Does Rob Thomas look like a lesbian?

Does Joey Fatone look like a big, fat chipmunk.

Do Betty White and Victoria Beckham make an odd pairing.

Does Bindi Irwin and her doll seem scarier than Bride of Chuckie.

The branding of the world.

Call me Frito-Lays. Call my sister Hershey’s. Call yourself Dell. Get the drift? In this age of globalization, internet marketing, reality television, and corporate takeovers we are all becoming a brand…one by one. No longer are we allowed to just flourish, we must apply the rules of corporate market-speak to every aspect of our lives. It’s tragic, really, because now you don’t know what is real and what is pre-fabricated to seem real. Don’t get me wrong, if I Mean…What?!? has to apply these rules of engagement in order to move forward towards monetization (did I just use that…HELP!) then, trust me, I will be talking-pointing myself into a frenzy. And plan on seeing two pony-tail bitches in black dresses holding clipboards standing in from of my apartment door. Though part of me wishes that we could just plod along in obscurity and thrive…but…nahh.

Today’s The New York Times Style section talks about the phenomenon of mommy blogs. I think it’s great that there is a live community of otherwise viral mommies that get together and share valuable information. These meetings help the growing throng of at home mommies learn how to generate revenue doing what they love best…being at home…being a mommy. But my fear is when some of these mommies take their marketing tools too seriously and take on the holier than thou attitude, similar to the bitch in the workplace, then all hell will break loose. I pity the children of that mommy blogger as they will systematically drive those kids nuts, between driving them to endless activities. Meals will become meetings, activities will be reviewed and the pressure applied to these kids regarding school aptitude will be scrutinized and hence, will turn many of them into drug addicts. There are pros and cons to everything. Revenue = Pro. Insanity = Con.

New York's tacky element. Here she is airbrushed around the nose.

Though Miami has it’s tacky elements, one can’t help loving the penthouse suite at the Fountainbleu Hotel with a view of the ocean. Tacky? Who cares. What city doesn’t have it’s tacky elements (see above). Yes, I know there are more than most here…but for now…shhhh…I need to hear the waves rolling in…not what is in my head. But first, let me point out the desperate attempt that Jules Kirby is trying to make in Page Six today that the editing has made her out to be a stupid bitch. Jules, you can cry your crocodile tears from here to Timbuktu…but you are and always will be a stupid bitch. (A) For agreeing to be in that lame High Society in the first place and (B) For saying “My friends do not tend to be homosexuals, fat or Jewish-y bald . . . I use the N-word sometimes.” You can boo-hoo all you want that the editors made you out to be the culprit. But if you agreed to say those words on camera, you deserve whatever bad vibes you get. Frankly, I am hoping you get a good, old-fashioned, bitch slapping once and for all…and preferably by a chubby, Jewish, black, lesbian with a shaved head. That would make me very happy indeed. That and the sweet sound of the Atlantic Ocean…ahhh…heaven.

Oy vey, Tinsley, tatele. High Society not applicable here.

Did you watch that ridiculous excuse for a reality show, High Society, starring Tinsley (40+) Mortimer? How about that other “star” Paul Johnson Calderon, who is completely…beyond…gross…just gross. He makes that obnoxious fagele PC from NYC Prep seem like an upstanding normal citizen. But, then again, they must run in the same circles and are no doubt two peas in a gross baboon pod. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that these people say or do that is redeemable. Might the term Less Than Zero apply here? Yes. And (B) nothing about this show is real. High Society is not a reality show. Maybe we can call it scripted, just not written by a writer kind of scripted. Actually scripted is the wrong word. Let’s go with pre-conceived situations set-up by some newbie line producer in a “This sounds like a good idea to get real conflict, keep the cameras rolling”, kind of pretentious, nonsensical way. All the while making our “heros and heroines” out to be morons of the highest order.

Paul is on the left. His buddy Kristian Laliberte is on the left. Yikes.

