popular thinking

FEASTING ON INFAMY: OUR ANNUAL TURKEY AWARDS

Let’s roast these turkeys (Boston Herald)
This year, the entertainment world (and the news business) brought forth so many turkeys that we’re not sure we have room to roast, baste and deep-fry them all.
Then again, would it be Thanksgiving without stuffing?
So adjust that elastic waistband - let’s dig in. Gobble gobble!

T IS FOR...
TURKEY OF THE YEAR
Could it be anyone but Tom Cruise? Where to begin? Dear Tom. The couch-jumping, the Ritalin-bashing, the Katie Holmes-loving all seemed so surreal, we’re almost ready to forget it ever happened. But Tom Cruise won’t let us forget. Unless we sign up for “clearing” classes at the Church of Crazytown. Even then, we’ll be stumped as to how the virginal Holmes got knocked-up. And no, we’re not willing to consider the rational or the religious implications of that last sentence.

U IS FOR...
U MUST BE KIDDING!
Let’s settle this once and for all. Cruise and Holmes are not to be called TomKat - they’re the Couple That Must Not Be Named. Celebrity couple names spiraled out of control this year. Sure, it was cute when Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez begat Bennifer, then Affleck and bride/mom-to-be Jennifer Garner begat Bennifer 2.0, but then someone decided that every couple needed a mash-up moniker - TomKat, Spederline, Brangelina, and horror of horrors, names for couples that are barely even couples. Vinnifer? Please.
Also in this category, TV “reality.”
Did we really deserve so much Gastineau, Gotti and Bonaduce in our lives? Did we need to know that our own Bobby Brown goes hunting for “dootie bubble”? Our apologies for repeating it.
Past “reality stars” refused to go away, turning up at Boston PR parties and on TV shows, including “Battle of the Network Reality Stars” and “Kill Reality.” You had us at “kill reality.”
Especially if it involves watching Fred Durst or Tom Sizemore in a sex tape. We’d rather have visions of dancing sugarplums.

R IS FOR...
R YOU SERIOUS?
People magazine continues to confuse us with its Sexiest Man issue. Matthew McConaughey? Wasn’t his naked bongo routine so last millennium? Anyhow, whatever happened to last year’s sexiest guy, Jude Law? Oh, that’s right. He shagged the nanny. In front of his kids. How sexy.
Michael Jackson, not guilty on all charges.
The new Boston Common magazine announced its hipness by putting wrinkled rocker Steven Tyler on its debut cover. Not to be outdone, Boston magazine put a drawn-on Tyler on its cover the same month. Have we no new celebrities?

K IS FOR...
KEVIN FEDERLINE AND KENNY CHESNEY
How does one top leaving his previous baby mama for Britney Spears and a free engagement ring? How about producing and directing “Chaotic” with his blushing bride? Or there’s the awful wardrobe (wife-beater undershirt plus flannel plus cargo shorts plus tube socks plus sandals plus tilted cap plus cigarette plus Cheetos equals STOP IT!), the silly cornrows and the futile attempt at rapping. And you had to name your son Sean? Thanks a lot, Kevin.
Then there’s poor Chesney. First you find your attempt at wedded bliss with Renee Zellweger goes astray, and then you can’t figure out a way to explain the annulment without getting goosed by the gossiphounds. And then when you get your own TV special last night on ABC, NBC counters with Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, the picture-perfect married couple.

E IS FOR...
EGREGIOUS BEHAVIOR
Shame, shame, shame.
Politics collided with show business throughout the year. Sean Penn, meet Geraldo Rivera. Kanye West, meet George W. Bush. Mercer Hotel desk clerk, meet Russell Crowe’s hotel phone.
Sean Combs changed his name, again, and ruined the MTV Video Music Awards for the entire MTV Generation.
Speaking of MTV, they also found a way to botch coverage of the stellar multi-continent concert called Live 8.
Sony got caught putting spyware on its new CDs. American Idol got caught fooling around with its voting procedures, while Paula Abdul may or may not have been caught fooling around with a former “Idol” finalist.

Y IS FOR...
Y? BECAUSE WE LOVE YOU
That’s why we’ll tell you that TV creators shouldn’t let the hype go to their heads and forget to write watchable episodes of the shows that made them such superstars in the first place - that means you, Desperate Housewives, and you, too, The O.C.
The U.S. version of OK! magazine has become best known for its paid exclusives, which entitles us to such dreck as the inner world of Star Jones, which leads us to Star Jones. If we have to watch her conduct one more red carpet interview, God help us, we’ll stuff her face with turkey ourselves.