Celebrities

What happened
Australia’s favourite middle-aged spin bowler proposed to England’s favourite middle-aged model and actor, at a restaurant at the famous St Andrews golf course in Scotland in November. Thus was born the name “Shurley”

OK, so there were bigger, more important issues this year. But in terms of issues that set tongues wagging, both on this website and across Australia, this was a biggie.

The engagement came after just 10 months of dating, and confirmed that Shane Warne is today just about the most famous Australian in any field of public life. Women’s mags completely crapped themselves at the news, while hair replacement therapists and slimming pill suppliers booked expensive holidays in anticipation of years of revenue to come.

Continue reading "Biggest moments of 2011 #16 Shurley they can’t be serious" »

I have something of a man-crush on Karl Stefanovic. Like my addiction to surfing animal-attack videos on YouTube, I’ve taken to stalking the Gold Logie winner’s career with morbid fascination.

The Today Show host is an anomaly in the news world. You don’t know how he survives, let alone thrives, but he does.

What other Australian television personality, let alone journalist, can drunkenly ogle his co-host on breakfast primetime, then go on to win a Gold Logie two years later? And then, when he wins that Logie, include his wife’s arse in the acceptance speech?

Continue reading "I love Karl Stefanovic more than he loves his wife’s arse" »

One of the many life lessons we have been taught by former South Australian treasurer Kevin Foley is that it is best to wear a disguise when buying hotpants for your girlfriend.

Earlier this year it was reported that Foley had bought some raunchy undergarments for his sheila du jour from an Adelaide boutique on his return from an overseas trip. The story emerged from the store where he made the purchase, proving that the bums who were happy to take the bloke’s money were equally happy to get straight on the telephone to a gossip columnist to peddle their invasive little story.

Despite being a very good treasurer and a likeable if flawed human being, it appears to be Kevin Foley’s lot in life that no form of ridicule or no level of rumour-mongering is off limits. His treatment by the public, sections of the media and his political opponents following his assault outside an Adelaide bar, even at the noteworthy hour of 4am, is something which we should reflect on now that the truth has emerged following the guilty plea by his assailant in the Magistrates Court this week.

Continue reading "One politician we’re all happy to belt around" »

Paul Keating’s fondness for picking up the phone to relay his displeasure about media coverage is the stuff of legend. From the half-dozen spirited conversations I’ve had as a publisher with the former PM, the most memorable went to the issue of privacy.

An item had appeared in Sydney Confidential about his daughter being spotted on a date with a rugby league player at a city bar. The article didn’t suggest any hanky-panky, simply that they had met for a drink. Keating didn’t think it should have run at all and took particular issue with the accompanying photograph, which had been tagged as digitally altered, featuring separate merged images of his daughter and the said footy star.

Keating prefaced his remarks by reflecting on the level of moral bankruptcy which would attract someone to a career as a gossip writer, and indeed a career as the publisher of their work. To give you a sense of it, in his opening salvo he described gossip writers as “ugly biker’s molls who couldn’t get a root on a troop ship, couldn’t get a root on a troop ship coming home” and he concluded that whenever he rang editors about articles of this kind he routinely received a lecture about public figures and the public’s right to know which had no relationship to the “horseshit” we chose to publish.

Continue reading "The right to privacy would come at a social cost" »

Like anyone who has ever had to perform some form of work, I despise wealthy celebrities.

Their constant tears in interviews, their overuse of words like “journey” and “dreams” and their inability to empathise with anyone other than rare amphibians and cyber-bullied American Idol contestants make them difficult to like.

They are a strange and reptilian breed whose thirst for never-ending attention and gaudy bling can repulse even the gentlest of souls – which is why it pains me to take their side on rare occasions.

Continue reading "Dude, where’s my massively oversized deluxe trailer?" »

Love is all around. It’s in the air, on the air and online. Unfortunately it’s mostly self love. Studies show narcissism is on the rise. Far from being mythological, some say it is now an ‘epidemic’, with people falling so hard for themselves they can no longer relate to others.

US congressman Anthony Weiner’s self love overflowed onto Twitter, leading to punderous headlines, turgid analysis, and a drooping career trajectory. Silly Weiner obviously looked in the mirror one day and thought: “Wow. That is just so good I can’t keep it to myself.”

Narcissism covers a spectrum of self love; from a healthy self esteem through to unhealthy self infatuation, which can lead to abusive, controlling behaviour, a lack of empathy towards others. It’s this far end, where self love overrides all else, that is getting out of control.