That scene when the horeene queen Paul Johnson Calderon (above left) asks his “Mother” for money was beyond. I do hope we will find out whether Paul was in fact adopted from some 3rd world country by the end of the first and only season of High Society. The Mother looks like a yente from Long Island and he looks like he might have been purchased from a small town in South America. And that tragic bitch Jules Kirby makes me cringe. Someone please bitch slap her and while you are at it, do the same to Paul. They call themselves socialites? Do they know what the world means? None of them are sophisticated or worldly. Tinsley comes out best of the lot by spending time with family, which is somewhat grounding. “But yikes, Tinz. You should have never done this.” She must be hoping for a Jersey Shore boondoggle to get five grand to go to the Axe Body Spray Lounge.

Jules Kirby is a pretentious, obnoxious, vomitous, annoying, gross, gross baboon.

This picture must have been taken before the season started. That or proof that the big fight between these two maroons is all a set up by a lacky.

Anyway, let me take you away, like a Calgon bath, to a place where people really don’t matter. Where Jennifer Lopez would sooner be caught dead, and ne’er a Marchesa dress is worn. That is the New York party scene. Flocks of wanna-bes and never wases fill the cavernous nightclubs and retail events in an effort to catch the thrill and feel like a celebrity(ish), albeit a really sad version. Limelight and celebrity are two different things, but, you gotta love people for their vain, little attempts at fabulosity. Herewith are some folks that will never go to the Vanity Fair after party and clearly not the Governor’s Ball…well, maybe to the Governor Patterson Sayonara Soiree.

This group reads like the Who's Who of Who Cares.

Hold onto your LV bags, Jules Kirby (left) stars in the premiere of High Society this Wednesday after America's Next Top Model.

Tinsley Mortimer stretches her New York-ness to Hollywood for the E! Oscar viewing party. Think she got a little too overdressed? Yikes.

There's a new It-ish Girl in town, Sally Shan...wanna-be extraordinaire.

Here's who makes it to Guest of a Guest.

Guest of a Hoochi Mamma.

Linsday Lohan does Paris.

Oy, poor Lindsay Lohan. I was pleased that they were giving her a second chance at Emanuel Ungaro. That was reported a while back anyway. I just read in Women’s Wear Daily that Lindsay was nowhere to be found this morning at the fashion show. The dish I got from my sources was that Mounir Moufarrige, a known sycophant, wanted to be near Lindsay, and soak up some of that paparazzi glow, so he signed her as the Creative Director at Ungaro last year. Apparently, people who were intimately involved in some of those meetings and dinners were breching (vomiting in Yiddish) at how lechy he was. He has since resigned due to butting heads with the money man, Asim Abdullah. Can I say something here? Can we get some French people involved in this House of Ungaro…Emanuel must be turning in his obscurity.

RED CARPET CHIT CHAT: With Mary Alice

ABE: Let me start by saying overall, there was way too much dress on the red carpet. Yes, ruffles are in vogue and Vogue, but the volume was pumped up and in some cases way too high.
MAS: The big statement was strapless. I loved a lot of what went down the Red Carpet.
ABE: Yes, there were more hits than misses but too much ruffle borders on birthday cake.
MAS: My three favorites were Zoe Saldana in Givenchy Haute Couture, Carrie Mulligan in Prada and those Fred Leighton chandelier earrings, wow. And I loved Sarah Jessica Parker in Chanel Haute Couture.
ABE: SPJ was sooo 60’s. I loved the hair…though I am hearing some kvetching out there from people who were not alive to know a good Elizabeth Taylor hairdo when they see one.
MAS: I loved Penelope Cruz, Demi Moore, Kristin Stewart, Miley Cirus, Charlize Theron, stunning. So was Cameron Diaz and Gabouray Sidibe.
ABE: Yes, Gabouray was really feeling mighty reel. Good for her. Naturally, Oprah had to run onstage and schnorr up some of that attention.
MAS: Oprah looked great in Carolina Herrera.
ABE: Oy vey, what was the deal with James Cameron’s wife. Yikes. She was screaming for a cape-let to cover the whole anorexic look. Double yikes.
MAS: I think Kate Winslet is beautiful but I didn’t love the Yves Saint Laurent choice. A little matronly.
ABE: I think it would have been amazing if that skirt was pair of pleated pants. Then it would have been uber-chic.
MAS: And I wasn’t convinced with the Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Dries van Noten choice.
ABE: I loved it.
MAS: I love that she is a risk taker, but I thought it would have been better for the Golden Globes.

