Did anyone happen to catch “musical artist” Eve’s performance for Good Morning America’s Summer Performances in Bryant Park in New York?
I watched Eve and her backup dancers' performance in amazement.
It was like a bad parody.
The only members of the audience who actually seemed to get into the hip hop/rap number were the ones right down front who had been instructed to jump up and down and smile and look like they were enjoying themselves, while Eve yelled her way unintelligibly through the number and her back up dancers sashayed around opening and closing their legs like they were working a Thigh master. The camera made sure not to focus on most of the audience members because they stood stick still.
It really was laughable…I thought “is this an excerpt from Saturday Night Live?”. But then realized it was outdoors, during the day.
Don’t get me wrong there are a LOT of rap and hip hop artists that I think are “THE BOMB”, so to speak, but Eve is not one of them.
Her bleached blonde ‘do and net gloves were a misguided choice. I would have fired my stylist. I have seen Eve in other performances and in films and must admit she has been MUCH better.
The song choice was ludicrous and I don’t mean the rapper. Either Eve is getting some rotten advice OR not getting the right advice when she needs it. The staccato lyrics in the song were repeated OVER AND OVER again like the songwriter ran out of ideas and had to crank the song out to get it on her CD. The music track sounded sampled from another, better, hit song and the backup singers sounded like grunting animals.
So chalk one up for the media machine who not only made GMAC look bad but made Eve look bad, too.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Bono Makes the News - Again
I love U2. Three of their CDs are in my car and the rest of their music collection is in my home. But the other day, as I watched the CNN crawl across the screen, the news was about Bono complaining that his neighbor's fireplace smoke was wafting into his New York Penthouse. I imagine that was really annoying and I also imagine that a good fireplace technician could diagnose and fix the problem relatively quickly. Was that little tidbit of news so dire and so important that CNN had to broadcast it across the screen like Breaking News? Sometimes I think the media needs to get a life. Do the media think we are so starved for infotainment that anything is news? I know that the public likes to eat up any and every morsel of news or gossip they can get on someone famous, but give us a break! What about the soldiers that gave their lives for their country that day? Have we become immune to loss of life? What about the plight of the African people, AIDS, cancer, rainforest devastation, animal cruelty? Was it really your intention to make news regarding your fireplace, Mr. Hewson? I hope not. I know your heart's in the right place and you have done amazing humanitarian work but say it ain't so that you intended to regale us with your domestic woes.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Cellphones and Phil Hartman
Yesterday was bright and sunny! A welcomed relief from the usual rainy, dark, spring days in Western Canada. The window on the driver's side of my car was down, the radio was playing pop music and my son was chattering in the backseat. We were headed to our favorite neighborhood restaurant for Friday lunch. I placed my cell phone on the dashboard after talking with my husband. As I made a right turn my phone (in slow motion) slid all the way across the dashboard at just the right angle and trajectory, out of the driver's window and onto the street. It landed smack dab in the middle of the lane of oncoming traffic. I quickly pulled over. I carefully jumped out of the car, making sure I did not become a statistic, and watched as my phone was run over by a moving van. Then a car. Argh, this is not happening. Luckily, this was a 2 lane, surface street near a school so I did not take my life into my hands when I approached what I was certain was a pile of glass, fragmented plastic and wires. The next oncoming car stopped, mercifully. To my complete surprise the phone was STILL WORKING. Although the back cover was bent and mis-shapen and the glass plate was cracked, it still worked. That is a commercial if I have EVER seen one. I am going to call the cell phone manufacturer (NOKIA) and tell them what a sturdy product they have made. In the past, I have a history with cell phones...my last one was dropped off a boat, into the Pacific Ocean, by Phil Hartman, the week before he died. Don't ask.
Dissed By The Best
In 1988, I was shuttling between two repertory companies. As my travel companion and I boarded our flight. I recognized a slight figure, in jeans and a baseball cap, hurry past me and take his seat. This particular man was (and still is for that matter) a great, GREAT dancer. An inspirational dancer. Inspirational to me and many of my fellow company members. I had taken classes at ABT when he was Artistic Director between 1980 and 1989. He was god-like with God given talents and beauty. I revered his talents. And I am not easily star-struck; when push comes to shove they are pretty much just people. I am sufficiently satisfied to admire them from afar. But this was Mikhail Baryshnikov!
