The Great Leggingsitis Epidemic of 2008: NEAR-CRISIS AVERTED

Lindsay Lohan was one thing. But this... this could have been catastrophic, if it were true.

[Photo: Splash News]

I already knew this couldn't really be Anna Wintour, for the very simple reason that the A-Dubs we know and cherish (and fear) NEVER seems to have colored polish on her toenails. But this is cruel indeed: A nefarious, ruthless A-Dubs IMPERSONATOR is running around Paris, befouling Baroness Boberella's reputation by implying that she would DARE step into a pair of leggings, or take a style tip from a messy starlet who's barely one-tenth the Mean Girl our Anna is. Rumor has it The Dubs herself has actually banned leggings from the pages of Vogue. She is our soulmate, clearly. Someone must pay for this deviousness.

Because I prefer to believe the soapiest explanation is the truest one, I've decided French Vogue editrix -- and A-Dubs archrival -- Carine Roitfeld is behind this scheme (not a stretch, considering they once did an Anna-themed spread) to slander the future Mrs. Roger Federer. But you are foiled, Carine! A pox on your scurvy chamber of lies! We may not know anything for sure in this topsy-turvy world, but there is one thing I hold certain when my heavy head hits the pillow at night: The Real Anna Wintour would NEVER appear at a Lanvin show looking like she got sprung late from her Yoga Booty Ballet class. Mais non, bitches.

Lindsay Lohan LeggingWatch2008: PART A MILLION

We got an email from one of our attractive and insightful readers this morning, along with this photo of Lindsay, remarking that it looks like Lindsay woke up "and went insane," and I have to say that I agree, although perhaps it's closer to the truth to say that she woke up and continued to BE insane:

[Photo: infdaily.com]

And yet there is something about this that I almost kind of love. I know, I know, but it's just because she's SO over the top with the HAIR and the FUR and the BAG and the f'ing shiny endless leggings and the PRODUCT PLACEMENT that it's almost hilarious. For one thing, it's so low-rent to accept a surreptitious contract to promote a stop-smoking gum or whatever the heck it is that she's flinging around. For another, I feel like this secret celebrity product placement thing opens up a whole world of possible hilarity for those of us who enjoy celebrity-sighting: ScarJo ostentatiously gulping a Slurpee as part of her secret contract with 7-11, Katie Holmes waving around a package of Tampax, Paris Hilton gallivanting about with a giant bag of Baked Lays over her head.

So potentially, Lindsay has lulled me into an acceptance of her Leggings Habit, as I also think she looks sort of cute here:

[Photo: infdaily.com]

I mean, those could be tights, right? She totally has a skirt on under there, yes? I can think she looks cute without one of you coming over to GY HQ to shake and slap some sense into me, right? Right? Right? Or do I need to go into rehab of my own?

polls by twiigs.com...

Lindsay Lohan LeggingWATCH2008 Part II

Ladies and gents, welcome back to LILO LEGGINGWATCH2008: YET MORE LEGGINGS. Our intrepid heroine has ventured out several times in the last few days -- didn't she recently say she was going to be spending more time in Long Island with her family? Was that a fib? Or was that just a way to get her mother off her back? Or is she avoiding Dina? Is that good? Or are we reading too much into this, needing our daily dose of soaps now that Passions is kaput? If so, does that mean I am also going to start seeing the floating head of Adrian Zmed everywhere I look? -- treating us to YET MORE DELICIOUS BLACK LEGGINGS. Honestly, people, I am getting to the point where I don't even care that she's wearing leggings. LEG IT UP, I say. I DO care that she's ONLY wearing leggings.

To wit, on January 11th:

[Photo: infdaily.com]

Is it me, or is she working a sort of weird Bret Michaels look here? I'm sure it's just the Tight Pants + Long Weave Under Funky Headgear look, but I am beginning to wonder (hope) if the "album" she's supposedly "working on" "in the studio" "right now" is ACTUALLY full of covers of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," rendered in different moods -- crabby, hungry, happy, wistful, coke-pants-wearing, bitter, etc.

We get a brief respite from the LEGGINGS on January 13th in the form of this:

[Photo: Splash]

Do you think this is better?

poll by twiigs.com...

I know! I'll bring the Capri Suns, if you'll bring Handi-Snacks and we'll talk about how LiLo reverted to the LEGGINGS on the fifteenth:

[Photo: infdaily.com]

Also, a wig. That makes her kind of look like Britney. Because who doesn't want to look like Britney right now, am I right?  I thought so.