TEXT CHAT: Texts between me, my sister Vivian and my assistants Johnna and Ryan.

RYAN: What is with Kathy Ireland’s hands?
JOHNNA: Did you see how weird Kathy Ireland looks…like a robot? And what’s with her hair?
ABE: It’s the hands. Ryan just texted and is hysterical.
ABE: James Cameron’s wife, yikes.
RYAN: I still can’t get over Kathy Ireland’s hands. It’s been the best part of the evening.
JOHNNA: Christopher Plummer has gin blossom.
ABE: Gin Edelweiss, you mean.
VIVIAN: Oy, is this the most boring Oscar show ever? The commercials are more interesting.
ABE: The Healthy Choice commercial with Julia Louise Dreyfus and Jane Lynch was funnier than Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin.
RYAN: Ryan Reynolds is hot!
ABE: Agreed.
JOHNNA: Jeremy Renner is hot!
ABE: Agreed.
VIVIAN: I can’t believe they omitted Farah Fawcett from In Memoriam.
ABE: And Bea Arthur.
RYAN: Can’t stop thinking about Kathy Ireland’s hands.
ABE: This dance has got to stop. They directors and producers really screwed this up.
VIVIAN: So James Cameron lost Kathryn Bigelow and Best Movie. I’m going to sleep. This was the worst.
ABE: I am so glad Sandra Bullock won…and did NOT borrow any jewelry from Martin Katz.
VIVIAN: Who cares.
ABE: And to all a good night.

Everyone wants to know what Oscar will wear.

Remember when the Oscars meant something? Families would gather round their one television set, snacks piled high. It was the signature event of the movie industry, when actors still held a mystique because they were so inaccessible. Their lifestyles were imagined rather than paraded for the media, only few would speak out in support of injustices or charitable causes and we were kept at arms length from knowing too much what went on behind closed doors. Boy has that all changed. Now, we know so much about everyone that is nominated for each award, that by the time the Oscar telecast happens, no one cares about anyone involved. Nominating ten movies for Best Film is such a ploy to attract viewers, that is waters down the value of being nominated. Excuse me, District 9, A Serious Man and Up in the Air? Please mediocre at “Best”.

The fact is, celebrity publicists have done their jobs hawking their clients and we are inundated with facts and figures (Gabourey Sidibe) leaving us with a sense of TMI (too much information). Who doesn’t know about:

• How much hair Monique has on her legs.
• Which number wife James Cameron is sporting on his arm.
• What maneuvering Harvey Weinstein is up to behind the scenes, shifting his support from Nine to Inglourious Basterds. (Did he not see Nine to know that was a huge effort in futility? Inglourious Basterds should have been his pick from the start. My point is: Backroom dirty dealings should be just that, and not public fodder. It just makes Mr. Weinstein look really annoying.)
• What dress Sandra Bullock will wear and all that other high-stakes hi-jinks to get Armani Prive on bla bla.
• Which actress doesn’t own an evening handbag, hence being forced to borrow from Judith Leiber.
• What actress is borrowing Neil Lane, Harry Winston or Martin Katz’s estate jewelry.

