kelly chick? NO. Was it that other bitch? NO. CHECK IT, hos, it was ME.

JAMIE: Man, Hudson looks fine. Almost as fine as I do, although nobody could outfox the Foxx. Miss B over there must be pissed-- she looks so Las Vegas that her dress even has its own coin slot up there. HAHAHAHAHA, oh, Foxxy, you've still got the funny, baby!

JENNIFER: I hope Beyonce isn't mad at me.

BEYONCE: No, I'm serious, hos, are you checking it? You'd BEST. Because I can't believe I am playing second fiddle to some bitch Paula Abdul dug up out of obscurity. Seriously. The claws are coming OUT. And so is her HAIR.

JENNIFER: I also hope Beyonce doesn't try and pull out my hair. She keeps accidentally touching it and she looks kind of like she's plotting something. I can't help it that I have a great stylist and she just has her mother. I didn't do that to her.

BEYONCE: It is ALL HER FAULT that I didn't win. Lady, I could sing circles around your ass, and Simon Cowell would CRY and Randy Jackson would be all, "You're doing your thing, dog, and that thing is KICKING SERIOUS ASS," and Paula would go, "If I ordered a pizza right now they'd deliver it to Montana because that was so good you almost made me want to eat some mascara and there are rainbows here and where am I? Are you my mother?" ...

EDDIE: I wonder if they'll burn the print of my next movie if I pay them enough money.

BEYONCE: ...and then Simon would be all, "What Paula is trying to say is that you are perfection, and you're the best there has ever been and I don't need to see any more," and then they'd CANCEL THE SHOW because there was no way they could do better and THAT is how I would WIN American Idol, you sad little runner-up, you.

EDDIE: No, really. I don't want to be all Queen Latifah here, winning a major award and then having a craptravaganza like Taxi coming out right afterward. But at least I look smooth. What the hell was Beyonce thinking? If we hang her from the ballroom ceiling they can turn off all the other lights and have a real cheap electric bill.

JENNIFER: Oh, well, I'll just try not to think about Beyonce. After all, I've never felt this good about myself in my life. Seriously, I think I deserve to be very proud of myself.

BEYONCE: Ohh, yes, just get ready, you humble little trophy hound, you. It's COMING.

JAMIE: DANG, bitches, I'm glad I took my shades off -- I'll get a better view of the catfight this way. Come on, let's see some clawing and spanking. Y'all can mess up my tux if it means I see some girl-on-girl without having to go back to my hotel room first. Let's get it ON.

JENNIFER: Although... I really should remember to get that restraining order ready.

Golden Globes Well-Played: America Ferrera

There are many things I like about America Ferrera. For one thing, I think she's adorable on Ugly Betty, in a role that could too easily be cloying, or sad-sack-y.  I loved her in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, not that I saw that, or cried at it. And I love that she's probably the only actress her age in Hollywood currently sporting her own hair, breasts and teeth.

I also love her in this dress:

The color and the cut are both really good on her: they flatter her skin tone and her body without being boring. She looks tall and curvy. Which, by the way, I don't mean as a Euphemism For Fat. I hate the fact that "curvy" now means, in Secret Hollywood Patois, "tubby." For example, according to Star Magazine, Jessica Alba recently said to a journalist, "I know I'm curvy. I'm working on it." Fast-forward to Jessica Alba dropping ten pounds she didn't need to drop. CURVY IS GOOD, PEOPLE.  Curvy is sexy and feminine, not Marlon-Brando-In-A- MuuMuu-Fat. Women -- all women: naturally very thin women, naturally not so thin women, flat-chested women, big-breasted women, ALL WOMEN -- have, as we learned from America's debut film, some curves of some size somewhere on their body.  IT'S OKAY.

I was thinking about this yesterday (in between trying to figure out what our government should do about Darfur and meditating on the existence of God in the 21st century, obviously), and I came to the conclusion that I seriously think America is so freaking cute and fresh-faced, and her body looks GREAT here, and therefore, I really hate the idea that at some point, she is going to drop twenty pounds and start Mystic-Tanning the shit out of herself, just because someone told her she had to do that to be considered for more mainstream roles. Because you KNOW someone is going to do that. Because, as you may have noticed, as a rule, certain people in Hollywood tend to have their heads up their asses regarding the subject of How All Women Are Supposed To Look In Order To Be Considered Sexy.  When, really, America shouldn't do a thing: as Mark Darcy said to Bridget Jones, we like her very much. Just as she is.

