Gwyneth Paltrow’s annoying. It’s a universal truth, like a single man in possession of a good fortune etc. But here’s a secret shame: I’m also kind of fascinated by her. I watch films that she’s in, and if a magazine runs an interview with her, babes, I’ll read it. I liked that she said she enjoys living in England because people talk about smart things, even if it was a bit smug.
But this also makes me feel dirty, and now I’ve admitted it for the whole internet (well, 24 people a day, and rising!) to see. Because she
is smug, and wet, and self-satisfied. Her Oscar acceptance speech remains the most excruciating moment in the history of entertainment, and that’s including the entirety of
Sylvia, the worst film ever made (who’d have thunk, a film about suicide less appealing than its subject matter).
Up until this week, I was OK about it. Gwyn had gone away for a couple of years, churning out Biblical babies and saving the world one Coldplay dedication at a time. I’d dealt with the uncertainty, with the confused feelings, with the pangs of guilt and shame, and I’d put her to the back of my mind. But she appears to be on the counter-attack.
Yes, Gwyneth Paltrow is back.
1. She’s on the cover of W, looking like a medieval tranny robot painted by Picasso.
2. In said magazine, she talks about motherhood: “I have a dream version where I think, maybe in four years I'll have two in a row really quickly again—how fabulous to have a whole bunch of them!" Ugh. You know that smart comment? Whatever.
3. She’s going to host a Spanish cooking show, even though she doesn’t eat meat. Has she been to Spain? They love vegetarians there. She definitely won’t be eating chips and salad for a month. Nope, no chips for her.
Oh, Gwyneth. Why do you keep letting me down?
Anyone else got a love-hate secret star shame?
The modern age is bewildering. War rages. Hysteria grows about crime and punishment. The climate’s shot to shit. And there are people who just don’t get Mariah Carey: a woman so ridiculous that she now has an assistant whose sole responsibility is taking care of Mimi's tit tape.
A couple of years ago I broke my leg and ended up convalescing in a house with a 4-year-old who had a dictatorial reign over the TV remote. I watched a lot of CBeebies: Balamory, Big Cook Little Cook, Bob The Builder (obviously) and mine and the little one’s favourite, Boogie Beebies. For the uninitiated, Boogie Beebies’ hosts Nat and Pete make you dance to songs like Pirate Gang and Go Go Mango. I didn’t do much dancing. I was crippled. Keep up. But the point is, the little one did, and he loved it.
I’m half way through the excellent book How Sassy Changed My Life: A Love Letter To The Greatest Teen Magazine Of All Time (henceforth referred to as: snip it, wordy!). With all the anecdotes about Kim Gordon, Spike Jonze and fighting the religious right through make-up advice, kind of, it makes me wish I was in My So-Called Life, wearing floaty grunge dresses, swooning at Jordan Catalano and subscribing to Sassy, which I’m not sure Angela did, but she obviously would’ve, in the nixed second series.
Ah, well. There’s no point in hopeless nostalgia, especially when the future’s all online and that. I’m into AOL’s teen site Red. Loving that inspirational content…especially The 20 Ugliest Celebs…
And keep your eyes peeled for that interview.
Gwyneth Paltrow’s annoying. It’s a universal truth, like a single man in possession of a good fortune etc. But here’s a secret shame: I’m also kind of fascinated by her. I watch films that she’s in, and if a magazine runs an interview with her, babes, I’ll read it. I liked that she said she enjoys living in England because people talk about smart things, even if it was a bit smug.
