Celebrity BOOP

So many super celebrities are in the news these days. How we revere their good deeds and sacrifices. Once upon a time actresses were glorified casting couch cast offs (or much worse, my mother would say). Today these leading ladies lead by example and the whole world follows their every move. Or do we?

Three of these gorgeous, talented and super rich women are at the top of the fold, making headlines with their every move. Let's take a look at them and what I believe is their common denominator, shall we?

Gwyneth Paltrow. The most beautiful and reviled celebrity in the world. How can one woman be both?    She is stunningly beautiful but has the unique habit of sticking her Manolo'd foot in her mouth, when she does not have her one cigarette a week in it. Her blog, GOOP (how one pronounces her initials), has very useful information like what to wear to a Polo Match, gazpacho your kids will love more than chicken fingers and which $2000 cashmere throw you should buy for your track home in middle America. GOOP (the woman) recently attended a costume museum extravaganza and proclaimed it "hot and too crowded." Poor Gwynie, subjected to climate control with the 1% of the 1%. The backlash against her let-them-eat-cake remarks has forced her (read: publicist) to issue a statement saying how fun the event was and she can't wait until next year and please demi-Goddess Anna Wintour don't hate me.  GOOP also won't be photographed with her musician spouse Chris Martin because they consider that work. I am so tired when I think about everything GOOP has to do to remain relevant I have to take a nap.

Jennifer Anniston. The woman who launched a thousand bad haircuts remains on every magazine cover for the being the most beautiful pathetic thing on earth. Can this woman do nothing right? She has made a gazillion dollars for making us believe that Ross was more than a Friend. Are you kidding? That nerd wouldn't have a chance with Jenn. This woman, of the rocking body, megawatt smile and who-could-hate-her attitude is truly America's sweetheart. So why can't she keep a guy and have a baby? Did I just say that? She doesn't need either! So why is it true? Jenn's problem number one is that she never denies needing either. Her publicist has convinced her that to stay relevant she has to be a victim and remain martyred. "Poor Jenn, her uterus is barren and no man will love her." Really? Listen honey, you are rich, beautiful and can smoke more than one cigarette a week unlike poor GOOP. This week, Jenn was photoed taking her fiance to Barney's for bathing suit shopping and lunch. WTF?! No guy does that ever unless her breaks up over the Cobb Salad.

Angelina Jolie. Are there any faults she doesn't have? Philanthropist, humanitarian, adoptive mother, gorgeous. Now she has revealed a preventative double mastectomy. I mean, can she do no wrong? Well AJ has done a fantastic job of turning her once um, well, STRANGE self into a polished, sleek everywoman. May I refresh your memory? Married her first husband in rubber pants and a t shirt with her blood on it. Spent three days in a psych ward before marrying Billy Bob Thorton. Had a long relationship with a woman, whom she carried on a BDSM relationship. Wore a vial of blood around her neck. French kissed her brother on TV. Hired a hit man to kill her. Right, yes, check. So now AJ, who claims she has no publicist, is planning her mega wedding and summer camp choices for her six kids.

What possibly could these women need? They have the fame, money and looks we mortals only have in our dreams. Maybe they need love? The love of a good partner, father, and friend.

Oh and don't cha know they did/do. All three of them! And it's the same MAN. Brad Pitt! He's the common denominator. The man they have all shacked up with. He is 1-3 in this three-way sandwich. Brad was engaged to GOOP. He married Jenn. He has the kids he was supposed to have with Jenn with AG. He cheated on Jenn with AG. He had the same hair color/cut as GOOP. Cute, daft, stoner Brad Pitt. This guy. I mean, he is cute but all three women?

I think Brad needs a blog called BOOP where he can take us through his lives as the world's most expensive eye candy. I'd buy a $2000 cashmere throw for that.

That's So Miami

That's So Miami
The critics snark
With an emphasis on "so"
As if we don't get their remark
Oh, we get it, our "Miami" way
Contradictory, tardy, and 
What rhymes with way?