Which, for the record, is adorable in a perfectly-tailored purpley/navy number.

Golden Globes Post-Party Fug: The Olsen Twins

This is about as much collective joy as I've ever seen on the faces of perenially pouty Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen. Aside from being thrilled she remembered her black tube top to wear under her turn-of-the-century PTA party gown, I suspect Ashley is mostly excited that with her new hair, she bears enough of a resemblance to the pretty but generic Kristin Cavallari that she can reignite her acting career by playing the Cavallari's little sister in something really classy, like, National Lampoon's Dick Orgy: Campus Private Eye.

Whereas Mary-Kate is just grateful that she's upgraded from mail-order bride to society madam.

Celebrity Terror Watch Golden "Globes" Police: Katharine McPhee

Undeniably, Katharine McPhee is a stunner. And now that she's working some leg muscle, she's done a good job picking edgy minidresses with plunging necklines that show off her new figure. Take this one, for example, from the American Music Awards earlier this year:

It's a tough dress to carry, but she's glowing in it. She looks happy and sexy and young, and I would really like to know what witch doctor she's going to for that thick, shiny hair, because I am totally up for turning over my tresses to the dark arts. Even if it means mixing the hair of a spider, the toe of a chicken, and Essence of Newt in my Le Creuset and sticking my head in it.

At a Golden Globes afterparty, though, Katharine decided to change up her look. Which I can understand -- there's only so many short skirts and deep vees you can wear in a row before people start to wonder if you're just dying the same one a different color -- except that I don't like the direction in which she went: upwards.

Her hair is still gleaming nicely -- that newt juice is a miracle -- but the dress, aside from being a frumpy length, is totally pulling a ScarJo on her breasts. They're hiked up higher than Paris Hilton's skirt on most Tuesdays. And Wednesdays. And Thursdays, and... look, essentially, they're WAY up there, in a really painful-looking way. Moreover, she doesn't need to be this obvious. She's got innate sexyness that was shining through much better without this desperate shove skyward. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for propping up the girls and working your assets -- seriously, if Salma Hayek gave a class, I'd go twice -- but this isn't flattering as much as it's making me afraid they're going to burst. And having cleavage that is literally explosive can really put a damper on a girl's evening.

Golden Globes Post-Party Fug: Rose McGowan

Rose McGowan heard that Marilyn Manson was back on the market, and ran right to her closet to pull the Dark Bride Nightgown out of the trousseau she'd so hastily abandoned when their engagement was broken:

"He'll never resist me like this," she said. "I look almost completely undead!"

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore

HUGH: God, I hate the bloody blow dryers in the bathroom. Some prat turned it upside down and it completely messed up my hair.

DREW: Don't worry, Hugh, you still look like the kind of destiny that smells like flowers.

HUGH: Er, thank you. And it's very nice to see that you're propping things up this year as well. Nicely done.

DREW: Well, I wanted to be the architect of my own dreams.

HUGH: I see. And in this case, your dreams are your breasts.

DREW: And my breasts are my dreams. It's beautiful harmony in a brassiere.

HUGH: I'll say. Because... I mean... bit of a disaster there last year, eh?

DREW: I think people were just startled to see the full extent of my feminine expression coming to blossom.

HUGH: I think they were probably more startled to see them express themselves down by your knees.

DREW: But this year, pink is my soul aura. I truly feel as though I've been touched by cotton-candy angels.

HUGH: Indeed, and your aura looks lovely on you. Congratulations on a lesson well learned. Although you might want to put on some sunscreen -- the rays from your soul glow appear to be giving you rather a tan.

DREW: No, it's just my radiant spirit ballerinas pirouetting through my skin. This dress, this night, it all feels like flossing my teeth with tiny threads of joy.

HUGH: Quite. Now I must dash -- I'm suddenly in desperate need of a scotch.

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Heidi Klum

Insert obligatory bit about how beautiful Heidi Klum is, how much we enjoy Project Runway, and how much we want her and Seal to make it here. But:

Last time we saw this outfit, Princess Leia was informing Obi Wan Kenobi that he was her only hope. To be totally honest, it really doesn't work without the ear-buns.

