Susan Sarandon’s Eyes Are Up Here

Let’s all calm down about Susan Sarandon’s boobs. The woman helped define feminism in the ’90s by driving her car off a cliff and she won an Oscar for playing a nun. She’s almost 70 and the fact that her boobs are still worth showing off deserves a special Lifetime A-cleave-ment Award. She’s Hollywood royalty and just because she wore a bra with no shirt at the SAG Awards, the Internet is reacting like the Empress had no clothes. Piers Morgan, auditioning for a judge’s seat on Britain’s Got No Business Commenting, felt the need to weigh in, tweeting that she was “very tacky.”


You’re required to sneer when you read a Piers Morgan tweet out loud.

Some people took offense at the choice of wardrobe because she was presenting the In Memoriam segment.


Just because you wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit doesn’t make it wrong for her. If she showed up to each individual funeral wearing that, I might agree with you, but this is the SAG Awards. Much like the Golden Globes, this is an excuse for the beautiful people to get drunk and tell each other how brave they are. Leonardo DiCaprio was vaping like he was preparing for his next role as the Caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. The mood wasn’t exactly somber. It’s a celebration of lives of the recently passed and a contest to see which of them gets the most applause. Think of it as if her shirt was lowered to half-staff. The people who are giving her a hard time are also probably the same people who are miffed that Uggie the Dog wasn’t included in the tribute.

For some perspective, let’s look at the only metric that counts, the Dow Jones Below Average, the Worst Dressed List. Entertainment Tonight doesn’t have her on their 7 Worst Dressed, USA Today couldn’t find a spot for her on their 9 Worst Dressed, and Entertainment Weekly didn’t put her among their 5 Worst Dressed. I think the biggest take-away is that our attention spans can’t make it through a list of ten anymore, but give us two to look at and we examine them with laser focus. None of the so-called fashion experts think she offended the style gods, so why has this turned into a tempest in a D-cup?

Instead of picking Susan Sarandon apart, we should turn our attention to the real issue, Lori Petty. Yikes. More like Pink is the New Blech, am I right?

Winning, Duh

Hey there, ‘Redheads… Welcome to the first day of March. Once again, my calendar is a flip book and the first two months of the year are gone. They’re not even giving me enough time to procrastinate anymore. Well, I guess time flies when you’re winning. So, for Charlie Sheen, tomorrow it’ll be 2014. He’s absolutely everywhere you look these last two days, giving interviews to anyone within earshot. It’s Charlie’s world and the rest of us are just along for the tour of the chocolate factory. He’s starring in The Sheening, and his two goddesses are those creepy kids in the hallway beckoning him to, “Come play with us, Charlie. For ever and ever and ever.” How many other obscure movie references can I make about this? Charlie has spent the last few years developing a immunity to cocaine powder. My question is, why is everyone shocked by him anymore? The man does not care, he’s not hurting anyone, his kids seem well cared for, and the only reason why his show got cancelled is because CBS got their panties in a bunch. He wanted to work, and he obviously was doing well enough in his condition to hit his marks up until now. Now he’s talking about warlocks and tiger blood, calling Sinatra and Jagger, “droopy-eyed, armless children,” and telling AA to take twelve steps off a cliff, so everyone gets all indignant and wonders how he can sleep at night. Well, my friends, if he decides to sleep, it’s on a giant pile of money with many beautiful women. He’s living the life we all wish we could. If you want to become more of a warlock rock star from Mars in your everyday life, might I recommend Charlie Sheen for the Soul. Charlie Sheen is a hell of a drug.

I have a feeling Gaddafi buried his head into a giant mound of Sheen like Pacino in Scarface. That’s the only guy making less sense than Charlie these days. What also makes no sense is there’s no consensus on how to spell his name. Maybe because if we get it right, he’ll be banished back to the 5th dimension. I’ve seen “Gaddafi,” “Qudhafi,” and my personal favorite, “Khadaffi,” mostly because it makes me think of Daffy Duck. Hard hitting political insight can be found elsewhere.

I should mention the Oscars before I sign off. They stunk. I’ll admit, I didn’t see all of the broadcast. I was over a friend’s house watching as my Terps toyed with my emotions while losing to UNC, while my girlfriend was hosting an Oscar party for her gal pals. Like I had mentioned on Friday, the only thing I was looking forward to was the In Memoriam segment, and they somehow managed to screw that up. Hollywood legends like Tony Curtis and Dennis Hopper got the same amount of screen time as a key grip from Howard the Duck. How do you not have Leslie Neilsen saying his classic, “Don’t call me Shirley,” line from Airplane? And they completely left out Corey Haim and Peter Graves. The hosts were awful. I’ve haven’t seen worse chemistry since the time I tried to make a battery out of a potato in my 4th grade science fair. James Franco was so wooden, he made Al Gore look like Dane Cook. By the end of the show, I thought Anne Hathaway was going to try to cut off her arm to get out from under him. There was such a sigh of relief when Billy Crystal was introduced, I thought the producers has brought him out of cryogenic freeze to take over. This just further proves that you never send an actor to do a comedian’s job.

See you Wednesday.