Continue reading "A vain love: The FIG JAM phenomenon" »

I respect Justin Bieber. Not begrudgingly respect—no, no, no. Plain, vanilla, true, deep respect. The kid’s good. I can acknowledge this.

There is no doubting that the immense Bieber whinging permeating through the (adult) world of social media is vastly unfounded. Of course, such facts won’t bother those who’ve gleefully ingested the Haterade.

One has to wonder if we’ve just become more adept at smugness for smugness’ sake - because it’s definitely not the music industry that’s changed.

Continue reading "Back off, haters - Justin Bieber’s got talent!" »

So, radio personality Jackie O crossed a quiet, leafy, Double Bay pedestrian crossing while bottle-feeding her six-week-old daughter and made the mistake of being photographed.

Mothercraft and Nannies director, Jenni Waldron, tut-tutted in the Daily Telegraph that “it would be best to sit comfortably in a chair and hold your baby correctly while feeding”. She was probably caught off guard too.

Jackie felt compelled to explain herself on air: ‘I was running late and Kitty was screaming…’. Yes.  I feel like doing that myself when I read stories like this. 

Continue reading "The perils of breasts, bottles, and babies" »

RIP Lady Gaga, Kim Kardashian, Justin Timberlake, Usher, Serena Williams, and Elijia Wood. For today at least, they are dead, digitally speaking.

They are amongst a host of celebrities who have signed on to stage their “digital death,” that is, they have temporarily pulled the plug on their Twitter and Facebook lives until their loyal followers stump up $1 million for World AIDS Day.

But this cyber stunt raises an interesting possibility – what if we like this blessed silence? What if we find we don’t crave their incessant inanities and misspelt, mangled English?

Continue reading "Instead of paying them to Tweet, let’s pay them not to" »

The screams are still ringing in my ears.

Oprah’s audience, and every Australian Tourism authority, are no doubt still trying to recover their composure after the mass hysteria that followed her pronouncement that she and several hundred of her bestest fans were bound for the positively Jules Verne-esque destination of “the other side of the world”.

Later this year, Winfrey and her troop of ardent devotees will be flown to our shores courtesy of Captain Kangaroo himself John Travolta. The Opera House will form the particularly scenic backdrop for the taping of an episode of her talk show which reaches 44 million people each week.

Continue reading "Cult leader Oprah will send her followers Down Under" »

The Lindsay Lohan story is not a cautionary tale about sexuality: to present the media coverage which has surrounded Lohan’s sentencing to 90 days behind bars as an example of flagrant misogyny is a misreading of the cultural mores underlying this particularly sad episode.

This story is really about the economy of fame, the paparazzi and media consumption; not about a male/female double standard that harks back to first year Gender Studies.

The reporting of Lohan’s legal travails cannot be read as simply being the crucifixion of a young woman who dares flout conventional female norms of propriety and hem lines. The entertainment industry has been built, since movies were black and white and daring swimsuits went to the knee, on young creatures who transgress fairly standard bounds of decency and behaviour.

Continue reading "The rise of the hot mess" »

Am I the only one a little queasy over the underlying public gloat at the jailing of master criminal Lindsay Lohan?

There it is, just beneath the surface – unspoken and insidious. It’s the patriarchal desire to see a wanton woman tamed.

Disagree? Replay the Lohan case with buttoned-down Katie Holmes in the dock and picture the reaction. See what I mean? But a boozing bisexual rootrat with a spoiled tabloid reputation and cash in the bank must be brought to heel.

Continue reading "Lohan stitched up by patriarchal virgin worship" »

Insiders have confirmed what we suspected…. the Sandra Bullock/Scarlett Johansson MTV Awards smooch was a pre-meditated act orchestrated by Bullock herself.

Yep, The Blind Side star rearranged the MTV award schedule so her award could be presented by the blonde bombshell instead of Zac Efron.

Because it seems when you need a profile resurrection, there’s nothing like a bit of girl on girl action to nab those headlines.

Continue reading "Girl on girl award kisses: what a load of Bullock" »

While television has many examples of extreme stupidity – need I remind you of the TV executives who felt that Neighbours and MasterChef had no future on their commercial network – seldom is silliness really embraced with the level of glee suitable for an industry that’s basically just designed to fill in the gaps between the ads.

