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I have moved

For the purposes of tidier formatting. Find me on Tumblr.

Tom of Finland

Image by Tom of Finland

My dad, in all sincerity: 'I think you should bodybuild. You need to bulk up'. In the same way he'd say 'I think you should wake up before 11am'. But I'd have to do it perfectly. And I don't think I'm genetically predisposed to perfection, because this is perfection:

These guys are so big, you just know the only thing they can't screw is a lightbulb.

Has Lindsay Lohan proved the Scientologists right?

For the armies of fans obsessed with Lindsay Lohan's every film, song, television appearance, stumble, court appearance…it's become increasingly difficult to justify our idolatry of her and her behaviour. Fans and lusty-gazed admirers don't want to see their idol fall from grace so dramatically, and this case of a woman who's flown too close to The Sun and its brethren has disappointed many.

It's discomforting to know that the same girl who charmed so many of us in The Parent Trap and Mean Girls went on to DUIs and rehab stints. Much of the criticism heading her way inflicts the pain of a double-edged sword as she is so frequently compared to Paris Hilton. The two are 'treated' to the same press attention, but Paris Hilton's forays into work, for all their capital gains, have been flippant; the heir to a millionaire's fortune doesn't need to lift a finger. Whereas Lindsay has been working since she was 3 years old. Her pushy stage mom wasn't only there for the fame, but as far as the reports show, after being ditched by shifty father Michael, the family kinda needed the money, yeah?

In the discourse of female celebrity, we find it all too easy to compare disparate people. No female cook can crack an egg without an instant juxtaposition with Nigella Lawson, no female singer can claim independent sexuality without comparison to Madonna. When regarding the case of Lindsay Lohan, we can't shift our relativism to accommodate her talent instead of her crimes. We won't analyse the similarities between her and Winona Ryder, another skilled actress gone wayward, but we will gladly box her in with Paris Hilton, another female socialite who's had a DUI.

When Paris was packed off to Lynwood, I didn't get in this much of a fuss. This is because, from a background with so much money that the sense would have to be on steroids to catch up, Ms Hilton was always destined for some sort of tragedy. You can't fall that far when your highest point was on a hotel bed as your shifty boyfriend filmed you blow him in night vision.

Although it would be facetious to insist that Lindsay deserves no jail time, let's not pretend that she had no potential as a bona fide actress. Tina Fey's stamp of approval, along with the praise Robert Altman and the cast of Prairie Home Companion bestowed upon her, are proof of this beyond her subjectively-judged filmography. Where did it all go wrong? If written by the less homophobic of its staff, a Daily Mail report would state that a 'tragic cocktail of drugs and booze' was directly to blame for the criminal offences. Maybe her dwindling fortune was spent on as many grams of coke as it was on items from Cavalli. Though, as a recent graduate, I know oodles of people who, if followed around daily by packs of paps, could be painted out as drug addicts, alcoholics and more. Wasn't Lindsay just doing what every young woman with a leetle too much money and a lot of free time does?

Not quite. There's something more at work here. There are problems which warrant not only 90 days in jail but a further 90 in rehab. I'm not denying the addictive qualities of drink and drugs, but Li-Lo's SCRAM bracelet didn't pick up on either, and as rough as she looks, she's not gone through cold turkey. Girl's got a problem with something else..

What Lindsay, like Casey Johnson before her, has a clear problem with, is legal. Legal at all ages in the US. Adderall. And Ambien. And Dilaudid. And more. I don't know what all these things are, and I don't think I should do. Should a healthy young, successful person ever know the literal highs and lows of prescribed medication? Perhaps not,  but the heaving medicine cabinet comes as standard in the Hollywood hills; fitted in Heath and Brittany's bathrooms, too. 

Now I know Tom Cruise is nuts. I doubt the Presleys' motives. And I completely question the veracity of a religion which allows through its hallowed kitschy gates the todally serious offspring of one Mr. Robert Geldof, who's like, todally named after a fruit. Yet, when the religious poodle that is Scientology damned prescription drugs, it wasn't barking up the wrong tree…

Night Talk #1

Me

dongle

you know when you meet someone

and at the time

00:12Dolly

yes

00:12Me

you're looking through the crowd at them

and it's all a bit like this

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOjuzvLcsos

then you tell them they're beautiful

and you introduce yourself by first name only

and you get their number

and then three days later, you cannot remember their face AT ALL

and the more you try to remember their face the less you remember their face

so all of a sudden you're stuck texting an 18 year old Canadian who is actually slightly annoying

searching for an appropriate time to meet up whilst holding in mind all the plans you have for the next three weeks.

Peaches, Kelis and Perez at the IndigO2

You know it's been a good night when you wake up with a peanut butter jelly sandwich in your bed and the bleak realisation that you were too forward with Peaches comes over you. 
I went to Perez Hilton's One Night In...London thing thanks to Best Buy, who sell cameras and bits and bobs. 
Freebies are always wicked, but when I end up seeing Kelis and Peaches performing at an event which has been so poorly promoted that it's filled to a fifth of its capacity, I've got to feel smug about it. The journey to the front of the crowd was the easiest I've ever embarked upon, to the point where it wasn't even necessary to employ the same bargery techniques I learned from erstwhile Slipknot gigs. I still did, though.
Peaches was spectacular. Helping the surprisingly tiny woman crowdsurf is one thing, helping her crowd-walk a few years later is something everyone should do. Although the crowd didn't know her that well, she won them over with her glittering, sparkling vagina light (see below)
Kelis wasn't so interactive with the crowd, but her dancing and singing were both so spot on that I couldn't tell if she was lip-syncing or not. When Milkshake spliced into Major Lazer's Pon De Floor, my little plastic glass of gross house white went everywhere.
The VIP area, like everything else in the O2, lacked personality. We were told that people were going mental on cocaine in the toilets, but when we went in and barked 'Does anyone have any cocaine?' no-one responded. So nobody was doing any cocaine. Perez himself was drinking (full fat) Red Bull and wouldn't give us the time of day as he was too busy looking like he was the camp kid from My Super Sweet Sixteenth who promises to compere his whole birthday but eventually realises that no-one's going to come and then ends up being consoled by his overbearing mother before kicking over the cake-stand.

[Photos: Lynsey Martenstyn & Sophie Wilkinson]