Category Archives: Lush Life

It’s a Wonderful Lohan

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My celebrity gossip blogging is catching up to me. I spend so much time reading about Lindsay Lohan‘s latest twelve-stepping breakthrough than I do reading about flaming Swedish assholes or Great Cthulhu. This, obviously, will not do.

But sometimes I do find something of moderate to severe amusement, and such is the following. For those of you who haven’t been reading People at the checkout line, Lindsay Lohan is probably the most talented of the Trainwreck Starlet Cavalcade currently lumbering through Hollywood, and probably the one with the most problems, except of course for Ms. Spears, who is in a class by herself (in so many ways). Lohan‘s father has been in and out of prison for at least a decade for a stunning variety of offences, and her mother is a notorious party cougar. Her sister is being moulded into the next sexpot, despite being 14 years old. And the boys? They’re not so pretty or potentially lucrative, so nobody cares about them.

And then there’s Perez.

Perez Hilton, the world’s most popular blogger (or, to be more specific, the author of the world’s most popular blog; everyone loves to hate Perez) was censored by YouTube yesterday, losing two of his accounts over claims he posted footage of Liza Minelli to which he did not have permission of the copyright holder. This claim appears not to be true, and his account has been reinstated, but he is, quite naturally, rather burnt about the whole experience and not thrilled with YouTube. He therefore went ahead and used a different format for his latest video about the troubled Lohan clan, a format which WP.com forbids us to use here on the ol’ raincoaster blog, but for which we have found a workaround.

We found it on YouTube.


(‘twould be amusing if he asserted copyright and got it deleted, eh?)

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Shopping for Christmas

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For some people, it’s a huge responsibility!

 Santa Shops

a learning experience

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What yesterday taught me:

  • After ten at night, downtown in the boondocks is filled with attractive, well-dressed young couples strolling and chatting to one another and greeting friends.
  • After ten at night, downtown in Vancouver is filled with staggering drunks, beggars, dopey hipsters wearing secondhand clothing they haven’t even brushed the dead owner’s dandruff off, and those so outrageously obnoxious that their own mothers out in said boondocks threw them out of their basement apartments and told them to go “get some fresh air.” This is much like the tourist effect, to whit: the reason most tourists are so obnoxious is that they are not traveling because they wish to, but rather because they have been thrown out by their homes.
  • When I have that nagging feeling that I’m forgetting something in my apartment, that thing invariably turns out to be the keys to the place where I’m headed.
  • When I forget the keys to the boondock-ridden locale where I am supposed to be house-sitting, it will be on a night when I decide to take the Skytrain to the very farthest station in said boondock and walk to the house via the “scenic route” which, of course, takes place in the foothills of the Coastal Mountain range.
  • I must be getting fitter because, although the walk wiped me out, I no longer smell like wet pennies when I sweat, so this is an improvement.
  • Conrad Black has two sons, in addition to the daughter who’s been doing the “faithful supporter” thing at the trial. Funny, I read his whole autobiography and he didn’t mention them. Nor getting married, if memory serves. What a family guy!
  •  Those graveyards that have the small, flat stones set flush into the ground? When you pass them at speed on the Skytrain on a dark and stormy night, they sparkle. Almost worth forgoing the weeping angels. Somewhere in Boondock, Ontario, my mother is sparkling. Unless it snowed; then she’s twinkling.
  • It is indeed possible to live off nothing but meat, cheese, caffeine and scotch for a week, but when you do
  • you will crave, I mean actively crave, multivitamins.

That concludes tonight’s lesson.

The Little Drummer Boy, the Gimungous Drag Queen

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I. Can’t. Believe. that I didn’t post this last year. Or the year before. Or, like, ev-ar. But this is, in my opinion, the only acceptable update of that Christmas classic The Little Drummer Boy since Bing and Bowie. It is, ladies and gentlemen and those on whom the good Lord and the rest of us reserve judgement, Ru. Fucking. Paul. and the bounciest choir of angels you’ve ever seen (even if that shepherd totally has white man’s rhythm).

From RuPaul‘s excellent blog, our thought o’ the day:

sometimes i find myself saying ‘where am i’ or ‘how do i know that person’, but more and more it’s becoming very evident that it really doesn’t matter.
all that matters is that we are here together.

Inspired by a slight difference of opinion over at TeenyManolo regarding “The Worst Christmas Songs of All Time” which list is, in my opinion, incomplete without this abomination (NSFdiabetics).

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crab stew

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If they’re trying to use this enlightening ad to sell 42 Below, I’m thinking that the plan may have backfired. Click to enlarge, in case the details are fuzzy, as, indeed, they would be the next morning.

Crab Stew

From the Clio Awards

. Be sure to click the NEXT button when you’re on the site: the second one in the series is particularly amusing!