If today’s newspaper is tomorrow’s chip wrapping then today TV is – poufff – gone as soon as it’s transmitted. Well, unless you set the IQ correctly, and have managed to stop the rest of your family erasing your recording to make space on the hard drive for all of that “Come Dine With Me” marathon.

Thank heavens then for this year’s Logies. Usually TV’s night of nights is an august occasion but this year the organizers have rather let themselves down by allowing a 48 year old man whose sole claims to fame are that he a) wears a rag round his neck; and b) like to eat food and doesn’t mind if people watch, to be nominated for the Logie for best new talent.

Continue reading "A smorgasbord of stars at the tastiest Logies ever" »

Last Saturday, while having lunch on the balcony at my favourite cheap pasta joint in the city, I saw a large man emerging from a large black Mercedes. Watching this guy cross the road with two little boys, I had one of those celebrity spotting moments when you think “that bloke kinda looks like Russell Crowe”, only to discover on closer inspection that it actually was Russell Crowe.

Things became more interesting when Rusty and the boys came up in and sat down at the table across from me at Bill and Tony’s.

Bill and Tony’s is the kind of cheap standard Italian restaurant that you can’t find in inner-city Sydney much anymore. Gaudy maps of Italy and red and white chequered table cloths have been replaced by stark aluminium interiors and names like Il Ruccola del Fuccula.

Continue reading "Rusty and the boys like a good spag bol" »

A red carpet in Los Angeles. March 7, 2010: A handsome yet self-conscious Australian actor, who happens to have recently starred in the highest-grossing film of all time, is stopped for an interview while walking the red carpet at the Academy Awards.

When asked the mandatory question put to all Oscar attendees: “Your clothing, please discuss”, he replies “Payless Shoes and a friggin’ kick ass suit.” 
Quizzed as to the suit’s designer (it’s all about the labels, darling, hence the “who” and not “what” are you wearing) he shrugs “some bloke”.

Right on cue, the media in the actor’s homeland conclude this response to be proof of his down-to-earth appeal and marvel over his grounded, humble attitude amid a sea of Hollywood shallowness.

Continue reading "Wacko the diddle oh it’s a dead-set dinki di Avatar" »

I can’t remember who said it, but when Sally McLellan won silver in the 100m hurdles at the Bejiing Olympics, someone described her joyful reaction as what sports stars sound like when they haven’t had any media training.

There was none of that tedium about taking it one hurdle at a time, about sticking to the strategy, no irritating thank-yous for her sponsors (if indeed she had any), no psychobabble about self-belief and running the mental race. Rather we saw pure, unadorned joy, with the odd expletive thrown in for extra colour.

“Oh my God, is this real? You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” McLellan said. “Did you see me? Did you see how pumped I was? I was more pumped than I’ve ever been in my life. Shit, I could see a girl passing me but kept running my own race. Amazing. I can’t believe it.”

Continue reading "Gone with the spin: Tiger and the insincerity industry" »

Talk about a grand marketing plan!

Last weekend, Love magazine, run by former Pop! Magazine Editor (and fashion industry icon) Katie Grand, started releasing their Issue #3 covers. The nude shots of Lara Stone, Kristen McMenamy, Daria Werbowy and Jeneil Williams were let loose on the internet, and didn’t the bloggers have a field day.

I blogged about it. I got emails from friends to blog about it. I saw it on at least three other websites all marvelling over how we were getting to see these girls practically in their birthday suits. Fashion blogging land was in an excitable hoo hah. Naked supermodel? You’ve got to be kidding me! I’ve never seen that before.

Continue reading "The logical end of fashion - naked clothes horses" »

Gosh, I wish Lady GaGa had gone to the Golden Globes, then at least there would have been something to look at.

The red-carpet at this year’s ceremony was beige, botoxed and booooring. Now, I love a fabulous couture frock more than most. Tulle, corsets and vintage diamonds are enough to make me swoon but after a decade of vanilla, almost earnest choices in award-show dressing, I’m nostalgic for some of the fashion mavericks of old.

Who can forget Bjork wearing a taxidermied swan as a dress? Or Celine Dion in a white tuxedo worn backwards. With a hat. Demi Moore in a bedspread complete with built-in bike shorts.

Continue reading "Golden Globes glamour, glitz, but no guts" »

Whenever I tell British friends, old and new, that I’m from Murwillumbah, the closest town to the jungle that is I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here!, I get the sort of response that I imagine Rolf Harris received when he introduced the wobbleboard to the Poms.