For some reason, on this particular day, on this particular flight, I felt it behooved me to very quietly, nonchalantly, approach him for an autograph (ok, I was young ). I was a bit nervous because after all when one is face to face with an icon it can take your breath away. I took a clean drink napkin and, with no regalia, walked back to his seat. I leaned down so as not to make a spectacle of myself and said barely above a whisper, "Mr. Baryshnikov, I am a dancer and an admirer of yours, may I please have your autograph?" Without looking up or looking at me, he snatched the napkin from my hand, scribbled his name (today, I still swear it looks like it says Mikhail Gorbachev not Mikhail Baryshnikov), and again without looking up thrust it towards my face.
I must have looked dumbstruck because the woman sitting next to him looked at me and mimicked "I didn't know who he was" and then shrugged like she felt sorry for my moment of humiliation.
I went back to my seat and didn't say anything for a moment. Then my travel companion asked what had happened and I recounted my moment of ecstacy and pain.
When we landed, I was greeted by my entire company, complete with balloons and signs and singing. What a contradiction! From humiliation to validation in the span of a plane ride! Mr. Baryshnikov disembarked, took note of the fanfare and scurried off. I told one of my friends and he squealed and took pursuit. He returned only minutes later to declare that Misha had left the building on a flight to New York.
Dissed by the best. Hey, I'm ok with that!
For some reason, on this particular day, on this particular flight, I felt it behooved me to very quietly, nonchalantly, approach him for an autograph (ok, I was young ). I was a bit nervous because after all when one is face to face with an icon it can take your breath away. I took a clean drink napkin and, with no regalia, walked back to his seat. I leaned down so as not to make a spectacle of myself and said barely above a whisper, "Mr. Baryshnikov, I am a dancer and an admirer of yours, may I please have your autograph?" Without looking up or looking at me, he snatched the napkin from my hand, scribbled his name (today, I still swear it looks like it says Mikhail Gorbachev not Mikhail Baryshnikov), and again without looking up thrust it towards my face.
I must have looked dumbstruck because the woman sitting next to him looked at me and mimicked "I didn't know who he was" and then shrugged like she felt sorry for my moment of humiliation.
I went back to my seat and didn't say anything for a moment. Then my travel companion asked what had happened and I recounted my moment of ecstacy and pain.
When we landed, I was greeted by my entire company, complete with balloons and signs and singing. What a contradiction! From humiliation to validation in the span of a plane ride! Mr. Baryshnikov disembarked, took note of the fanfare and scurried off. I told one of my friends and he squealed and took pursuit. He returned only minutes later to declare that Misha had left the building on a flight to New York.
Dissed by the best. Hey, I'm ok with that!
A Rear-Ending...
Last November I was returning from the gym to pick my son up at school. It was raining (as it is want to do in Western Canada) and my yoga shoes were wet on the bottom. I pulled up in front of the school, as I had done a hundred times before, I put my foot on the brake and - in a Fellini-esque moment, my wet foot slipped off the brake onto the gas and my car lurched forward.
I tried to avoid a collision but in the blink of an eye - BAM!! I rear-ended the wealthiest family in my son's school, in their BRAND NEW Mercedes SUV - and it was parked. Imagine my shock, my dismay, my FEAR. MY FIRST ACCIDENT!!!!!!!!! And it was ALL MY FAULT. There was no denying it, no excuses, no way out.
Luckily, I have the world's most understanding husband. "That is why they call them accidents, sweetheart." Little consolation, some, but little. Of course, the insurance company took care of everything. Unfortunately, MY car was not insured for damages, but they would have their $2000 plastic bumper replaced post haste. I am still driving around in a car that has what looks like a black eye. I want the reminder of my altercation. When I feel I have suffered sufficiently I will go ahead and plunk down the $1200 it will take to get it repaired. It's a SAAB, need I say more?
That could have been an entire summer's worth of cute shoes and skimpy dresses. At least we all walked away without a scratch. (that is, physically, I still have brutal flashbacks!)
I tried to avoid a collision but in the blink of an eye - BAM!! I rear-ended the wealthiest family in my son's school, in their BRAND NEW Mercedes SUV - and it was parked. Imagine my shock, my dismay, my FEAR. MY FIRST ACCIDENT!!!!!!!!! And it was ALL MY FAULT. There was no denying it, no excuses, no way out.