And then, later on the same day:

[Photo: Splash]

LEGGGGGGGINGS! Nothing is more frustrating than seeing this girl SHOPPING and yet BUYING NO PANTS. In fact, if Lindsay Lohan LeggingWATCH2008 were on the local Los Angeles news, this is the part of the broadcast where we'd cut to some Man on the Street and he'd say something like, "Yeah. Those are some leggings. Why doesn't she buy pants, man?" and then we'd cut back to the newscaster, who would shake her head ruefully and chuckle, and go, "Why, INDEED. And now, the weather."

Celebrity Coif Watch: Matt Dallas

So, I've never actually watched Kyle XY. I only barely know what a "Matt Dallas" even is, except that he has an amusingly fake-sounding moniker, like his real last name was something sort of kinky and weird -- or, something taken, like Perry or Damon-- and so he threw a dart at a U.S. map and picked the city it hit as his new alias. Other than that, though, the man who could've been Matt Rambo Riviera is an enigma to me. Well, okay, I've seen him shirtless on all show posters, designed to help us marvel at Mr. XY's lack of belly button, but I'm assuming that's not an affliction Matt Chocolate Bayou contends with in real life. So this leads me back to him being a total blank to me.

What I definitely did not know about Matt Loveladies is that he apparently wears carpet samples on his head.

Seriously, that might well be Matt Gaylordsville's real hair, but it looks like you could lift that thing off and cast it as Toto in a community theater production of The Wizard of Oz.

Celebrity Skeeve Watch: Ryan Cabrera

It's hard to imagine that dating Ashlee Simpson might have been the apex of Ryan Cabrera's short career and life, but seriously, would anyone have known that he's in the studio working on his third album -- or that he even has more than one album out already -- if Wikiepedia weren't around to clutch our sad, ignorant heads to its ample virtual bosom?

As it is, I only know Ryan Cabrera is still around because he is having severe hair trouble.

Oddly, this look now represents the good old days:

Hair tall enough to lose a Ben Roethlisberger action figure in, tips more frosted than a Canadian window in December... at the time we thought, "Wow, this kid is really trying his best to challenge Chad Michael Murray to a duel. It can't get any worse for him."

Then the brunet curls came along:

Jessica already covered our shock and initial mental trauma upon seeing this photo, but it bears repeating: No. And put away the scraggly chest hair.

But instead of moving away from hair that only Johnny Depp should ever try, Cabrera has attempted to gild this wilted, rotting lily:

Joe Simpson would never have allowed this. Maybe living under his iron thumb wasn't such a bad thing. Now that Ryan is dating Elvis's granddaughter Riley Keough, he appears -- inexplicably -- to be trying to turn himself into the rock-and-roll version of Philip Bloch.

Or invoke the greasy, stringy, elephantine-testacled visage of Cisco Adler. But just because the Internet-surfing public is uncomfortably aware that Cisco is so generously besac'd doesn't mean we are going to think that EVERY ratty, ragged, matted dark-haired "musician" with a scowl and a fedora automatically has a similarly formidable carton for his precious eggs.

And STOP WITH THE CHEST HAIR. Really. It doesn't make you sensitive. At all. I will only allow it if you include a wailingly sincere ballad about it on your forthcoming record, because that would automatically become one of the funniest songs of all time and the world could use a little comedy.

poll by twiigs.com

Celebrity Rut Watch: Brad Pitt

Dear Brad,

Listen, I feel you. I have these two waffle-knit cotton shirts from The Gap that have been my go-to lately for bumming around the house pecking away at my blog and watching Brothers & Sisters and Days of our Lives. Speaking of which, don't you think they should have Marlena get possessed by the devil again? Soaps are in trouble. That would probably help. Everyone loves Satanic undereye bags, contact lenses, and levitation. Some folks might just call that "Thursday," but I think it makes for compelling afternoon procrastination material.

But that's not why I'm here. My point is: I know how it feels to be in a rut of wearing comfortable clothes. I do. And yet, I also don't live on the red carpet. Here you are at the Beowulf premiere:

It's not that you DON'T have a nice coat. Or a nice shirt. I'm sure your pants are lined with angels. Expensive angels that you can only borrow from Heaven because you and your half-wife, "Angel"ina, cooked up and squeezed out the undisputed (until Suri Cruise rises to power) savior of our land.

No, my concern here is that I saw this picture and thought, "The hat AGAIN? I feel like all he does is wear this hat." You do seem to have been leaning on the newsboy cap rather a lot lately. What gives, Brad? What's the breaking story?

Here he is a week earlier:

And yet earlier:

Are you just really into the musical Newsies? Doing some caddying in your spare time? Going on a hat binge in order to encourage Angelina to do the same with meatball subs? Perhaps you are planning to quit acting because you have a cockamamie business scheme that involves eschewing hygiene: "Extra, Extra! Read all about it! Pitt Refuses To Shower, Uses Hair To Cultivate Own Brand Of Organic Cooking Oil!"