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Beyonce

If you'd asked me two days ago what Beyonce Knowles might wear to the Golden Globes if she were feeling terribly predictable, I'd have said, "Probably something low-cut and gold -- really sparkly. With a slit. And a big ol' weave."

Looks like Fate tipped its Magic 8-Ball over and saw that it said, "Signs Point To Yes."

It's not that she doesn't look beautiful; she does. She's Beyonce. Being a knockout with a hot body is her trademark. But don't you feel like you've seen this before? I mean, on her, not just in the Pier 1 Imports upscale gift-wrap section? And don't you wonder why, precisely, it makes that tiny wee gap in the front just under her cleavage? And then do you think that maybe she's wearing it because it's secretly made of 1,000 mashed-up Golden Globe trophies and the blood of a unicorn, all as part of a voodoo ritual intended to bag her a victory and a surprise Oscar nomination? And for the Oscars themselves, do you wonder what the odds are that Miss B will wear a dress made of Jennifer Hudson's mashed-up Golden Globe and the blood of Jamie Foxx? Indeed, do you wonder if the scene-stealing Dreamgirl is going to find a beheaded chicken on her doorstep one day this week? Can Beyonce get an Oscar nod when she was outacted by her false eyelashes? And what was the wig and cosmetics budget for Dreamgirls, anyway?

Sigh. So many questions.

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Cameron Diaz

"Why, HELLO, Justin!

That's right: this is what I would have looked like if we'd gotten married. You're not hallucinating: I AM dressed as your lunatic bride. Later tonight, when you're walking out to your car, you might see me sneaking down the street behind you, holding something sharp. I'm not saying that you will. I'm just saying you MIGHT.  Yes, I lost my other strap climbing up that vine outside your window this morning. I wanted to see what you were wearing. I like it. You could have worn that to our wedding. I know I always said I didn't want to get married. Maybe I was just saying that so I seemed like that totally cool girl who didn't care about getting married, because not caring about getting married went better with my reputation as That Girl Who Farts In Front of You and Watches Sports and Dances in Boys Underwear, but maybe I was lying, Justin. Did you ever think of that? Do you ever think about anything? DO YOU? DO YOU? DO YOU EVER THINK ABOUT ANYTHING BUT YOURSELF?

Anyway, yes. This is what I would have worn to our wedding. The happiest day of your life, that isn't going to happen anymore. How do you feel, knowing that now you're not going to have the happiest day of your life? Does it feel GOOD? DOES IT? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

So. Have a nice night at the Globes. I'm going to. I might just grab a PA and drive to Vegas and make an honest woman of myself. YOU DON'T KNOW."

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Sean "Diddy" Combs

It took all his self-restraint to keep Diddy from decking the celebrity assistant who snapped her fingers and asked for a pitcher of water and some coat-check cards. It would be the last time he borrowed anything from the hotel restaurant's maitre d', no matter how much his twins had spit up on his first jacket.

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Mia Maestro

Obviously, the benefits to Mia Maestro's dress are multifold:

a) She doesn't need to carry a bag, as she can store an entire shopping bag's worth of paraphernalia in any one of her poofy layers

b) She will never suffer from the dreaded Numb Butt so often associated with events where you are required to sit for hours and hours, as her many poofy layers will act as a comfy cushion for her delicate behind

c) She can easily use one of those top layer flaps as a napkin, should she lose one. This is always convenient at a cocktail party, when you find yourself holding a giant prawn on a skewer in one hand and two glasses of champy in the other. If your napkins are attached to your boobs, that problem is solved.

d) Bloated? No problem!

e) Pregnant? No one will ever know!

f) Smuggling an Olsen? It'll just be your little secret.

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Cate Blanchett

Even with that Madonna-chic lace sausage-casing around her arms, my least favorite thing about Cate's gown is the uneven hem. It's the fashion equivalent of a mullet: party in the front, business in the back. And let's face it -- where Fergie's gone, others should fear to tread.