Luckily, I have the world's most understanding husband. "That is why they call them accidents, sweetheart." Little consolation, some, but little. Of course, the insurance company took care of everything. Unfortunately, MY car was not insured for damages, but they would have their $2000 plastic bumper replaced post haste. I am still driving around in a car that has what looks like a black eye. I want the reminder of my altercation. When I feel I have suffered sufficiently I will go ahead and plunk down the $1200 it will take to get it repaired. It's a SAAB, need I say more?
That could have been an entire summer's worth of cute shoes and skimpy dresses. At least we all walked away without a scratch. (that is, physically, I still have brutal flashbacks!)
Coming Out - Metaphorically Speaking.
To be perfectly honest, I am not sure I am willing to come clean, tell all and "come out", metaphorically speaking. I have kept my age a secret for fear of prejudice. Silly, silly me!
I have been in the entertainment industry for 36 years, this year. SO yes, I am AT LEAST 36 years old. After the age of 30 it became clear to me that it was not to my advantage to tell anyone, and I mean ANYONE, other than my closest friends, how old I was. Not as a singer, not as an actor, and especially not as a stunt person.
As long as casting directors, directors, producers, managers, et al, had no idea - I was ageless. I had a RANGE. I could not be pigeon-holed. My only limits were that I was a character actress with an alto voice. To me, that was an advantage, not a detriment. But once the aforementioned powers-that-be actually KNOW how old you are, or your age is gratuitously advertised on Entertainment Tonight, GAME OVER!
I read an article recently about the beautiful and exquisite Sela Ward (my husband adores her!). She had been in talks with a particular director or producer for a project and was, basically, informed that they wanted "the Sela from 10 years ago". How can she be any other Sela than she already is?? I just don't get that. In essence, what they were saying was they didn't want Sela Ward, they wanted someone who looked like a younger, newer Sela Ward. Why bring Sela Ward in at all?
Patricia Arquette has been doing a great deal of documentary work on women aging in Hollywood. Searching for Debra Winger is a documentary on the film industry's most talented and award-winning personalities and the pressures they face in Hollywood as aging female actresses. Debra Winger LEFT the biz, at the height of her career, to be with her family. But now, even if she wants to get "back in" the industry, outside of self-production, is it too late? Has she been forgotten? Has the "new" Debra Winger come along and replaced her? Does she even care?
It seems the most vital, brilliant, talented, experienced, and beautiful women in this industry over the age of 35 have taken the bull by the horns and have begun producing. Brava! If the work doesn't come to you maybe you can create the work.
Well, I digress.
I can now imagine how my gay friends feel. They are not ashamed of who they are, what they have accomplished and where they feel they belong. They have no compunction about shouting from the rooftops "I am Gay and proud of it!” Maybe that analogy is a bit of a stretch but it seems to be the only one I can truly relate to.
I still have friends in Hollywood that would not reveal their age even if their lives depended on it.
In the past I had sworn people to secrecy. What kind of life is that? I lived like I was ashamed of my accomplishments, my experience, the roads I had traveled.
A few years ago I worked for a prominent casting director. We would occasionally go out to lunch and share stories. I began to open up about my life experiences. Both she and her associate looked at me dead in the eyes and proclaimed that I was a pathological liar because there was no way I could have accomplished everything I claimed to have accomplished.
You see, if I had come out and said "Of course I have, because I'm 35, 38, 40 years old. Voila, problem solved. My response was "Call my mother, she'll back me up". Can I just put a big L on my forehead? Why, oh, why couldn't I just own up to it? There is nothing like living a lie.
So here I am sitting in my office, at my computer, plunking on the keys avoiding the inevitable. Am I ready? Ok, here goes.
...I am somewhere between 40 and death. There, I said it. I feel so much better.
You weren't expecting an exact number, were you? Baby steps, baby steps.
I have been in the entertainment industry for 36 years, this year. SO yes, I am AT LEAST 36 years old. After the age of 30 it became clear to me that it was not to my advantage to tell anyone, and I mean ANYONE, other than my closest friends, how old I was. Not as a singer, not as an actor, and especially not as a stunt person.
As long as casting directors, directors, producers, managers, et al, had no idea - I was ageless. I had a RANGE. I could not be pigeon-holed. My only limits were that I was a character actress with an alto voice. To me, that was an advantage, not a detriment. But once the aforementioned powers-that-be actually KNOW how old you are, or your age is gratuitously advertised on Entertainment Tonight, GAME OVER!