Or is it something else? Brad... are you balding? No, seriously. Talk to us. We're here to help. Because we love the baldies: Taye Diggs, Tom Colicchio, Daddy Warbucks, Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise (I believe his Earth name is Patrick Stewart), occasional-cue-ball and Derek Zoolander Celebrity Supermodel Walk-Off Support Crew Chief Billy Zane... the list is long and glorious. You should not feel shame. Embrace the chance to grease up your splendid cranium and debut it to the world.

Or is reliance on The Newsboy just a male equivalent of women developing a wig obsession, and I should relax my level of concern and just let him LIVE?

poll by twiigs.com

Terror Watch Downgrade: Lucy Davis

Welcome home, Lucy Davis. It's been a long road. Like, seriously long. Imagine being forced to rewatch every episode of Heroes' horrible second season in one sitting without a bottle of wine, a cheesecake, a remote to fast-forward through the Wonder Twins and Mopey Lovelorn Hiro In Feudal Japan, or a blunt object within reach. That's the kind of frustration and agony we felt sometimes.

So, it's nice to have you back:

[Photo: Splash News]

And with new hair, to boot. Hair that does not look like it recently caught on fire, perhaps while you were using your actual iron on it. And your skin no longer appears as though you waxed it with a melted pumpkin candle. I am thrilled about this, because you seem very lovely, and it was horrible seeing you parading around town styled like somebody's drunk, chain-smoking granny who holidays in Cornwall by the sea using nothing but baby oil -- that is, when she's not glued to her pub stool.

I'm not comfortable calling off the alert altogether yet, because as I've noted before, you cannot be trusted with consistency. Still, we can find it in our unbronzed hearts to take you down a few notches on the terror chart -- let's say, to Guarded from High/Severe. We're not ready to call you a sane person until you've gone several consecutive months without dipping even a toe into the Bronze Sea.

Appendix: TANOREXIA WATCH TERROR CHART

SEVERE: Suri Cruise -- as in, find her (formerly; look, this chart is old, okay?) inescapable prison and lock yourself in it until your flesh tone returns.

HIGH: Jennifer Aniston

ELEVATED: Zac Efron

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

LOW: Sane, sensible person

Celebrity Terror Watch: Watch Your Internal Organs Edition

It's time.

After countless warnings, we are finally at a full-on Red Alert at GFY HQ. It wasn't someone's rapid descent into skeevitude that sent us speeding down the highway to the danger zone; rather, it was an old nemesis -- the Mendoza to our McBain, the Gargamel to our Papa Smurf -- that has us worried.

This man's resolute refusal to tone down the crazy eyes -- some drops, maybe? Glasses? A blindfold? -- has us fairly sure he is not only hungry, but craving a romantic dinner for two with Hannibal Lecter over some fava beans, a nice Chianti, and the liver of an innocent.

Yep: Vincent Gallo is coming to get you, and based on that omnipresent look of ravenous, untamed madness in his eyes, he is pretty certain the only thing separating him from eternal life and true divinity is being able to wear your flesh as a winter coat and your ass as the matching earmuffs.

Consider yourselves warned.

Appendix: POTENTIAL SERIAL KILLER TERROR LEVEL CHART: ON-LOOKER ADVISORY VERSION.

SEVERE: Get to a safe place and call 911. Celebrities CAN crack. Look at Phil Spector.

HIGH: Leave the room now. You don't want to be deposed when they lose it in the near future. AND THEY WILL.

ELEVATED: Be guarded and don't take any drinks from this person. Do you want to be played by Tori Spelling in the made-for-TV movie of this incident? We didn't think so.

GUARDED: Sure, be alert, but don't freak out. Maybe they just went though a bad break-up, or need to wash their hair?

Low: Go about your business.

Celebrity Terror Trump Watch: Clay Aiken

I was thinking to myself yesterday, "you know, I haven't seen Clay Aiken for a while. I wonder what he's up to?"

Yes, friends, he was locked up in his basement with The Trumpinator2000, an elaborate machine similar to a Bowflex, which -- in only 20 minutes a day, three days a week -- will eventually transform your face, hair and brows from whatever they used to be into something more closely resembling  The Donald.  Women (especially those with bad eyesight) will flock to you! Your friends will claim to be "amazed" and "stunned"! Your mother will cry! Probably with joy, because who doesn't dream of her baby turning himself into a wee Trumplette, right? A steal for even the regular Joe at just six payments of $79.99, The Trumpinator2000 is thrilled to have superstar Clay Aiken as its first celebrity spokesperson!