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Rosanna Arquette

I understand that I may be the only person in America who watches According to Brian, or What About Brian? or Where Are The Kumquats, Brian? or whatever that show with WhatsHisName from 7th Heaven is called. Anyway, because none of you are watching it, none of you know that Rosanna Arquette is on this show, as Brian's sister who just had a baby. Now, if you were to only see her on the red carpet here, you would think, "there's NO WAY that old lady is having any babies any more."

She's 48  in real life, but this unfortunate Mother-of-the-Bride jobber gives her an extra 20 years. And if 30 is the new 20, then 48 is the new 38 and she looks like the old 68, which means she's somehow transformed herself into her own mother, which is really not the kind of "Red Carpet Transformation!" US Weekly is always chattering about.

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Sienna Miller

While it pains us to admit that we rather like Sienna Miller's dress -- the bodice looks like it's been painted with the kind of gold leaf used on expensive chocolates, which is actually a compliment, because we have never met an expensive chocolate we didn't adore -- we are really not terribly fond of her sloppy milkmaid-who-just-rolled-in-the-mountain-glen-with-a-randy-goatherd coif. We're all for clandestine trysts, but alpine afterglow isn't perhaps the most ideal red-carpet fashion statement.

Unless she's trying to communicate slyly that if you have something to be milked, her skilled fists can take care of it. If that's the massage -- oops, er, I mean message -- then, well, she'll be the most popular wench at the barn.

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Elizabeth Perkins

Eek!

What this photo doesn't show is the burst of flames and smoke that facilitated Elizabeth Perkins's appearance on the red carpet; the broomstick she rode in on; Fritz or Franz, her flying monkeys; her cauldron; or the argument she had with Melvin, her stylist, who told her that wearing the traditional robes of the Witches of Endor would give away her big secret.

Listen to Melvin, Elizabeth: He has your best interests in mind.

Golden Globes Fug Carpet: Vanessa L. Williams

Vanessa L. Williams is so brilliant on Ugly Betty -- she's catty, she's cunning, she's stunning, and she's got a mean way with a quip. In fact, the more we think about her adding the "L." to her name, the more it confuses us. I mean, she's the primary Vanessa Williams. The original. The best. The only one you think of when somebody says, "Hey, Vanessa Williams looks totally hot for her age." Why should The Other Vanessa Williams -- the one who was on Melrose Place for about half an hour, playing one of the most boring characters the show ever created, which is saying quite a lot -- get to keep the name in Tinseltown, while the legitimately famous one has to switch up to the differentiating initial? It's unjust.

Unfortunately for Vanessa L., at the Golden Globes last night, the extra initial stood for "light socket":

That is some CRAZY hair right there. Wilhelmina Slater would be furious. She would look this up and down with an eyebrow cocked, scoff silently at the disco-silver tulle that's draped over this dress in unflattering folds, and then hiss to her assistant Marc that she's surprised to learn that Chaka Khan is designing hairpieces for Wal-Mart.

Rachel FugAdams

In the "Oh, please, sweet merciful Suri, let this be for a role" department, I deeply, deeply hope that Rachel McAdams has done this because she's getting paid to:

Like, say, for a biopic about Courtney Love. Not that she necessarily ever had hair that color -- I'm not really abreast of Courtney's tinting habits -- but because there's something Courtneyish about her face in that photo.

Or, better, maybe she's wearing it that way for a live-action Jem and the Holograms movie in which the titular character and her band of heroes would mend the world's fractured social fabric by performing anthems like "Flowers In My Hair" and "Love Is Doin' It (To Me)" and "(It All) Depends On The Mood (I'm In)" -- whose moving lyrics proclaim, "I can be whoever I want to // Anyone at all // I can strut when I want to strut // Or hide behind a parasol." Then, with the world conquered through song, hopefully Jem would finally sack up and dump Rio for being stupid enough to fall in love with both her and her real-world alter-ego Jerrica because seriously, why does this not bother her? So what if it's actually the same person -- it's still TECHNICALLY cheating and it still TECHNICALLY makes him a jackhole and it therefore TECHNICALLY makes her a bit of a jackhole-enabler.

Anyway, I hope that's it. I suppose maybe she's just trying to be supportive by detracting from Ryan Gosling's mustache, which is ever more evocative of an old-school charlatan peddling his elixir wagon around small-town U.S.A. in the hope of bilking the elderly with a phony anti-aging tonic. But the Jem movie would be an actual important reason to have pink hair. So if that's not it, I suggest she hightail it out to some pitch meetings and make it happen, pronto.