For the past three years I’ve been in the Old Dart, I’ve been bombarded with questions such as “so… have you eaten kangaroo testicles?” whenever the latest instalment of the annual reality show rolls around.

It’s my second draw card, my first one being my ocker twang. I have used them both to get a story, a drink, even a date in the Motherland. Last year I used the I’m a Celebrity factor to impress a potential Brummie suitor.

Continue reading "The one story the English actually give a rat’s about" »

I felt nothing when Michael Jackson died. It’s not like I didn’t try to summon a tear but in the end the only emotion I could rustle up was ambivalence. This was surprising because usually when a celebrity dies, I do feel sad. Often extremely so.

When Natasha Richardson died, for example, I was deeply affected, even though I couldn’t name a single film she was in. When John Lennon died, I was terribly sad, even though I was only vaguely aware of The Beatles and I was only nine.

But when one of the world’s biggest pop stars died back in June, someone whose music had been the soundtrack to decades of my life, I was oddly unmoved. As much as I tried, I simply couldn’t connect to any great sense of loss or tap into that massive international out-pouring of grief.

Continue reading "This is an excellent piece of Michael Jackson propaganda" »

It’s Halloween this Saturday, and though we’ve never quite gotten into the whole ghoul thing in Australia, people do attempt to celebrate.

There’s the odd, weak-themed club night, annoying neighbourhood kids who to trick or treat until they get to a door behind which a grouch refuses to give them anything (is there a name for the Halloween scrooge?) and those people whose birthdays fall on Halloween, instantly bestowing a lifetime pass for dress-up parties.

In the States, they go a bit nuts at this time of year. The amount of pics I’ve seen in the last week of celebrities shopping for a pumpkin outnumbers those carrying a Starbucks - and that’s saying something in La La Land.

Continue reading "Halloween: Because Hollywood needs an excuse" »

It’s that time of year, isn’t it? When the intention to eat healthily just doesn’t result in the same. Puritanical thoughts of eating only soup for dinner somehow morph into soup plus half a loaf of buttery toast. Steamed fish and vegies ends up as steak with cheesy potato bake.

A roast with all the trimmings is a regular occurrence and apple crumble is, somehow, always okay. Yes, the winter weather is dictating my diet and I have no choice, do I? It’s rather impossible not to put on the “winter two”. Or three, or four.

And as we reach August, this means I’m stuck wearing what fits. One, my fat jeans, or two, my leggings - marvellous creations with lots of stretch. But of course, I’m sick of both. (See boys, when we say “I don’t have anything to wear”, we often mean “I can’t fit into anything in my wardrobe”). I’m afraid that looking great in winter is only achievable if you’re Gwyneth Paltrow. Aka, Wonder Woman.

Continue reading "“Detox” the new code word for dangerous dieting" »

Philip Klein is a big talking Texan—a cowboy, in every sense of the word—with a tongue as sharp as his investigative skills.

“Now it’s up to Patrick (McDermott) and his people to either make peace with me, or make war,” Klein has told Woman’s Day, as part of our investigation into Olivia Newton-John’s ex - missing, presumed dead following a 2005 fishing trip.

“If they make war, I will hunt him down like a dog. But if they make peace with me, I will go and have beer with him.”

Continue reading "The investigator hopelessly devoted to finding Olivia’s ex" »

Last week’s on-air rape-fuelled Hindenberg disaster piloted by 2Day FM’s Kyle Sandilands and Jackie O has raised so many issues it’s like the Big Day Out of blame, where every act’s a red-hot headliner.

The national festival of finger-pointing opened with shots at the bumbling Sandilands, followed closely by jabs at the mother’s parenting skills, finishing up with blasts at the station for allowing such a suspect segment to air in the first place. All great acts and definitely worth a good moshing over.

But there’s one elusive and hard-to-pin party who haven’t had the lynch mob wield a flaming torch in their faces yet. They are the hardcore listeners who actively pander to the untouchable antics of Kyle and Jackie O by religiously setting the dial in their direction.

Continue reading "Kyle’s listeners the forgotten villains in this scandal" »

It’s a good thing the Aussies have their wives and girlfriends along for the Ashes tour.

Had they not been there, it’s quite probable we would have gone down to county side Northamptonshire because we’ve all been assured by Cricket Australia that the boys play better if the WAGs are in attendance.