Celebrity WTF? Watch: Adrian Brody and Robert Downey, Jr.

Okay, everyone, enlighten me: What is up with guys looking crazy lately? Is Hollywood only making movies right now that demand gross hair and strange mustaches and ridiculous hats? Is Vincent Gallo actually the poster boy for a new revolution of fugitude in our matinee idols?

Adrien Brody, what is this mullet-like creature plopped atop your head? STOP THAT. It's awful. You don't even seem to be making a movie right now, so unless you're doing reshoots for something, you can't hide behind the excuse that you're very busy playing a pizza delivery boy who wrings the grease from a slice of pepperoni to style his bangs and suddenly becomes an overnight sensation in the field of hair-care. Although I would probably watch that movie, because I am shameless, and it would probably be on ABC Family in a marathon with Mystic Pizza.

Scarier than Adrien, though, is what Robert Downey, Jr., has done to himself.

He is currently shooting a Ben Stiller comedy about actors playing soldiers. So, wait, what am I complaining about here? Of COURSE he borrowed Rod Stewart's hair! Rod is a soldier too. A soldier of love.

Celebrity Terror Watch: Sarah Jane Morris

Poor Sarah Jane Morris.

She probably had no idea when she donned this otherwise innocuous, sweet summer dress that -- during her big photo opportunity, no less -- it would rise up and try to throttle her on the spot. No motive has been identified for the attempted assassination of a completely harmless person who was probably just trying to get inside for some free crudités, a glass of champagne, and a swag bag. But we can only assume that after years of celebrities committing fashion crimes, the fashion itself has developed a vicious streak.

So, be careful. Be vigilant. And maybe stay away from things with strange flaps, or scarf-bodices, or built-in dishtowels -- or whatever that thing is -- that could randomly nooseify themselves. Save your necks.

Celebrity Terror Watch: Eric Balfour

Add Eric Balfour to the Big Bad List of Celebrities Who Look Like They're About to SNAP and Murder You:

He looks way crankier at the Pink Taco opening than any man ought to look at the opening of a pink taco. ZING! AND SOMETIMES THEY WRITE THEMSELVES.

Ahem. Sorry. The coffee was overly strong this morning. I mean, really -- a Pink Taco/pink taco crack? What I am, like, a twelve year old boy, who just discovered TastelessEuphamisms.com? I'm so ashamed. Please, look away.

Celebrity Terror Watch: Shane West

Joining Ginnifer Goodwin on The Big List of Celebrities Who Look Like They're Thinking About Choking You Out, I present the usually dreamy Shane West:

Seriously, I'm kind of nervous just looking at him. I only have, like, thirty bucks in my wallet, Shane, but you can totally have it if you just go away.  I mean, I don't know -- maybe he's campaigning for the lead in a made-for-TV-movie about Peter Braunstein. But while that's totally the sort of movie I would get sucked into watching (I love poorly made movies about terrible crimes. I once spent four hours watching a mini-series about the Menendez brothers on Lifetime), I do not think it's really a look anyone should be sporting, you know, off the set. TERROR LEVEL: HIGH

Appendix: POTENTIAL SERIAL KILLER TERROR LEVEL CHART: ON-LOOKER ADVISORY VERSION.

SEVERE: Get to a safe place and call 911. Celebrities CAN crack. Look at Phil Spector.

HIGH: Leave the room now. You don't want to be deposed when they lose it in the near future. AND THEY WILL.

ELEVATED: Be guarded and don't take any drinks from this person. Do you want to be played by Tori Spelling in the made-for-TV movie of this incident? We didn't think so.

GUARDED: Sure, be alert, but don't freak out. Maybe they just went though a bad break-up, or need to wash their hair?

Low: Go about your business.

Celebrity Terror Watch: Fergie

In theory, we're all for celebrities acting like normal people and wearing something more than once. In practice, though, there are things like high-waisted overalls, which fall distinctly into the "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me" category of fashion.

Such was the affliction I thought had grabbed Fergie in its toxic clutches.

And then, with a heavy heart, I realized this is not the same pair of camel-toe-causing high-waisted overalls. Which means... it's hard to put this in print, because that means it's real... there are TWO types of vagina-crunching, waist-pinching, armpit-encroaching denim overalls in the world. Judging by Fergie's face, this one is particularly likely to have been dumped on an unsuspecting public by the same people who bring you Monistat. [Miss Fergie Ferg must be seriously reconsidering the creative decision to peddle her latest single dressed as a farmhand.]

Unless her apparently misery has to do with how tightly the belt is cinched, at which point the suspenders become merely decorative. Yes, that's right: They're IMITATION lady-cave-spelunking high-waisted overalls. I'm not sure which is the more insidious creation; all I do know is, it just got a little bit less safe for us out there. 

