PlazaJen: Passion Knit

I get "US" magazine at work, and two weeks in a row have been mightily amused by the lesser-story headlines that are still making the covers:

"Anna Nicole Smith: Her Secret Grief"
Ah, yes, so secret, this grief. Secretive and private, right there under her bleary-faced pic on the cover of US magazine! And wasn't she just on Access Hollywood, too? Let me tell you, "secret" and "private" are not words this woman evokes when I think of her.

And this past issue's chuckle: "Nicole (Richie) Gains 10 Pounds"
Sweet jesus. Do we still care? How can you even tell? The woman looks like a boiled chicken. She obviously has issues, and stalking her anorexic ass everywhere isn't going to make her start eating Cheetos. (Maybe she needs to pal around with Britney, who dominates the cover!) Granted, who am I to point fingers at the skinny - you've never been able to clearly identify all the ridges and bones in MY sternum, so from an anatomy textbook perspective, she's a walking teaching model for budding doctors everywhere. But really, are an estimated 10# :that: gossip-worthy?

Oh, and one final thing. Bubble skirts. They're stupid. STOO-PID. If they make Molly Sims look like she's wearing an artfully-gathered potato sack (Hi, Frumpy!), how are they going to work on the average Jane? Jesus, I'd look like a frickin' hot-air balloon crashing into the ground. Or an upside-down Jiffy-Pop bag.

That is all. End of ranting at the stupid. For the next ten minutes, anyway.