Can we agree that it is all too much information? And (B) The borrowing of jewelry is so un-chic, (rather low rent-ish, more wanna-be New York socialite) that it compromises the mystique of the talent. Would Bette Davis ever admit to borrowing jewelry? Think again. It would be nice to know that Vera Farmiga has a safe with lovely jewels on her goat farm. And that Meryl Streep owns every dress she wears. But is that the truth? Probably not. Truth is, that Monique’s husband finds her hairy legs sexy, which is brech-worthy. (Brech = vomit in Yiddish.) Attention celebrity publicists: Cut it out. You need to research the Golden Age of Hollywood. It was then that the star machine created real superstars. The studio system worked to keep the riff-raff information tucked behind the gated properties of the celebrities. Not open the pearly gates of minutia.

Nan Kempner is turning is her grave if people like Devorah Rose are considered socialites.

It’s official. I have now heard everything, and this quote ranks as the dumbest tid-bit on Earth by none other than wanna-be socialite and desperado for attention-seeker, Devorah Rose (nee Trachtenberg). Devorah is one of the main characters on the soon-to-premiere new CW reality show, High Society, starring that other known social climber socialite, Tinsley Mortimer. When asked why she agreed to be a character on the show, Devorah, who had just learned of her step-father’s death actually said: “I needed to escape from the pain, and my way of coping was to do a reality show,” Rose said. “Most people would go into therapy. I was like, yeah, I’m at the lowest emotional point of my life. Why not have it on tape?” What’s so retardo about that soundbite is that Rose was also quoted as saying, “I grew up wanting to be a brain surgeon, a heavy-metal rocker and a novelist, but never a socialite.” In this week’s The New York Times Style section, Tinsley Mortimer is the subject of  A Night Out With. In the interview she reminisces about her spontaneous meeting with The Situation from Jersey Shore. “I’m like, ‘Oh my God, it’s The Situation,’ ” Ms. Mortimer said. “I was like a giddy schoolgirl. I was like, ‘Oh my God, can I get a picture?’ I was so happy.” Notice that the word like is in that one quote three times? Someone stick a fork in me…’cause I am like done.

Tinsley Mortimer (a.k.a. The Tinz) is the one on the right. The other total wanna-be socialite is Aubrey O'Day who needs to stay away from those spray tanning salons.

There’s yet another character nim-null on High Society named Jules Kirby that refused to attend the launch party for show, held at SL, due to the fact that she does not like the way she is portrayed in the show. “She’s particularly annoyed that she admits in the trailer to occasionally using the ‘N’ word, “ Page Six notes. Girl, the camera does not lie. Sure, creative editing and fake situations abound on all reality shows, but you are who you are. If you say something stupid, then you are only misrepresenting yourself. Jules is another “social-lite” that says stupid things. Catch this riveting kernel from an interview with that always searing Guest of a Guest on her boutique, JoliKa, that she opened in Belle-ile-en-Mer, France.

Jules Kirby also loves posing for Animla Crackers.

GOAG: What was your inspiration for opening JoliKa?
JULES: I love to shop. I love nature. It keeps me very busy, and out of trouble.

Jules was arrested and charged with petty larceny in Southampton for stealing an American flag on July 4th weekend as well as consuming an alcoholic beverage in public. Jules Kirby is our newest addition to the Last Five Minutes of Fame.

Nan Kempner, muse of Yves Saint Laurent, was a true socilaite. They don't make 'em like her anymore.

If you want to talk reality, the reality is that socialites are no longer socialites at all. They are referred to as “socials” now, which is true. They are social…as in that is all they are. Social pariahs to be exact. Nan Kempner, Muffie Potter and Nancy Kissinger would never have been caught dead in the situations that we now find our “socialites” in. Schnorring free products at gifting suites, posing for animal crackers (see above), appearing on reality television shows and while I am it, being seen (and photographed) at any party that will have you. It goes against the philosophy of real socialites, which is: “You should be in the newspaper only three times — when you’re born, when you marry and when you die”.