Rachel Fug

We have been thinking recently that Rachel Zoe might be headed down Bag Lady Boulevard, if the rumors about her fleeing clients and business associates are true.

But it seems she's actually already walked a mile down that particular street: She's dressed as precisely the kind of grotesquely ornate drawstring sack that she herself might carry to a tragic event, like, say, the impending funeral of her reputation.

Factory Fug

An Evening With Sienna Miller and Cameron Diaz:

We find ourselves at a well-appointed Beverly Hills home, at a dinner hosted by Sienna Miller. Let's listen in:

CAMERON: I know! Don't tell anyone!

SIENNA: Hah! I won't, I promise! I'm just happy I'm not the worst dressed person here! Not by a long shot!

CAMERON: Shut up! Anyone could forget her pants.

SIENNA: We'll just call that a dress, how's that? Although I don't know WHO wears booties with a mini-dress. Even I wouldn't do that. And I'll lace up my sandals on the outside of my jeans! Although I really just did that for attention. It TOTALLY worked.

CAMERON: I don't know why this is such a big deal. It's just a blocky, shapeless tunic that's way too short for me. My legs are good enough for it!

SIENNA: Your legs ARE great. But....never mind.

CAMERON: What? Tell me. I can take it.

SIENNA: Look, what do I know? My suggestion for dealing with a public break-up is stomping around the Village in my bathing suit and smoking furiously. Yours is to dress like a  elementary school student with a Mod-fixation and a need for orthopedic footwear. Maybe it's a generational thing!

CAMERON: Generational? How old do you think I AM?

SIENNA: I dunno. All that make-up, and the new Miss Clairol 'do and your desperate need to show a little leg now that you're single again....45? But a sad 45. Not like an awesome Susan Sarandon 45.

CAMERON: I'M ONLY 34.

SIENNA: Oh. Well. My my, this is awkward, isn't it?

CAMERON: At least my boyfriend didn't --

SIENNA: IF YOU SAY THE WORD 'NANNY,' I WILL RUIN YOU!

CAMERON: YOU CALLED ME DESPERATE!

SIENNA: I CALL 'EM LIKE I SEE 'EM.

CAMERON: AND I SAW YOUR BOYFRIEND SCREW THE NANNY!

The evening degenerates into a brawl. Hair is pulled, orifices are gouged. Ms Miller loses a tooth, although she later finds it under the buffet and puts it in her pocket. "I will string this on a necklace," she says to herself. Ms Diaz leaves shortly thereafter, nursing a black eye and a new, raw, bald spot on the back of her head. She vows to wreck her revenge on Ms Miller as soon as her face heals. And, lo, it will be sweet. Stay tuned.

Fugly: Fully Loaded

Dear Angelina Jolie,

We here at GFY would like to congratulate you on all your humanitarian work. We are happy you've made philanthropy the new black; there are worse things to make trendy, that's for sure. Like, say, formal shorts. So well done for giving a nice chunk of your personal fortune to international causes, and for opening your heart and your home to children in need.

Indeed, Angelina, it's the latter quality that has prompted our letter. There is somebody in desperate need of a mother, a real one, and since you seem to care about your children very much, perhaps you can widen the sexy Jolie-Pitt familial embrace to include one more person in peril.

Warning: This photo isn't safe for work, or for Maddox. So send him out to play on his ATV with Brad before continuing.

Angelina, this girl needs adopting. Fast. She seems cursed. She's jumped through all these hoops to claim she's sober now -- although it's not auspicious that she talked about how she's been to AA for a year in the same breath with which she trumpeted being on the wagon for all of seven days -- and yet she is still having no trouble going out in public and doing something regrettable. Like, say, not checking her opacity levels. She's inviting all the world's armchair plastic surgeons to weigh in on whether they're real, fake, formerly fake and now deflated, or formerly fake, deflated, then reinflated. As insane as it sounds, there are SOME people left in Hollywood who hadn't seen her nipples before, and didn't need to, and indeed hoped she would use that newly vacant drinking hand to pick up a fistful of dignity.

