La Dolce Musto
Unlike a great celebrity or an internationally renowned event, my annual Felix Awards do need an introduction, but rather than waste time trying to come up with a truly appropriate one, let's just get on with the honors—the wacky wrap-up of the year in tears, fears, queers, and male brassieres. These tawdry trophies make the Golden Globes look relevant. And the Felixes go to . . .
Scott Peterson's amour, Amber Frey, held a press conference to announce that she didn't want any more publicity.
Madonna said, as her fame threatened to wane, that she'd just gotten her values straight. and fame is not that important anyway.
Michael Jackson said in a televised interview that he regularly conducts sleepovers with kids, sharing cookies and stories with them. "It's charming," he cooed, insisting on the sweetness of the whole scenario. "Who's Jack the Ripper in the room?" Gee, I don't know . . . you?
We were fighting for the liberation of Iraq, but on our own shores, celebs who spoke out against the war—the Dixie Chicks, Tim Robbins, Susan Sarandon, and Janeane Garofalo—were crucified, making one wonder when we were going to liberate the freakin' U.S., you know?
AND IN 100 YEARS, WILL ANYONE BELIEVE . . . :
That, furious at the French for not joining our attacks on Iraq, righteous Americans consumed shitloads of french-fried potatoes with the stipulation that they be called "freedom fries"? Can someone say "les morons"?
EVEN BEYOND THAT:
Disgraced "reporter" Jayson Blair tried to turn his shameful career of lying and evasion into a near triumph, whereby he gloriously brought down the archaic house of The Washington Post. (Yes, I know it was The New York Times. I purposely threw in that mistake to see if it would make me famous and get me a book deal.)
WAIT, EVEN BEYOND THAT, PEOPLE:
Critic Roger Ebert hated Vincent Gallo's The Brown Bunny, so Gallo publicly wished Ebert would get cancer. Not long afterward, Ebert announced he had cancer. Note to Gallo: I loved The Brown Bunny!