I read an article recently about the beautiful and exquisite Sela Ward (my husband adores her!). She had been in talks with a particular director or producer for a project and was, basically, informed that they wanted "the Sela from 10 years ago". How can she be any other Sela than she already is?? I just don't get that. In essence, what they were saying was they didn't want Sela Ward, they wanted someone who looked like a younger, newer Sela Ward. Why bring Sela Ward in at all?
Patricia Arquette has been doing a great deal of documentary work on women aging in Hollywood. Searching for Debra Winger is a documentary on the film industry's most talented and award-winning personalities and the pressures they face in Hollywood as aging female actresses. Debra Winger LEFT the biz, at the height of her career, to be with her family. But now, even if she wants to get "back in" the industry, outside of self-production, is it too late? Has she been forgotten? Has the "new" Debra Winger come along and replaced her? Does she even care?
It seems the most vital, brilliant, talented, experienced, and beautiful women in this industry over the age of 35 have taken the bull by the horns and have begun producing. Brava! If the work doesn't come to you maybe you can create the work.
Well, I digress.
I can now imagine how my gay friends feel. They are not ashamed of who they are, what they have accomplished and where they feel they belong. They have no compunction about shouting from the rooftops "I am Gay and proud of it!” Maybe that analogy is a bit of a stretch but it seems to be the only one I can truly relate to.
I still have friends in Hollywood that would not reveal their age even if their lives depended on it.
In the past I had sworn people to secrecy. What kind of life is that? I lived like I was ashamed of my accomplishments, my experience, the roads I had traveled.
A few years ago I worked for a prominent casting director. We would occasionally go out to lunch and share stories. I began to open up about my life experiences. Both she and her associate looked at me dead in the eyes and proclaimed that I was a pathological liar because there was no way I could have accomplished everything I claimed to have accomplished.
You see, if I had come out and said "Of course I have, because I'm 35, 38, 40 years old. Voila, problem solved. My response was "Call my mother, she'll back me up". Can I just put a big L on my forehead? Why, oh, why couldn't I just own up to it? There is nothing like living a lie.
So here I am sitting in my office, at my computer, plunking on the keys avoiding the inevitable. Am I ready? Ok, here goes.
...I am somewhere between 40 and death. There, I said it. I feel so much better.
You weren't expecting an exact number, were you? Baby steps, baby steps.
They NEED Boundaries!
I had a parent ask me what I meant by boundaries when I was talking about my 8 year old son. Some parents should be required to have a license before they have kids. Boundaries, my dear, mean you set limits and don’t let your little darling walk all over you, hit you, throw tantrums in public, break things in your home and at friend’s homes, demand everything in sight and get it. Boundaries mean he is taught how to treat others and learns that the entire universe doesn’t revolve around him. Boundaries mean he doesn’t sit on his lazy butt playing WII all day long while you run around like a madwoman attending to his every whim. Boundaries mean if he is cheeky with you he has consequences. Boundaries mean that if he doesn’t behave himself when he is visiting my home and doesn’t respect my property, my belongings and my child, he is banned from it. Boundaries mean he doesn’t behave like a spoiled brat every second of the day because he never learned otherwise. He NEEDS boundaries. You need boundaries. And if you don’t recognize that, you need therapy because he is going to be in jail, hooked on drugs or an alcoholic by the time he is 17. Don’t believe me? Open your eyes and look around, evidence of it makes the papers everyday.
Get off your cell phone and drive!
Get off your cell phone and drive, you are an accident waiting to happen and most likely you won’t be the injured party. It will be the 3 year old in the back seat of his parents’ car. A headset is cheap and hands free means just that. Most likely your expensive little flip phone has it and you didn’t read the manual. Why didn’t you make that phone call before you left your house instead of in your driveway as you were backing out or as you were changing lanes on a busy city street? You want to impress people that you have a cell phone? Get one of those ridiculous, but far safer, Star Trek looking Bluetooth earpieces. Sure, they look weird but you may save a life and it could be your own.
Turn Signals are there for a reason.
For heaven’s sake, please use your turn signal BEFORE you turn. Not as you are turning. I am not a mind reader.