Celebrity Terror Watch DOWNGRADE: Jon Favreau

It is our great pleasure here at GFY HQ to announce a Celebrity Terror Watch downgrade, in which a formerly afflicted celeb shows up at an event not looking cracked out, tanned up, bloated, greasy, frighteningly thinner than usual, or compromised in any way that the CDC would need to hear about. Instead, we are extremely  gratified to present to you Jon Favreau, as witnessed over the weekend:

That's a nice suit, Jon.

Allow me to refresh your memory as to how he looked last time we checked in:

Not that he doesn't pull off the Disgruntled Lumberjack look, but it's nice to see him back in be-suited Vegas Baby Vegas mode, no?

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

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.

Celebrity Facial-Hair Watch: Ryan Gosling

Please let this be for a role. Please let this be for a role.

Please.

Fortunately, Ryan Gosling's IMDb page claims he's currently filming a movie called Lars and the Real Girl, the one-line summary of which appears as follows: "A delusional young guy strikes up an unconventional relationship with a doll he finds on the Internet." At the risk of offending anyone with upper-lip hair -- it's not personal; it's situational, a face-by-face case -- that synopsis would seem the appropriate context for a mustache so cruelly rendered across an otherwise intriguing face. And yes, I saw The Notebook; as such, I don't mind him with the scruff, or even the full beard, but there's something ominous about this manner of follicular lipicide. The mustache has taken something from us. It has trapped him in that cruel purgatory between clean-shaven dreamyness and the totally rugged, ragged I Wore Overalls With No Shirt On Underneath In The Blazing Sun While I Built The House Of My Dreams To My Lost Love's Specifications, Because I'm A Hopeless Romantic Who Fought In The War And Loves Even Harder Than I Grow Facial Hair thing. It's launching a horrific bid to turn half of Canada's golden couple (Ryan Gosling + Rachel McAdams = The Squeeeeeeee! Heard Around The World, Or At Least Around Toronto And Vancouver) into a vacuum-cleaner salesman who was fired from his teaching job because of a seedy predilection for dirty massage parlors and, probably, Circus Peanuts, because nobody with innocent intentions would ever eat those.

So, I repeat: Please let the 'stache be for Lars And The I Will Never See That Movie Because Dolls Are Creepy, because if it is, it's (hopefully) going away soon, or about to be joined by the rest of the scruff. Fingers crossed.

Celebrity Mild-Alarm Watch: Teri Hatcher

Okay, somebody needs to give Teri Hatcher a sit-down, because more and more lately she is looking all wrong.

And I'm not talking clothes; I'm referring to... her face.

When she's smiling, and/or caught from afar, she seems mostly normal, but still with a whiff of something off. Almost as if she's smiling while trying not to breathe through her nose, or perhaps just trying to put on a brave face despite her dark, secret fear that her face is about to crack into a million pieces from all this muscle motion.

Still, on the whole, it's not bad. She seems happy, if a little timid, but overall her Fug Factor is on the low side -- by her standards, at least; there is no horrible goth getup, no mismatched animal prints. Indeed, I wouldn't have thought anything was amiss had I not checked out a close-up. That is when I started to get worried.

This photo could be captioned, "The subject stares into a bright light after a few glasses of champagne -- not having slept in 24 hours, which impaired her judgment during self-administered Botox injections -- and tries desperately not to sneeze."

I mean... am I crazy, or is the right side of her face tighter than the left by the eyes, and droopier down by the mouth? Like it's being yanked in two directions? 

This isn't a rare shot, either; in all of the straight-faced photos from this event, Teri appears either lopsided or slightly drunk. Part of me suspects that her face doesn't take well to eye makeup, and that she desperately needs to find somebody who can do her up without making her appear overtired, cranky, and/or evil.

Mostly, though, I call shenanigans. There does appear to be tomfoolery at work. Maybe her right eye is in the middle of an allergy attack. Or, maybe Eva Longoria accidentally tragically whacked her in the face with a purse because she happened to be running straight at her and swinging a bag to and fro. Or it's possible Teri slept on it oddly. Really, really oddly. However, I suppose it's also possible she ran late on the set and only had time to get needle-stabby with half of her face, leaving the poor thing utterly unaware of what to do with itself when in repose. 

Whatever it is, though, we're not putting her on a full-blown Botoxorexia Terror Watch -- not yet. We're feeling all warmed from within by mulled wine, and toasty-cozy in the gay apparel we're donning in anticipation of decking the halls, so she is getting off with a mild alert today.

A few more sets of closeups like this, though, and we might have to rethink our stance.

