Oh wow, I am just speechless with how wonderful this is. Not only is it BEN AFFLECK, someone who we’ve wanted represented here at Celebrities Eating for far too long, but it’s BEN AFFLECK EATING A FUCKING BIG MAC. High five, internet. High five.
Yes, it’s just what you think it is, although perhaps allowing Nicole Richie more webspace than you’d have thought, from the look of her. Still, it’s a site about celebrities eating, not celebrities keeping food down. via Gawker.
Now, are they not a lovely couple, in a May/December way? But not so lovely when you realize it’s also in a child/progenitor way.
Say hi to Bruce McMahan, McMahan’s Furniture heir, former PaineWebber and Bear Stearns honcho and current (clock ticking) chief of McMahan Securities. She’s Linda Marie Hodge McMahan Schutt, PhD (Psych, natch; draw your own inferences), and executive vice president of marketing for Argent Funds Group LLC and McMahan Securities.
You’d think the Westminster Abbey nuptuals of such a pair would rate a brief mention in the Times, wouldn’t you? Well, you’d be wrong.
See, she’s his daughter.
And that, my friends, is the difference between the Times and the Village Voice. (via Fark)
In court papers, McMahan denies that he ever had a sexual affair with his daughter. But he doesn’t explain how his and Linda‘s DNA turned up on a vibrator that Linda‘s husband uncovered in her luggage. McMahan also hints that Linda may not be his biological daughter, despite a DNA test he paid for showing with 99.7 percent probability that he is her father…
Then, on September 13, as this article was being
prepared for print, all five lawsuits were settled on undisclosed terms. As part of the settlement, a federal judge in San Diego sealed the files of the California lawsuit and took the rare step of wiping out any record that the lawsuit had ever existed.
Through McMahan‘s L.A. public relations firm, the parties sent a statement to New Times, describing the matter as a mere “family dispute,” and alluded to taking legal action if this newspaper published this article, which is drawn from the information in the court cases that McMahan has gone to such lengths to hide from public view.
If you’ve ever thought about reading Kathryn Harrison‘s The Kiss, I’d advise you to skip it and just check out this bizarre and twisted tale. It trumps Harrison‘s subsequently-repudiated memoir on every measure that counts: more laws broken, dodgy Dubai dollars, a posh wedding (Westminster! Abbey!), private spas, everyone involved seems to have had more marriages than Mickey Rooney and Elizabeth Taylor combined (with the exception of the blushing bride. She really was Daddy’s girl), incriminating videotape, a vast fortune, lawsuits galore, Eastern European mail order brides, and, if I may remind you, DNA-encrusted sex toys!
What’s not to like?
That about sums it up.
In an interview with Baba Wawa on 20/20, Terri Irwin has said that she will not release the video footage of her husband’s death by stingray. This article comes from the BBC, via Trenchcoat Chronicles.
“What purpose would that serve?” she asked presenter Barbara Walters in an interview with US programme 20/20…
His wife … insisted his death was just a “stupid” accident – “like running with a pencil”…
The 42-year-old mother of two said her late husband knew he would not live a long life.
“He’d talk about it often,” she said. “But it wasn’t because of any danger from wildlife. He just felt life could be dangerous.”
As I said before, the wishes of the dead are to be respected, but not neccessarily obeyed. The film belongs to Terri Irwin and the film company, and it is their right to decide what happens to it.
Here is the tribute speech to Irwin by his daughter, Bindi Sue, who has her own television show. He was actually getting footage of the stingray for her when he died. She’s already stated that she has no intention of giving up on the show, but considers it carrying on the family legacy. Those are big boots to fill, kid, but judging from this it looks like you’re off to a good start.
Was it Oscar Wilde or GBS who said, “There is nothing so provincial as a provincial celebrity”?
Well le voilà:
and Gawker is all over it:
Gladwell did the ad for charity, so we’re going to let it go this time, but, uh, wow, they really have a different idea of celebrity up north, don’t they? Also, we want to know if they used a hairstylist for the shoot or if that’s just the way he showed up.
From Defamer:
Every once in a while, a reader will send in something just interesting or odd enough to totally mesmerize us, something that we we feel oddly compelled to share despite our complete inability to find a blogworthy angle. If you need a context for the attached photo, it’s merely a sign from San Diego’s Little Italy neighborhood, one of a series celebrating various famous Americans of Italian extraction, sponsored by a local business called Precious Cheese. If you need a further reason to stare, feel free to impose your own meaning on the serendipitous pairing of sponsor and overly earnest, past-his-prime actor, and muse that “Precious Cheese” is Travolta’s drag name or his term of endearment for his favorite private jet passenger. Either way, Precious Cheese will haunt our dreams tonight.
raincoaster 