We hate to say it, but she's starting to spend just enough time in Tara Reid territory (well, except for how she gets work and has real talent) that she might start owing rent soon.

You can see now how much help she needs, right, Ange? Sure, she has a mother, technically, but we don't think she'd notice if you handed her some adoption papers -- especially if you delivered them by stapling them to the abs of a virile 22-year old. Frankly, we considered doing this ourselves. But we think you are a better fit for her. Sure, we think strapping her to a couch in front of 90210 reruns might be good for her -- especially because we're getting to the part where Brenda finds out about Dylan and Kelly and screams at them that she hates them and never wants to talk to them again -- but on a grander scale our advice wouldn't quite come from the same realm of common experience as yours. Consider it -- you too were a wild child with prodigious talent, like your prospective daughter here, but you managed to come out the other side. (We hope. It certainly looks good.)  And you have the cash resources to help clear Lindsay's head. We don't, and we wouldn't want to take her into our homes and make Promises we can't keep, if you get our subtly capitalized drift.

Anyway, please consider our proposal. Just think of it as an investment in babysitting -- if you turn her into a responsible human being, you and Brad can have all the free weekends you want. It's a bargain!

Good luck.

Regards,

The Fug Girls

Fugver

Penelope Cruz is beautiful. But that doesn't mean she can get away with wearing an actual tiered wedding cake:

Don't feel bad, Pen. It takes a rare woman to pull off pastry-as-clothing. I tried to wear a croissant once, and it was totally humiliating.

Freedom Fuggers

"High five!

I'm wearing a tee shirt with the vest ATTACHED to it, just like we used to do in 8th grade! Doesn't this totally take you back to the dressing room at Wet Seal? And I'm wearing it on MTV! Give it up for me!"

People's Choice Awards Fug Carpet: Jaime King

Poor Eric Dane. He couldn't tell if he should leap to the aid of Jaime King, who appeared to be in imminent peril of spending the entire night with a curtain tie around her neck, or if he should just walk on by and pretend nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

In the end, after careful consideration -- just look at the consternation on his McSteamy mug! -- he evidently decided to let it lie. Which actually is fine. For as bad as her taste in neckwear may have been, as poorly chosen as her palette of pastel face paint is, and as close a resemblance as there is from certain angles, there was no real danger she would be permanently mistaken for Olympic medalist and semi-pro fame-whore Oksana Baiul; after all, her clothes weren't shredded, a $3 ponytail hairpiece wasn't glued to her head, and she didn't appear to be haphazardly slathered in bronzer.

In fact, when you look at it that way, Jaime not only got off pretty easy merely being photographed in a piece of rope from Bobby Trendy Designs, but Eric Dane dodged a bullet as well: Had he intervened, the ensuing red-carpet scuffle would surely earn its own moment in everyone's favorite part of Us Weekly: "Stars: They're Just Like Us! They Interrupt Your Big Moment In Front Of The Photographers And Rip Off Your Necklace Because They Think It's Ruining Your Outfit And That You Have Lost Your Mind!"

People's Choice Awards Fug Carpet: Emily Procter

You know what? I was going to rag on this outfit -- something about how she's dressed as the silver platter she's serving her torso up on, or that she should be feeling a bit guiltier about stealing her guru's very best formal tunic -- but I've decided to cut Emily Procter some slack. Because for one thing, those cracks are pretty lame, and for another, her skin is gorgeous and her cleavage actually looks pretty healthy; if Dr. Sunkentits were wearing this, we'd be sticking the syrup in the microwave and frying up some bacon to go with those pancakes.

But the main reason I'm feeling charitable is: Emily Procter works with David Caruso, the man whose career won't die no matter how hard he or anyone else tries to throttle it, and who is now thriving like all those cockroaches who shake off nuclear fallout only to take over the world with their nasty little antennae. And after being cooped up with that all day, watching Big Red rip off his sunglasses and put them on again over and over and over while he spits out stilted puns and then hightails it off camera, I can certainly understand wanting to run out to the People's Choice Awards baring my soul and my chest and silently screaming, "YES, America, I am SURVIVING this! I'm still alive! BLOOD PUMPS THROUGH MY VEINS AND I AM BREATHING FREE! OH, SWEET MERCIFUL LIBERTY!"

So... carry on, Emily. And congratulations.