My confused Cuban/Puerto Rican husband turned me on to the annual O, Miami poetry contest which asks budding poets to opine in 100 words or less using the phrase "That's So Miami." Well, as you can see from my quick ditty I am no poet but occasional blogger. So here are my latest musings on the City Beautiful.

While the wonderful Ultra Festival was in full "Good Golly Miss Molly" mode in downtown Miami, sedate and tranquil Coral Gables was hosting the lovely lesbian icon Rachael Maddow reading from her new book "Drift!" which is not about boat lifts or cruise ships running aground but the high cost of wars. Being lucky enough to see Rachael and Ultra converge made a That's so Miami moment.

Fifty people line up to assure a seat in the auditorium four hours early to see Rachael (note, everyone calls her by her first name but they scream it, like RACHAEL!). Said people have the same stylist; gray hair, flannel shirts, Doc Martens, peace signs, and carry Asian daughters. Oh and they are all women.

Fifty college students walk by in droves, bound for the technitronics of Ultra. They too have the same stylist. Neon hair and furry string bikinis, pig tails and white go-go boots, water bottles and lolly pops.

Rachael. Ultra. Rachael. Ultra. "What's wrong with those girls?" the flannels say. "They look ridiculous." The neons lean in. "Who dresses like that anymore, I mean, like, Kurt Cobain is so vintage."

Was this clash of the "women" and "girls" a new kind of female empowerment? Nope, that's so Miami.

And speaking of women, uber Cuban blogger Yoani Sanchez breezed into town on her world tour, which surely will be her last from that Communist wasteland. "The Housewives of Miami" surely clamored to her make over to be a "real" woman of the Miami Millennium but simple Yoani was perfectly comfortable in her long, untamed, uncolored, unKeratined hair, her hippie clothes and not a trace of Botox let alone lipstick graced her face.

Speaking to the upper crust of Cuban society, she expounded their sameness, their likeness, their love for la Isla and oh by the way, the embargo was the dumbest idea you all have ever had and could you please put a stop to it so abuela can have some pan, por favor?

Well, Yoani never did get an answer to that question but when she is the publisher of the Havana outpost of the NY Times I am sure we will hear something about it.

Oh Yoani are you the Savior and the Mona Lisa rolled into one? Or are you the Mata Hari of the Malecon, sent to spy, to pry to cajole and lie? Only that's so Miami knows.

And finally those cool kids Jay Z and Beyonce celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary not with traditional gifts--wood--but with a fun filled trip to Havana! Because coming to Miami with its beaches and beauty, its amazing food and diverse population is too dull for these two. Nope, they would rather take their mothers with them on a journey of yesteryear, and by yesteryear I mean old food, towels, sheets and telephones, peeling paint and cracked walls. Listen kids, if you wanted arroz con frijoles that has actual beans in it you can get a big plate at La Carreta for about $5 and it comes with a clean knife and fork.

I also noticed that those two kids tried to be so authentic and wear what appear to be costumes so they can be more Havana-esque. Too bad no one told them the 1950s era, Godfather II outfits they have on are no longer En Vogue. Turbans and a Panama hat? Honey, Carmen Miranda and Ricky Ricardo have been dead a long time.

Oh Jay Z (not his real name), Beyonce and Baby Blue Ivy (that is hers). Miami not cool enough for your special day? That's ok we've  got plenty of other posers here. I mean, that's so Miami.

You'd Better Watch Out, Satan's Coming to Town

It's has been a while since I have blogged. So much living, so little time. I had a feeling that the return of Saint Nick Saban to South Florida would provide much food for thought. Who is Nick Saban, you ask? Oh just the greatest football coach of our generation.

Of course, some in Miami don't see it that way. No, they see him as the man who left the Miami Dolphins after saying he wouldn't. Couldn't. Shouldn't. Except for a gazillion dollars and free reign to tell his players what to do. Sort of the F-you Pat Riley gave to the Knicks. Only Knicks fans actually wanted their coach, unlike Dolfans who were calling for Nick's noggin.