Celebrity Terror Watch: Think Of The Children

I'm sorry, Dakota. Really, I am. This isn't about you. Whenever I see you interviewed, you seem very well-adjusted and mature, and properly parented. And I'm pleased about that, because it greatly diminishes the odds of you drooling booze onto a Hollywood sidewalk six years from now while Paris Hilton celebrates being kicked off Dancing With The Stars for trying to have sex with her partner during the tango.

So, don't take this personally. Like I said, it's not you. It's the world. It's The Scourge.

It's found you.

Are you HAPPY NOW, Leggings? Are you PLEASED with yourselves? LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. You have INFECTED THE CHILDREN. Even Wilbur is like, "Dude, I don't want any part of that."

Does it make you feel all WARM INSIDE to have SCRAMBLED THE JUDGMENT OF OUR NATION'S YOUTH? To have claimed the innocence of America's Underage Sweetheart? Oh, you are a dangerous, caddish stretchy-cotton plague. Curses! A POX ON YOU.

It bears repeating: Constant vigilence is required here. If your guard comes down for even a second, you could find yourselves in a tunic and leggings faster than you can reach for an old photo album to ward off the demons.

Be strong, Dakota. Wrest yourself from their spandex talons. We're here for you.

The Talented Mr Fugly

I was watching a commercial for The Holiday last night -- you know, the movie where Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet switch houses, and romantic shenanigans ensue? -- and it occurred to me that I don't particularly buy Jude Law as a romantic lead anymore. I don't know if this is because I know too much about his real-life predilection for nannies and Sienna Miller, or if it's because he's morphed from being this guy:

To being this guy:

I don't really want that guy showing up at my vacation house and romancing me. I'm a little scared that that guy is going to show up at my vacation house and rob me. And while the suit itself is lovely,  this shirt/tie combination makes me want to show up at his vacation house and burn it down:

Something about him just gives me the wiggins, and the wee curly mullet doesn't help, either.  In the ad, there's a scene where he and Cameron Diaz are going somewhere in a car together, and they're all looking at each other coyly, and I am not thinking, "Aw, look! Those two are totally going to fall in transatlantic love!" I am thinking, "He is totally going to murder her and dump her body in some abandoned English field."  Which I am pretty sure is not exactly what they were going for.

On the other hand, maybe the movie is secretly about serial killers. What do I know? I just hope Kate Winslet makes it out alive. I love her.

Celebrity Skeeve Watch: Billy Crudup

This has been brewing for a long time at GFY HQ, but today, the Terror Watch squad would like to announce officially that Billy Crudup has been put on a high "orange" alert (see Appendix below) for his escalating skeeve factor.

Crudup has struggled mightily with facial outcroppings in the last two years, perhaps under the mistaken impression that his unlikely appeal in Almost Famous would maintain itself through whatever follicular configurations he debuted. But, he was wrong. Very wrong. It doesn't help that he and dreary-guts Claire Danes have had to spend the last little while as Those Cheating Pregnant-Lady-Leaving Bastards, but even without the taint of that nasty little situation and their ensuing collective frowning and aura of total boredom (like, "Uh... well, guess we'd better stay together, then, since everyone's watching... pass me my vibrator? Thanks"), we would still be completely grossed out by the amount of oil he's stockpiling in his hair. Not to mention the rust-colored moustache that, against every bit of my free will, makes me think of... look, I can't bring myself to use the proper term for this act on our site, so let's just say it's reminisce of the kind of painting party only South Park's Mr. Hanky could throw.

So, Billy, to borrow from your Mastercard commercials:

Shampoo: $5.99

A Gillette Fusion (you are going to need all 5 blades): $9.99

Shaving cream: $2.29

Not looking like Kevin Federline's older brother: Priceless (yet also a very affordable $18.27 plus tax, so why the haste?)

Additional Note: The GFY Terror Watch squad would also like to announce that Wilmer Valderrama has been ejected from the "Guarded" category for looking really rather presentable lately, and not at all as if he hasn't slept in three days. Congratulations, Wilmer. He has been replaced by Chad Michael Murray, who, while appearing relatively physically clean, is a Hilton-banging cheating douchebag pig-dog and therefore merits placement on the scale.

Thank you, and remember: Practice constant vigilence.

Appendix: SKEEVE WATCH TERROR LEVEL CHART

SEVERE: Kevin Federline

HIGH: Brandon Davis

ELEVATED: Michael Madsen

GUARDED: Chad Michael Murray

LOW: Jake Gyllenhaal

Celebrity Tanorexia Watch: Lucy Davis

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Office Worker Overly Inspired By Goldenrod Copy Paper

LOS ANGELES -- British actress and known tanorexic Lucy Davis, best known for playing Dawn on The Office, has been upgraded to "Tanorexia Threat Level: Severe" after accidentally tragically falling into a vat of iodine prior to walking the red carpet at the Emmy Awards.