HaHaHollywood
Karl Lagerfeld was channeling the ghost of Michael Jackson past in March’s issue of Bazaar. He was photographed wearing what looked like a silver driving glove and matching belt buckle. (Excusez-moi, maybe this was a $1400 Swarovsky encrusted piece of art. Maybe I am too gauche to recognize it.)
Madame Victoria Beckham set poker straight with nary a smile on her face at the Paris Spring Collections, next to a grinning, slumped Katie Holmes. I guess her comportment lessons weren’t quite over. (Ms. Beckham has been recently quoted that she will try to smile more now that she is in America. A smile doesn't hurt no matter what country you happen to reside in.)
Does wearing sunglasses constantly in or out of doors (“the lights are too bright!”) constitute the ability to design them? Ms. Beckham’s saucer size sunglasses look like a throw back from the late 60’s, early 70’s. I'm not talking about the wonderful wrap arounds that shade delicate skin from the ravages of the sun, I'm talking about sunglasses the size of drink coasters. My mother wore them then and they still look ridiculous 30 years later, especially on the emaciated visages of today’s celebrities. Some fashions need to stay dead and buried not be revived.
Kudos to Isaac Mizrahi’s designer handbag line, he “…tried not to be so trendy” and it worked! Regular gals might have to save their sheckles for a while to afford one ($695) but they have a classic, long term feel for those of us that don’t rotate our wardrobe every season.
Do “Hollywood” types know how much the rest of the world abhors their decadent, pompous, over privileged, excessive lifestyles? Some do dig deep into their pockets to make a contribution to the world while reaping the benefits of their talents. Others seem to live to appear on the next cover of Vogue, People or Star magazines.
Had a baby? Brava! So did my neighbor and she had twins with no nanny and a husband with two jobs. Funny thing is, they’re happy sans villa, trips to San Tropez, a yacht and famous friends to name drop. How can that be? (Are ya listening, Harpo?)
Karma is a bitch, folks, what goes up must come down, so get it while you can because the flavor of the month is around the corner and soon you’ll be old news. Your show will be cancelled, you film will go direct to video, you CD will end up in the bargain rack at Walmart, your knees will give out and you’ll end up relying on living closer to the common folk. So how about a reality check?
Needless to say, I have the incomparable honor to know several Hollywood heavy hitters and they couldn't be more talented, humble and thankful. Wish I could name drop because they are great examples of what is right with LALALAND.
Madame Victoria Beckham set poker straight with nary a smile on her face at the Paris Spring Collections, next to a grinning, slumped Katie Holmes. I guess her comportment lessons weren’t quite over. (Ms. Beckham has been recently quoted that she will try to smile more now that she is in America. A smile doesn't hurt no matter what country you happen to reside in.)
Does wearing sunglasses constantly in or out of doors (“the lights are too bright!”) constitute the ability to design them? Ms. Beckham’s saucer size sunglasses look like a throw back from the late 60’s, early 70’s. I'm not talking about the wonderful wrap arounds that shade delicate skin from the ravages of the sun, I'm talking about sunglasses the size of drink coasters. My mother wore them then and they still look ridiculous 30 years later, especially on the emaciated visages of today’s celebrities. Some fashions need to stay dead and buried not be revived.
Kudos to Isaac Mizrahi’s designer handbag line, he “…tried not to be so trendy” and it worked! Regular gals might have to save their sheckles for a while to afford one ($695) but they have a classic, long term feel for those of us that don’t rotate our wardrobe every season.
Do “Hollywood” types know how much the rest of the world abhors their decadent, pompous, over privileged, excessive lifestyles? Some do dig deep into their pockets to make a contribution to the world while reaping the benefits of their talents. Others seem to live to appear on the next cover of Vogue, People or Star magazines.
Had a baby? Brava! So did my neighbor and she had twins with no nanny and a husband with two jobs. Funny thing is, they’re happy sans villa, trips to San Tropez, a yacht and famous friends to name drop. How can that be? (Are ya listening, Harpo?)
Karma is a bitch, folks, what goes up must come down, so get it while you can because the flavor of the month is around the corner and soon you’ll be old news. Your show will be cancelled, you film will go direct to video, you CD will end up in the bargain rack at Walmart, your knees will give out and you’ll end up relying on living closer to the common folk. So how about a reality check?
Needless to say, I have the incomparable honor to know several Hollywood heavy hitters and they couldn't be more talented, humble and thankful. Wish I could name drop because they are great examples of what is right with LALALAND.