Seeing as we have managed to win just one of the seven tour games so far, I tremor at the thought of what would have happened if CA hadn’t had the foresight to support the significant others/B-grade celebrities and female wannabes to stay with the cricketers for the first part of the Ashes.

Continue reading "WAGs aren’t about team happiness, but marketing" »

Rumour has it that if Katherine Jackson is granted permanent custody of Michael Jackson’s children, the brood could be raised by her eldest—and private—daughter Rebbie.

What a relief, when one considers the frightening prospect of Joseph Jackson playing a more permanent role in their upbringing.

Here is a man who has long been accused of ruling the famous clan with an iron fist and who, according to Michael, sat in a chair with a belt in his hand as the Jackson Five rehearsed.

Continue reading "Even in death Michael still a cash-cow to Jackson Snr" »

There was a time, not so long ago, when critics predicted the end of reality television.

Big Brother had the infamous ‘turkey slap,’ incident, Extreme Makeover and The Swan filmed people surgically mutilating themselves in order to look like Barbie and Ken dolls, while programs like Survivor, The Bachelor, Boot Camp and even the Biggest Loser, not only revealed the depths to which human nature would sink, but invited competitors and viewers to revel in displays of excess: flesh, emotions, psychological reactions and banality.

Cheap to produce, it seemed that ‘actuality’ programming had reached its nadir. Lately, however, there is a rebirth of the genre.

Continue reading "The tasteful TV show that saved a toxic genre" »

Cake schmake. Just shut up and pass the eggs!

Dave Penberthy’s musings about Rosemary Stanton’s rant on the evil of packet cake mixture being pushed by Bindi Irwin and her family on televisions across Australia is off the mark.

The point that worries me doesn’t involve cakes, but Bindi’s “childhood”. Bindi Irwin and her brother spend much of their lives being home schooled, they mix and play with the children of employees of Australia Zoo, not children of diverse backgrounds through exposure to the usual forms of community education and socialisation. 

Continue reading "Cakes are the least of poor Bindi’s worries" »

The King of Pop may be dead, but the controversy surrounding his untimely exit is far from buried.

The dust has barely settled since his globally-televised public memorial service last week, yet every day more pieces seem to be missing in the Jacko jigsaw about his life, his death, his final resting place and those he left behind.

The case has transcended from the mysterious to the macabre, with reports that his ghost has been seen walking the halls of his Neverland ranch to questions over who has possession of his brain. 

Continue reading "The web is alive with wacko theories on Jacko" »

NO Billie Jean. No Beat It. No-one was starting something, not even a moonwalk. Of all the unlikely things, it was often quiet.

Whatever your life had been, you’d probably want it mourned this way: solemn, plenty sad, and plenty of slow songs. But this was Michael Jackson, and no one expected it be as normal as that. So it was time to put aside your thoughts about the life being recognised and be surprised.
And perhaps nothing could have surprised a viewer more than a farewell that flipped the coin from crazy heads to solemn tales - the telling of gentle and kind stories that somehow did not leave you feeling conned, despite all we think we know about the man.

Continue reading "The quiet, dignified end to Michael Jackson’s mad life" »

My grandmother is 92 years old and lives in public housing in Adelaide’s southern suburbs. She is a custodian of wonderful old Australian expressions and a woman of firm and earthy convictions. One of her convictions is that Sydney is basically a dump, “a den of iniquity” as she puts it, its harbour wasted on spivs, tarts, crooks and hookers. A morally-bankrupt dive which has never really shaken off its uncouth convict past, and where no-one of sound mind would choose to live.

I’m starting to think she might be on to something.

This might sound odd given that it’s barely a month since I penned a sweetheart’s letter to my adoptive home of 10 years by listing the 40 things I love about Sydney.

This column is about the one thing I really hate, and am hating more with each passing day. It’s not the roads, it’s not the cost of living, heaven forbid it’s not even the State Government. It’s Sydney’s out-of-control gangster culture, which in the past few months has gone from a relatively controlled background phenomenon to a full-blown cult of violence and vanity, where the authorities have been made to look like fools as the lawless increasingly act as they wish, egged on - most alarmingly - by apparently sane people who come over all giggly and start twirling their hair in the presence of drug-dealers, bikie leaders and stand-over men.

Continue reading "Crims and their clique turn Sydney into an open sewer" »