Observers close to Davis called the incident a ghastly affair.

"It was a ghastly affair," one of them said, on condition of anonymity. "If she weren't my daughter, I'd have laughed and laughed, and laughed some more, but instead I had to pull her out."

Davis, 33, was once a nice, normal color, as exhibited here in a photo from 2005.

But sources say Davis became a self-tanning addict since her success on the UK comedy; recently, when her concerned family confiscated her spray-on bottles and had her barred from Mystic Tan, Davis tried to take matters into her own hands.

The results of her attempted tanicide were devastating.

Davis's discoloration is so bad, photographers say they witnessed a duped Gene Wilder wandering up to her on the red carpet and idly asking if she would please get back to twaddling the vernicious knid epidemic in the factory before they ate through his crates of Wonka Bars. He then demanded a command performance of "Oompa Loompa Doompety-Do."

"Nonsense," scoffed Davis's rep. "Everybody knows vernicious knids don't eat chocolate."

Despite concerns that the new skin tone ages her 10 years and frightened a small child, Davis's stained skin earned her at least one fan: The Fruit Of The Loom company plans to invite her to star in a series of commercials in which an orange joins their motley gang of singing, joking characters.

"It'll be perfect -- we won't have to pay a makeup artist," said a guy in a giant red apple costume, who didn't give his name.

If you spy her wandering around town, GFY HQ advises, attack her with a bottle of sunscreen, blindfold her, spin her around 40 times, and then release her into the wild too disoriented to find the nearest spray-on salon.

END TRANSMISSION.

Appendix: TANOREXIA WATCH TERROR CHART

SEVERE: Suri Cruise -- as in, find her inescapable prison 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

Celebrity Bloat Watch: Jeremy London

I haven't seen Jeremy London for a while; I remember him from being sort of cute and brooding on Party of Five, because by law every character on that show had to be both cute and brooding, but beyond that I lost track of him except to learn that he apparently spent two years on 7th Heaven.

That last tidbit may answer the question of how he came to be in his current condition.

Because when you sign a contract with 7th Heaven, that's when the shame spiral really starts, isn't it? Then comes the Little Debbie addiction, and the beer, and before you know it, Ivan Reitman has called to tell you that Andy Serkis is officially the wrong body type to be the base for a CGI Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man in a Ghostbusters remake -- too lean -- so would you please consider stepping in?

Consider this a Threat Level: Orange, but with a tinge of hope, because maybe, just maybe, this was a slow bloating all in the name of whatever part he played in Basilisk: The Serpent King, which is now safely in post-production. And with that finally finished, perhaps a ritual deflating is on the schedule.

Be strong, Jeremy. Stay alive. Your metabolism will find you.

Appendix: BLOAT WATCH TERROR LEVEL CHART

SEVERE: MY GOD MAN, GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF.

HIGH: Think about getting back on the smack.

ELEVATED: Seriously, cut down on the sodium.

GUARDED: Maybe look into a seaweed wrap?

LOW: Keep up the good work.

Celebrity Curmudgeon Watch: Elliot Gould

When did Elliot Gould become a wizened old mathematician who teaches AP Calculus to ungrateful high-schoolers by day, and at night slaves over a decades-old proof he's yet to crack while he tries to soak the sweat- and ink-stains out of his tight, short-sleeved, button-down white polyester shirts?

I can't believe I didn't know about this sooner.

Celebrity Giamatti Watch: Ethan Embry

I know it seems like a long time ago that anyone really cared what Ethan Embry was doing, and maybe you think that you never cared. But, without knowing it, you probably did. There was that fleeting moment in 1998 where people swooned for his lovesick-geek turn in Can't Hardly Wait, and women and gay boys alike developed sweetly nagging crushes on the gangly saucer-eyed kid with a slight lisp; then he snagged a TV pilot, and he was as close to a household name as he ever got.

But then that pilot turned into Freakylinks, and ... well, you know how that went; now you not only don't care about him, but you didn't remember why he was "famous" until I mentioned it just there.

Still, he's back out and about again. For whatever reason. And it's intriguing. Because take a look at Ethan Embry a few years ago:

More Luke Perry than Luke Wilson, right?

Well, if you'd told this kid that in 2006 he would have puffed up and turned into Paul Giamatti, I suspect he'd have taken off the stupid fedora he always seemed to be wearing and punched you right in the face with a girlish yawp.

For here he is now:

Okay, just kidding, that is Paul Giamatti. But the resemblance between Giamatti -- Hollywood's resident shlub artist -- and present-day Embry is uncanny.