Katie Waxes Poetic
As I read the cover story in March’s Bazaar Magazine on Katie Holmes, I had to put down my salad fork and stifle the gag reflex. Here’s cutie pie Katie – formerly of the evening soap, Dawson’s Creek, and several forgettable films- at the youthful age of 28 waxing poetically about some designer’s spring collection and her new best pal Victoria Beckham. “You need to have different items to distinguish the days.” When did she become a fashion guru/expert? I guess since her marriage to, as she describes it, “ the biggest movie star ever...”, Tom Cruise.
I don’t know what planet she came from but the last I heard embarrassing yourself publicly and being a stalwart member of a very questionable and controversial “religion” (did you know L. Ron Hubbard, before his disappearance, had his own navy, crewed by young ladies in skimpy naval outfits? He siphoned his religion from writing Science Fiction) does not the biggest movie star make.
Tom saw his heyday from Risky Business to before the debacles Far and Away and Eyes Wide Shut. (OK, I’ll give him that the Mission Impossible franchise is a winner, but so was any Stephen Segal action film!) Maybe by taking over a major film studio he will increase his odds of doing award worthy films OR completely sink his career. Who knows what to expect from Mr. Cruise? Excuse me, am I being too glib? Do ya know what glib means?
He has done a great job of turning a lovely, unaffected young actress into a status seeking Hollywood wife. The publicity of her pregnancy, the secrecy of Baby Suri and their subsequent marriage had to help their image or at least keep them in the public eye.
Don’t get me wrong, they may be lovely people but no common folk will ever get close enough to know. Katie made a point, in the same Bazaar article, of letting us know she knows Helen Mirren “she’s a friend of mine.” Of course she is…what famous, rich, talented person isn’t, Katie? The upshot of Helen Mirren being a friend may be that she will help reel impressionable Katie in before she becomes another arrogant Hollywood elitist. I say, ‘Bon Chance!”.
I don’t know what planet she came from but the last I heard embarrassing yourself publicly and being a stalwart member of a very questionable and controversial “religion” (did you know L. Ron Hubbard, before his disappearance, had his own navy, crewed by young ladies in skimpy naval outfits? He siphoned his religion from writing Science Fiction) does not the biggest movie star make.
Tom saw his heyday from Risky Business to before the debacles Far and Away and Eyes Wide Shut. (OK, I’ll give him that the Mission Impossible franchise is a winner, but so was any Stephen Segal action film!) Maybe by taking over a major film studio he will increase his odds of doing award worthy films OR completely sink his career. Who knows what to expect from Mr. Cruise? Excuse me, am I being too glib? Do ya know what glib means?
He has done a great job of turning a lovely, unaffected young actress into a status seeking Hollywood wife. The publicity of her pregnancy, the secrecy of Baby Suri and their subsequent marriage had to help their image or at least keep them in the public eye.
Don’t get me wrong, they may be lovely people but no common folk will ever get close enough to know. Katie made a point, in the same Bazaar article, of letting us know she knows Helen Mirren “she’s a friend of mine.” Of course she is…what famous, rich, talented person isn’t, Katie? The upshot of Helen Mirren being a friend may be that she will help reel impressionable Katie in before she becomes another arrogant Hollywood elitist. I say, ‘Bon Chance!”.
My Life Is Now Complete!
My life is now complete! I was lucky enough to see Britney Spears flash her pantiless vagina at the paparazzi. And so was my 8 year old son and anyone else who turns the pages of a magazine or watches TV. Thank you for gracing us with your 24 year old vagina. I feel honored. It’s not just your run of the mill vagina, mind you. It’s FAMOUS vagina. Platinum selling vagina. Vagina she feels necessary to expose to the world. “Look Preston, here’s Mommy’s vagina on the cover of (insert magazine name here) back when she was young.” How impressed he will be. What a legacy she will leave behind. Maybe some horny teenager will frame it and put it on his wall. If I had a daughter this is exactly who I would want her to look up to. “Sure, sweetie, skip the panties today under your skirt and someday you too will be a famous singer with 2 failed marriages, kids you don’t want, stints in rehab and a career you can flush down the toilet just because you can.” Where were this poor woman’s role models? Where was the voice of reason? Another young artist becomes a meal ticket for hundreds and ruins her life in the process. Hooray for Hollywood!!!!
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