So now, after coaching the Tide to two national championships our own St. Nick returned to SoFl to take on some team of religious zealots who pray to a Jesus mural in their end zone. Sounds like some kind of dogma thing if you ask me. I had heard about this team from none other than the Miami Hurricanes who apparently hate them very much. This team is named after the French "Our Lady" but goes by the Fighting Irish. Their uniform colors are navy and gold but they wear green and four leaf clovers. A short man dressed as a Christmas elf is their mascot. Confused? So was I. Clearly a un-American team with all this Franco-Irish stuff going on.

I didn't know much about this team because a) they are not in the SEC and b) they are not in the SEC. So I had to go by what I heard and read. The first place I turned was ESPN and a man who looked like Granny Clampett claimed to be their former head coach. Other than that I couldn't understand a word since his dentures don't fit and he was spitting everywhere. Then I heard a movie was made about a student janitor who played for the Franco-Irish and made me wonder how exactly they recruit. Still eager to learn more, I discovered a book called "Things Notre Dame Students Like" and found this quote "They like things that are related to their religion and using Catholicism to guide their actions (even if for the sake of appearing more Catholic than they really are)."

So weird, right?

Anywho, after a pre-weekend of more strangeness like a Jewish Miamian telling me he preferred Hitler over St. Nick, my local newspaper proclaiming my university's most famous graduate was George Wallace (and all those disgraced priests come from where?), and being called a racist, trailer park resident and guilty of marrying my cousin which we all know is SO not true (my cousins have six toes, Mario has five) I was ready for some good old fashioned smash mouth football.

Except it didn't happen.

Apparently the Franco-Irish team opted for a religious trip to Lourdes or Bethlehem or maybe Wal-Mart. Because the team St. Nick took on came from some high school in Indiana.

As we took our seats deep in navy/gold/green territory, their fans were ready to rumble. Screaming louder, humming the words to their fight songs (which either have to no words or are in Latin), this French team kept yelling GO Irish before their team came on the field. The fans around me grumbled when I sat down and I began warming up to cheer and proudly sing "Yea Alabama." The lovely girl in front of me, a young French/Irish lass of about 20 years, turned her head slowly around. Suddenly I had visions of Linda Blair in "The Exorcist." Snarling she said "Aren't you in the wrong SECTION?" Help me Father Damien! "Uh, no," I said, "are you?" I could see one of her eyes was shut and the other open and bloodshot. Oh this was going to be fun. So I said "You know, Alabama is still the national champion until the game is over." Heresy! At that point a full on scene from the Da Vinci Code took place. Rosaries and holy water were quickly disbursed among the crowd and I was treated as the true Scarlett Letter, since I proudly wore my A on my chest. Any minute I was thinking the Inquisition was to take place and I at the center of the trials.

Several minutes into the game Alabama scored and phone calls to the Vatican were placed so extra novenas and Hail Marys could be said but as you all know the former Cardinal Ratzinger is more concerned with banning gay marriage and instituting pre-Vactitan II reforms than football. Communion was replaced by hot dogs and beer and the Tide rolled on. Was I the only one who thought the game callers were saying "STIGMATA" (from the Latin "can't tackle) when they were saying Zeke Motta's name?

While Alabama continued to slay the little high school team, shouts of "SEC" came from the stands. The Franco/Irish continued to file out of the stands, more disgraced than Cardinal Ralph De Bricissart in the Thorn Birds. A few times, shouts of "Put Rudy In!" were called out to no avail. By the end of the third quarter, Linda Blair was in rehab and cars were headed north for parts of Indiana only Granny Clampett has heard of.

As the crystal trophy was raised, thousands cheered for Miss Terry wearing white pants after Labor Day and Brett Musburger making sexual remarks about AJ's girlfriend. A few thousand friends and I sang Ramma Jamma. What a night! Until our 16th Championship, Roll Tide!