Trash Talk Thursday

OMG, I am like the Amazing Kreskin. Did I not fearlessly predict that the tabs would be egging on the whole absurd (and by that I mean fabulously dishy)  Jennifer Aniston/Angelina Jolie feud this week. Well,  In Touch and OK! did not disappoint and  OK! would have totally won this round for a wonderful overheated headline: "Obsessed With Angie!" But Us  threw down the gaunltet by filling a gaping void : J. Lo news! Oh, happy day! I forgot how much I missed her. According to Us, an unimpeachable source of information, "The Ring is Off!" She is totally tired of That Guy She Married ™. Do you people understand that once she kicks him out we're going to be treated to delicious, breathless speculation about who is next on her list of ex-husbands-to-be? There are so many viable options. And this whole toned-down thing she has been doing will be over. Hello, mink eyelashes. Hello, conspicuous consumption. Hello, "Who Has The Best Booty?" stories. Kwanzaa came early this year. This is totally going to get us through worrying about the economy and the fact that Minnesota can't recount freaking ballots any faster than this and who has the craziest pastor and everything else that makes our pretty, little heads all hurty. Thank you, Us. Thank you.

Trash Talk

Normally, I spend my time reading such highbrow tomes as The Origin of Consciousness and the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. I'm deep like that. But sometimes you just have to indulge in something less taxing. Welcome to Trash Talk Thursdays.

This week's guilty pleasure is the latest issue of Star and it delivers all kinds of geeky splendor. For starters, there is an interview with Amy Sedaris, a goddess of geektabulousness. There's a nude photo of Neil Patrick Harris, who won my love in Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog . And then there are the awful red carpet outfits that make us feel fashionably superior and oh, Sarah Brightman, why? Why?! But thank you, Sarah

Tipping Point: Get yourself over to the newsstand and just tuck a copy under The Economist. Nobody has to know what you really read.