Right? I can't imagine this is where Embry intended to go -- no disrespect to Paul Giamatti, who is a talented actor even if you find the bitter sad-sacks he plays to be intolerably self-pitying, but I don't think that many people are kept awake at night wondering, "How can I be more scrubbly? How can my voice reverberate with nasal contempt for myself and for life? HOW? THERE MUST BE A WAY!" And I should also point out that in Hollywood, at the moment, there appears to be room for only one Paul Giamatti.

So, Ethan, you might want to rethink a little.

Celebrity Terror Watch: Carson Daly

It's almost impossible to have missed the photo of Carson Daly that's been going around, wherein he looks aged and skeletal; indeed, unless you live under a rock, or your first name begins with "S" and rhymes with "fury booze," you've probably already been suitably alarmed by it.

Still, we couldn't resist.

Good for Carson for getting himself in shape at a relatively normal speed, but this photo makes me think he's crossed the line into obsession and become a hungry, wan shell. Remember on Seinfeld when Kramer sunbathed in butter, and the smell of crispy flesh piqued Newman's salivary glands such that he started seeing Kramer's head atop the body of a golden-roasted turkey, and became ravenous? That look in Newman's eye has been born again in Carson's. Something is not quite right with the way he's sucking on his lips, as if willing himself not to lick them out of bloodlust for the delicious, meaty, protein-laden photographer who is snapping the shot.

"You've already had your solid for the day, Carson," he is chanting to himself, right hand twitching toward the yellow rubber Live Strong bracelet that acts as his talisman. "Don't even THINK about how he would taste with a pot of lobster bearnaise, and a loaded baked potato... some buttered green beans... hot rolls... Oh, yummy, this man is MINE -- wait, NO! Shake it off, soldier! STAY ALIVE! A Zone bar WILL find you!"

Celebrity Terror Watch: Skeeve Alert

Adam Brody, still occasionally charming on The O.C. even though the show itself has slid into an abyss of suck, is -- according to IMDb -- currently filming a movie called Smiley Face in which he plays a character named "Steve the Dealer."

I can only hope, then, that the following is actually Method Skeeze:

Still, it's concerning. One's upper lip is not for pubic fuzz. He looks dirty and sweaty and as if he smells faintly of feet. It's such a shame, too, because he and Rachel Bilson make such an awfully cute couple.

So, whether it's contractually obligated skeeze or not, let's all just hope that this passes soon -- that he speed-acts the hell out of Steve the Dealer and then goes home, showers, and takes a Mach-3 to that outcropping.

Celebrity Terror Watch: Burnt-Sienna Starlets

Summer is here, and that can only mean one thing: Young ladies spray themselves various shades of orange-brown in an attempt to look sun-kissed, when in reality it's more like "pelted with overripe kumquats."

Exhibit A: Amanda Bynes.

Pretty girl, lovely figure, ridiculous fake tan.

Exhibit B: Jamie-Lynn Sigler.

Pretty girl, lovely figure, ridiculous fake tan. I sense a pattern here. And while I appreciate and advocate not lying in the sun for hours frying skin to a crisp, thus practically issuing a double-dog-dare to skin cancer, I will never understand the temptation to douse oneself in Crayola-false colors like a piece of bare wall getting tagged with graffiti.

Although in Jamie-Lynn's case, some of her atrocious artificial brownness might come from having been doused in syrup by a confused, hungry passer-by who -- thanks to the cut of that dress -- mistook her breasts for pancakes.

Celebrity Skeeve Watch: Jamie Kennedy

It's not that Jamie Kennedy has always been an immaculately groomed Clooney of a gent -- not at all. And that's fine. Not everyone can be that dapper. But the pre-Kutcher prankster has taken something of a surprising left turn lately, going from a carefully careless-looking scamp...

... to a guy who looks exhausted because he spent all week casing your neighborhood, trying to figure out what tree gives him the best vantage point for peeping. This Jamie Kennedy spends his insomniac hours writing My Space blog entries about how you refuse to acknowledge your passion for him, and filming songs he's written for you on his Casio with a WebCam his mother bought him because he told her it was for the chess club. He smells alternately like dandruff, Robitussin, and burnt Parmesan cheese.

We are declaring a Code Yellow on Jamie Kennedy, with the hope that he'll save himself before he blows into Orange Alert Brandon Davis territory, and suddenly begins to believe that being a slobbering pile of human waste is the Holy Grail of personal styles.

Appendix: SKEEVE WATCH TERROR LEVEL CHART

SEVERE: Kevin Federline

HIGH: Brandon Davis

ELEVATED: Michael Madsen

GUARDED: