Thanks for sharing

Once upon a time, the Brits were a reserved bunch. We thought talking about our emotions was indulgent and vulgar. Grief was something to be indulged in privately, behind a mountain of hastily-made sandwiches. And the closest thing to a PDA between father and son would be a bone-crushingly firm handshake.

Now look at us. Been in therapy? Tell your friends all about it over lunch. Having a nervous breakdown? Time for a facebook status update. What next - posting self-portraits of ourselves doing the morning-after walk of shame on Flickr?

Our world-renowned stiff upper lip has been replaced with a loose tongue, and there's no such thing as TMI. We're all celebrities in our own little microcosms, and we know that our fans need regular updates.

Last week, Mel Wilson made the news, thanks to a constant stream of Tweets as she documented her entire 25-hour labour. Because there's nothing more fun than reading regular updates about a complete stranger's dilated cervix.

Apparently, Mel's husband Dylan is also a prolific tweeter, “though he did wait until after the baby was born to send out messages.” That may be the case, but I have a sneaking suspicion that, rather than pacing the waiting room and handing out cigars, he was busy seeding his wife's microblog via Reddit.

Don't get me wrong. I'm fully aware of the irony - a blogger slating someone else for writing about their every move, as though anyone should be interested. It's pot calling the kettle "hack".

But I wonder how often people stop to consider the suitability or relevance of the information they disseminate online. Given the fast-moving nature of modern communications, it's easy to fire off messages and naively assume they'll be gone in a nanosecond.

Maybe that's what Sarah Baskerville thought when she complained to the PCC about the Daily Mail and Independent on Sunday reprinting her tweets, in articles relating to her role within the Department of Transport. She argued that the use of her tweets "constituted an invasion of privacy", since her messages were only meant to be seen by her 700 followers.

The press regulator disagreed, quite rightly arguing that Twitter is a publicly accessible forum, and that users have little or no control over what gets retweeted.

At the same time, there are genuine concerns about the fact that some newsgathering organisations are willing to overlook privacy laws in pursuit of a story. But claims like this only serve to undermine the more worthwhile cases. Ultimately, you can't reasonably complain that big brother is watching, if you insist on getting undressed without drawing the blinds.

Grin or bear it?

A decade is a long time in pop music, as Toni Braxton knows only too well. Despite plugging away with her smoky vocals and dinner party R&B, it's a good ten years since she had much on impact on the charts. 

Two bankruptcies, angioplastic surgery and an autistic child have helped keep her on the cover of the trashy gossip magazines, but her musical output has been decidedly low key. Which is a shame, since many of her early hits are now considered pop/soul standards. 

But it's a different kind of magazine that wants now wants her splashed all over its front page, and not because of her acute angina. Although the reason sounds similar. 

Taking to everyone's favourite public forum yesterday, Toni tweeted that Playboy has been pursuing her to appear in a future issue of everyone's favourite one-handed reading material: "New Year, New opportunities. So I have been considering taking up Playboy's offer to feature me on their cover this year. What you think?" Given the financial fix she's in, it's hardly surprising that the offer is makin' her high.

She may claim that the shoot will be tastefully done, but she needs to consider America's puritanical view of nudity. After all, the producers of long-running police show NYPD Blue are still having to contend with legal proceedings for a flash of bum that took place when Toni was still a musical force to be reckoned with. 

Eight years ago, an episode of the show aired that featured the buttocks of actress Charlotte Ross. After six years of legal wrangling, the FCC slapped network ABC with a $1.4 million fine for the scene. Today, ABC managed to get the fine overturned by a federal appeals court. But the Parents Television Council watchdogs aren't happy at this "egregious example of legislating from the bench". 

When TV shows are filled with graphic scenes of violence and torture, groups like PTC are happy to look the other way. But when an actor or actress turns and bares their other cheeks, these activists are less willing to do the same.

Toni might dismiss her impending spread as "Just a lil T and A", but not everyone will see it that way.

Katy should shut the smurf up

Everyone knows the first rule of publicity - do something controversial and everyone will talk about you. Katy Perry knows all about that, after all, she's engaged to Russell Brand and he can't blow his nose without giving Daily Mail readers an aneurysm. Then again, she's no stranger to shock tactics herself, thanks to her faux-lesbian antics in 'I Kissed a Girl' and her homophobic debut single 'U R So Gay'.

As the daughter of a pair of ministers, Katy grew up singing in church and attending Christian summer camps. Although she started out singing gospel, by the time she was ready for the big-time, Katy had ditched the religion (as well as her real last name) and was courting a decidedly secular audience. Hardly surprising given that she grew up delighting in rebelling against her parents' conservatism.

Unfortunately, she may have discarded some of her inhibitions but she decided to hang on to the hypocrisy of fundamentalism. A couple of weeks ago she took to Twitter to critique the new Lady Gaga video, commenting "Using blasphemy as entertainment is as cheap as a comedian telling a fart joke." Apparently not everyone approves of videos that equate religion with fascism.

As soon as the news media picked up on Katy's condemnation, she promptly backtracked, telling an interviewer that people think she's "a very hypocritical person ... Spirituality and sexuality are two separate things. When you decide to put it into the same subject, it gets interesting for some people. Everyone knows... I've said 100 times on my Twitter: I'm one of the biggest Lady Gaga and Madonna and Russell Brand fans..."

Of course, the interesting post-script to all this talk of controversy is the fact that Katy has also managed to upset people this week, with the debut of her new video for California Gurls. Katy may dance around in the video in a ridiculous cream-cake bra, but it's one particular guest appearance that seems to have people upset with the blue-haired banshee.


Katy is joined by a troop of dancing Gummi bears, a couple of whom decide to flip her the bird - perhaps they had to sit through one of her live performances of 'Waking Up In Vegas'. The brand manager for Trolli (who make the chewy ursine characters) issued a statement saying "Those are definitely not Trolli Gummi bears in the video because Trolli Gummi Bears would never be that rude. Trolli bears would extend their chubby little arms and give Katy a big old bear hug and whisper, 'Everything is going to be alright'." He may think that sounds cute, I think it's pretty creepy.

Having already perverted people's memories of those lovable Gummi bears, it'll be interesting to see what impact Katy will have on the similarly themed Smurfs when the movie adaptation hits screens later this year. As she told MTV: "My mother thought that Smurfette was a little bit slutty, being the only female in the village. And now I've shown her. I called her up and said, 'Guess what, ma? I'm Smurfette!'" Maybe mother had a point...

Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Compton Street?

We all know that Twitter is de rigeur for any celebrity wishing to air their dirty laundry in public. Courtney Love famously begged her daughter for a reconciliation in a rambling series of 140-character missives. Lindsay Lohan documented the end of her adventures in Lesbeteria on the micro-blogging site. And Tila Tequila - well, the less said about that train wreck the better.

So it was interesting to see the blogosphere all abuzz this week with the news that a household name has taken to Twitter to announce their status as an out gay man. If you thought the news about Ricky Martin was the entertainment industry's least surprising revelation, this one will have you wondering why it was ever considered a secret in the first place.

Over the weekend, Bert, one of Sesame Street's long-term residents made the announcement we've all been waiting for, in characteristically oblique fashion:

Given that he and his perennial 'roommate' Ernie have been sharing a bedroom for over forty years, the clues were always there. Whereas Ernie is the playful, mischievous one, Bert has always been more conservative and reserved - which makes it all the more shocking that he would be the first of the two to announce that he's a 'mo. Perhaps he's a member of the muppet branch of the log-cabin republicans.

Likewise, whilst Ernie spends most of his time in the bathroom (playing with his rubber duckie - euphemism alert!), Bert is so unconcerned with personal grooming that he's allowed his monobrow to have full run of his forehead.

The makers of Sesame Street have always denied claims that the fuzzy fellas were more than just good friends, pointing out that Bert even serenaded his 'girlfriend' with a song. The fact that it was called "I want to hold your ear" simply confirms that Bert has been dealing with intimacy issues for some time.

Despite their denials, the Children's Television Workshop should be applauded for their commitment to progressive representations of modern life on the show. After all, Cookie Monster has struggled with substance abuse for years, and Big Bird experienced gender disclocation decades before Chaz Bono went under the knife.

Don't panic - nothing to see here

A good gossip story used to take weeks to surface. Now the whole scandal can be posted, shared, denied and forgotten in about as much time as it takes to close the Norton pop-up telling you your virus software has expired.

This is David Archuleta, the ever-grinning runner-up from American Idol's seventh season. With his softly soulful voice and family-friendly Mormon upbringing, he's like a less-threatening version of Zac Efron.

He's been in the news this week because he was spotted at a New York gay club on Saturday and didn't want his young fans to get 'the wrong idea'. As soon as the story broke, he took to Twitter to post a frantic series of messages denouncing his choice of venue and claiming he was only there to see his friend Charice perform.

Unwittingly dissing the lifestyle of much of his fanbase, Archuleta tweeted "Mental note to self: always ask where before you go! Wasn't my kind of place lol, and I had no clue! I guess you live and learn. Been seeing some of the tweets.. sheesh! Can get crazy quick. NO worries all, I wouldn't get into things like that intentionally haha. Hope you guys have a good Sunday!"

Being a gay runner-up on Idol can go either way. Adam Lambert may have triumphed over red state small-mindedness, but Clay Aiken was dropped faster than a pair of leatherette disco shorts when he revealed his sexuality to his fans. So it's understandable that David would want to distance himself from those rumours.

But sensing that maybe he'd been a little too vociferous, he took to Twitter once again to retract his rebuttals and downplay his disgust: "I have friends who are gay, and they're great people. Whether they're gay or not doesn't change how I think of them. I have nothing against anyone, I'm sorry if that's how it came across. I'm just not into the partying scene lol."

But no-one's LOL'ing. The homophobic haters have nothing to pin on him, gossip columnists have a perfectly reasonable alibi, and the gays can't even get riled by the fact that he doth protest too much.

Mental note to self - Twitter is killing the art of celebrity tittle-tattle. Come back Katie and Peter, your people need you.

Now for the news and weather where you are...

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Lady goes Gaga over fans

When you finally achieve your dreams, it's very tough to stay grounded. For some people, all it takes is one whiff of success and they start throwing their weight around like a pre-menstrual Mariah Carey. So we should all be grateful for Lady Gaga who manages to be both grateful and gracious to her fans for putting her where she is today - even if that happens to be her own little world.

A few months ago, when she released the follow-up to her best-selling debut album, she treated the fans queuing outside the record signing to a thousand dollars worth of pizza as a way of saying thank you. Some might carp that she didn't bother to check whether anyone was gluten intolerant or trying to lay off the carbs, but in this instance, it's definitely the thought that counts.

The strange thing is, as pretentious as her stage persona might seem to some, she's actually very grounded. She's said repeatedly that she's driven by a need to please and delight her fans, and make outsiders feel welcome and accepted. All very commendable.

Yesterday, she went another step closer to proving this point when she added a link on her official Twitter page, along with the comment 'holy shit'. The video (posted below) was made by a group of friends who received Flip cameras for Christmas and decided to remake Gaga's award-winning video for Bad Romance.



Although they were working from a significantly more rstrictive budget, and the choreography is somewhat lacklustre, they can't be faulted for their commitment or attention to detail. You'll never look at a laundry basket the same way again after this.

Whereas some celebrities might get their record company to pressure YouTube to take down the video for breaking the rules over music usage rights, Lady Gaga decided to share the video with her 2+ million-strong group of Twitter followers. For all the fans who keep posting messages in the hope their favourite star migth notice them, this should be considered a major breakthrough.

Already, the video has received over a quarter of a million hits. But, ironically, this has caused something of an unforeseen problem for the young videographers.

A new note on their YouTube channel reads: "We're flattered some of you guys friend requested us on Facebook, but we wanna try to keep our personal lives seperate. So add our fanpage instead :D!" Isn't it funny how quickly people forget the fans who put them where they are today?

The Fleshy Bits

Well, here we are on December 31st and what a year it's been. I've loved writing p0pvulture every day (mostly), and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. So I thought I'd mark the end of the year with The Fleshy Bits - p0pvulture's highly coveted awards for the people who helped to make 2009 so special...

The 'I'd Prefer to be Illiterate' Award goes to the champion of bad writing, the Daily Mail

With more factual inaccuracies than a Katie Price autobiography, and a glossy veneer of hate that would make Nick Griffin wince, the Daily Mail didn't just kill the respected art of journalism, it dug up its corpse and paraded around a farmyard wearing a suit made out of its skin.

During a particularly vintage year, Jan Moir got herself crossed off Ronan Keating's Christmas card list, and Amanda Platell replaced Grange Hill's Imelda Davies as the nation's most frightening female bully.

The 'Call the RAC' Award goes to non-stop car crash Kerry Katona

With a woeful taste in men to rival Eva Braun, unhappily married Kerry spent most of the last twelve months like a long-running collision, and the bonnet is still buckling. From the blow to the bipolar, there's not a bad decision Kerry didn't make. Having sustained her 'luxury' (tbc) lifestyle for far too long, Iceland finally cut their losses and ditched the Twizzler-munching half-wit. And you know you've hit rock bottom when one of the Nolans becomes a better bet.

Kerry's now on the processed white breadline, and has even been turned down by producers of Celebrity Big Brother. Maybe they prefer their breakdowns to be a little more drawn out, rather than taking place on the stairs of the compound.

The 'Hollowed-out Volcano for Rent' Award goes to uber-villain Simon Cowell

It's been an amazing year for the king of pap music. He's helped transform Cheryl Cole from a poorly written Viz character into Vera Lynn with better hair. He found a sartorially-challenged frump and turned her into the Second Coming, inspiring a generation of lonely, middle-aged cat-ladies to believe in themselves. And he lost the battle for Christmas number one.

He didn't even realise there was a battle to be fought, until a bunch of internet rebels took exception to his arrogant assumption that the top spot was his to bestow. But just like Keyser Soze, who convinced the world he didn't exist, Cowell will have the last evil laugh. He may have pretended to lose the battle, but there's no denying he'll win the war.

The 'Ignore Them and They'll Go Away' Award goes to ubiquitous bucket and professional fantasist Katie Price

Wherever you looked this year, you were certain to see a picture of Katie Price falling out of something - whether it was love, a nightclub or her outfit. For a while she'd convinced a good percentge of the population that 'Jordan' was her slutty, foul-mouthed and uncontrollable alter-ego. But if you're going to claim 'multiple personalities', there needs to be more than one discernible character.

The divorce from singing ironing board Peter Andre was only the beginning. Amongst this year's highlights were the claims that she may be suffering from swine flu, was a kidnapping risk, and was genuinely in love with a pug-faced cage fighter who looks less convincing in women's clothes than Anne Widdecombe.

She also continued to flog her equestrian accessories range, in the process distressing more horses than the lead in Equus. Ultimately, Katie proved that she would do anything to stay on the front of the papers, and the media were only too willing to comply.

The 'Most Over-used Tool Since Ron Jeremy' Award goes Photoshop

Newspapers and magazines have been feeling the pinch ever since the internet came along, leaving them more and more desperate to snag readers with any old tripe. And in the absence of actual news, they applied the pressure to already overworked graphic designers, in order to fill the extra space in their publications. As a consequence we've been treated to the pleasures of doctored film posters, creepy child pageant participants, and pictures of Kelly Clarkson, with enough flesh removed to create a spare American Idol winner out of the left-overs.

The 'I've Still Got A Crystal Set In the Attic' Award goes to flavour-of-the-month Twitter

In the good old days (according to Joan Collins) celebrities relied on a team of well-trained publicists to keep their darkest secrets from public scrutiny. These days, we're more likely to get real-time updates from our favourite stars as they tuck their feet into the stirrups and take a deep breath. Twitter has made it possible for people to give their 'followers' access to their innermost thoughts, even whilst navigating a tricky underwear hole or fending off a troublesome ex.

I could go on, but it's now 2010. So good luck in the new year, may all your dreams come true. Even the dirty ones...

*Battery not included

An ugly pair of socks. Nothing but green triangles left in the Quality Street tin. Noel Edmonds. Everyone has something that pushes their buttons at Christmas.

For Charlie Sheen, it's the threat of divorce. His wife Brooke Mueller threatened to leave him, to which he responded by breaking her glasses, pinning her down by the throat and threatening to kill her. Allegedly.

I say allegedly because, as with all matrimonial disputes, there's going to be an element of he said she said.

Some might say there's no smoke without fire. After all, Charlie is the poster boy for mis-spent youth/adolescence/middle-age, and has established a worse reputation than "Cha-Cha" DiGregorio.

As well as the prolific drug habit, he's gone through more tarts than Mr Kipling. He even made an enemy out of Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss, when he gave evidence against her, despite having used her services often enough to subsidise his own wing of the brothel.

And yet, despite his hell-raising ways (even Pinhead is taking notes), Charlie somehow landed himself a smash-hit sitcom, one which successfully blends the highbrow comedy of The Odd Couple with the equally sophisticated humour of My Two Dads.

So now, America's favourite TV comedy star is facing charges of second-degree assault, menacing and criminal mischief - which makes it sound as though the most appropriate punishment would be a good slippering by his dad. But this isn't The Beano, and these are serious charges.

Still, it is party season in Aspen, so perhaps we shouldn't be too surprised that Brooke was able to put her trauma behind her and hang out at the Caribou Club. Nor should we be too shocked to hear from Charlie's ex-wife Denise Richards about her own ugly experiences.

What is weird, is the fact that she took to Twitter to do it, and chose to tease the story, saying "...one day..I will spill my guts about EVERYTHING,". Apologies if this seems overly cynical, but it all smacks of a forthcoming magazine exclusive rather than the painful recollections of a abused wife.

As for Charlie, he's keen to resume filming on Two and a Half Men, and there are no signs that the show will be affected. But although Charlie's character is based on his own 'bad boy' reputation, I can't see that its producers will be rubbing their hands together with excitement about all the new material he's giving them.

Overheard today

This year's big digital phenomenon has been the explosion of Twitter, which took the least useful bit of Facebook and built a whole social media platform around it. But as well as giving Lindsay Lohan a handy forum for ranting inarticulately at her ex, and allowing regular mortals to detail their every tedious move, the website has also unearthed a few gems. 

One of the best is 'Shit My Dad Says' - a Twitter account which has amassed over 700,000 followers and become the stuff of internet legend. It's the story of a 29 year-old guy who lives with his 73 year-old father, a man so profanely cantankerous that he may well be evidencing the early stages of dementia.

Given the venomous vitriol spouted by his father, Justin Halpern would be forgiven for looking into flights to Switzerland. But instead, Halpern captures his dad's comments and posts them on Twitter. Ordinarily, this soul-destroying commentary on the foibles of modern life would become unbearably oppressive, but presented in bite-sized pieces of 140 characters or less, they're slightly more tolerable.

Choice quotes from Halpern Senior include:
“You look just like Stephen Hawking…. Relax, I meant like a non-paralyzed version of him. Feel better? Fine. Forget I said it.”
"Why the fuck would I want to live to 100? I'm 73 and shit's starting to get boring. By the way, there's no money left when I go, just fyi"
"I wanted to see Detroit win. I've been there. It's like God took a shit on a parking lot. They deserve some good news."

Now it seems as though Hollywood wants in on the action. CBS has commissioned Justin to write the pilot for a new sitcom, based on his tweets, that will be produced by Will & Grace creators David Kohan and Max Mutchnick. 

In the past, we've had movies and TV shows based on books, plays, songs, poems and even toys. But this will be the first to be inspired by a Twitter feed. Still, if a Twitter account can get a development deal, maybe there's hope for Lindsay's career after all. 

Keep it to yourself

Candy Spelling is horrified, and it's not because she's seen pictures of Tori in a push-up bra. She's only just realised that, while she's been busy berating her daughter for bringing shame on the family, the world of celebrity has moved on and embraced social networking as a way to connect with fans.

Let's be clear, Candy most definitely does not approve. Writing on Huffington Post, Candy objects to the 'new media landscape' and encourages her fellow celebrities to rely on 'publicists and agents and managers' (oh my!) for all their communication needs.

Of course, that's not to suggest that Facebook and Twitter are a bad thing per se - as Candy sees it, they an still be 'terrific promotional vehicles for Hollywood'. In fact, they only become a problem when 'human emotions' become involved.

It's hardly surprising that Candy objects to human emotion, given that she displays all the maternal instinct of a wolf spider. But it's strange that Candy should be so aghast at the idea of celebs airing their dirty dry-cleaning in public, given her habit of writing open letters to Tori about her many shortcomings and posting them on TMZ.

Maybe next time she wants to share her condescending viewpoint with the wider world, she should run it past a publicist first. After all, the new media landscape that she's so wary of, can be very unforgiving. Much like Candy herself.

Time to pay our disrespects

Regular readers of this blog will know that there is little love lost between p0pvulture and the Daily Mail, a paper so filled with bile and vitriol it takes half a pack of Settlers Tums to get past page four. However, this week, it's bloated harridan Jan Moir's turn in the spotlight, giving Amanda Platell a well-earned week off.

Since Sunday's shocking news about Stephen Gately's death at the age of 33, celebrities of every shape and size have come forward to pay their respects to the mild-mannered boy-bander. Tantrum-throwing hairpiece model Elton John called Stephen "the kindest, gentlest soul", whilst silver ocelot (well, 'fox' seems a bit of a stretch) Philip Schofield said "Poor Stephen. He was a really lovely guy."

A-to-Z list tributes aside, it's clear that Stephen's bandmates have taken the news hardest, pledging to stage an overnight vigil with his body, and displaying new tattoos in honour of their fallen comrade.

With no foul play, no evidence of hard drug use, and no suicide note, the Spanish authorities quickly determined that Gately died of natural causes, affording his family sufficient closure to concentrate on their grief. But it seems that there's no smoke without ire, at least not if you're veteran columnist and homophobic hack Jan Moir.

Proving that beauty may be skin deep, but ugly runs all the way through, Moir wrote a spectacularly offensive article, originally entitled "Why there was nothing natural about Stephen Gately's death". Bizarrely, the article managed to inflame even the cast-iron sensibilities of the Mail's regular readers, and was promptly renamed "A strange, lonely and troubling death . . ." (which is a little like declaring a gun amnesty, only to swap the firearms for knives).

In a hateful piece littered with speculation, hearsay and plain ignorance, Moir posits that to label Stephen's death as 'natural' is to overlook the 'unnnatural' aspects of his life. And it doesn't take a genius to work out that, when talking about unnatural behaviour, she doesn't mean covering old Cat Stevens songs.

She's far more concerned with the fact that Gately and his husband Andrew Cowles had picked up a young Bulgarian at a nightclub and invited him back to their apartment in Mallorca. Describing these circumstances as "more than a little sleazy" this real-world Dolores Umbridge uses the situation to condemn "the happy-ever-after myth of civil partnerships". In her beady eyes, the activists who call for 'tolerance and understanding about same-sex relationships' are wrong to suggest that they are just the same as straight marriages. And in this sense she's right, but not in the way that she thinks.

Denied full equality, many gay people have instead taken the opportunity to define the parameters of their own relationships. Rather than looking for mainstream approval, they simply do what works for them, and as long as it remains honest and consensual, what right does anyone else have to criticise them for it?

If she was looking for notoriety, Moir certainly got her wish, with hundreds of people taking to Twitter and Facebook to voice their disgust. Even more visited the Press Complaints Commission website, which crashed under the sheer weight of traffic. Advertisers Marks & Spencer and Nestle were also quick to distance themselves from the controversy, insisting that their ads be removed from the online version of the article.

Although calls have been made for Moir to be sacked, it's unlikely that any of the invertebrates at the Daily Mail will develop enough of a spine to do the right thing, so we need to find an appropriate method of counterattack.

In the truly repellent final paragraph of her article, Moir writes that an "ooze of a very different and more dangerous lifestyle has seeped out for all to see" without ever specifiying what other slimy fluid she's referring to. But I think we all have a good idea.

In 2003, gay American humorist Dan Savage decided to name the 'seeping ooze' after bigoted right wing senator Rick Santorum. The sexual neologism he created spread quickly and soon passed into common parlance, but only within the continental United States where the name had any kind of relevance.

Perhaps what's needed here is a similar kind of 'tribute'. Who agrees that Jan deserves to have that same ooze named in honour of her? After all, Americans have elevators and candy, we have lifts and sweets. We're two nations divided by a common language. Let's bring that tradition into the 21st century.

Flicking the Bean

No-one ever said being a teenager was easy. The acne, the growing pains, the awful self-indulgent poetry. And if you though your formative years were tough, think how much harder it must be doing it in the intense glare of public scrutinty.

It's no wonder that most celebrities end up raising children with all the appeal of a Jiffy-bag full of anthrax. Because for every well-balanced, smart and polite child like Lourdes Leon, there's a whole slew of Kellies, Pixies and Peaches. Loathsome, self-absorbed, talentless brats with an extraordinary sense of entitlement, and absolutely no discernible talent.

Let's face it, if you're born to famous parents, the chances of you growing into a gracious and appealing young person, are about as good as Bruce Forsyth ever retiring.

Helping to underline this point is Frances Bean Cobain, the large-faced offspring of one of rock music's most influential figures (sorry Courtney, I don't mean you). Although she started out by shunning the limelight, her suicide-themed 16th birthday party was a clear indication that she was keen to ruffle more feathers than Rod Hull's right arm.

This week she made good on that promise by writing an angry open letter on Twitter. Ironically, the target of Frances Bean's ire was another product of the celebrity breeding ground, Ali Lohan - little sister of Lindsay.

Ali's crime? Recording a Christmas song (and accompanying video) with all the high quality production values of those TV ads for Christmas voucher saving schemes. Even if YouTube is unable to show the video in certain territories for fear of breaching the Geneva Conventions, the anger that Frances shows is surely misplaced.

In a letter filled with typos, spelling mistakes and incomplete thoughts, Cobain Jr start out by stating "Your not entitled to anything simply because your sister has a recognizable name." She has a point - nepotism is an ugly thing, and I hope she takes it up with the people at Rolling Stone who gave her an internship, despite writing skills that make Katie Price look like Angela Carter.

She continues, "it will be the formality of fame that puts you on the covers of tabloids, while the public idly watches you plumit into the murky abyss..." The good news here, is that even if she inherited none of her father's talent for music, she could at least earn a crust co-authoring lyrics with Tanita 'Twist In My Sobriety' Tikaram.

The sad thing is, Frances Bean clearly believes that she's a cut above all the desperate, second-generation wannabes that currently fill the supermarket tabloids. But unless she learns to turn a more compelling phrase, she can only ever hope to be known as 'the daughter of Courtney Love'. And that's a fate I wouldn't even wish on a Lohan.

Growing pains

She may only be sixteen but Miley Cyrus certainly knows how to get people talking. After three years as Hannah Montana, where she basically plays herself with two different hairstyles, she's been groomed by Disney into a world-conquering multi-media monster. In the process, Billy Ray Cyrus' little girl has grown into a woman, and not everyone's comfortable with that.

In June, young Miley caused a stir by posing with her GBF Adam Shankman (director of Hairspray) for a bunch of cheesily sultry photos that people criticised as being unsuitably Lolita-esque. Despite the fact that worst she did was sit backwards in a chair showing off a shoulder, the press reacted as though she was appearing in a 'Barely Legal' video.

So no-one was too surprised when the preeminent pop tart rocked up at the Teen Choice Awards and showcased her new song 'Party In The USA' with a performance that included a pole dance on top of an ice cream cart. Ordinarily, people would be more interested in the fact that, unlike many of her contemporaries, Miley was able to nail a pretty decent vocal performance. Instead, the combination of cloyingly juvenile props and a sexy dance routine confused the hell out of the audience. See for yourself (just ignore the first 100 seconds of blah):



People have jumped to Miley's defence, not least her own father, who took time out from promoting mayonnaise to defend his daughter's burgeoning sexuality and passion for performance. Given that he started out with a beefy body and a mullet that could trap small animals, he knows from first-hand experience what it's like to arouse and nauseate people at the same time.

This week, the gossip pages have been full of pictures of Miley enjoying a family holiday in the Bahamas. Shockingly, Miley took to the beach in a bikini, and the world sat up and took notice (hastily rearranging its trousers at the same time). A number of blogs went to great lengths to acknowledge the fact that the pictures were worryingly hot, even going so far as to pre-emptively prepare their defence in case the kiddie-porn police descended and seized their hard drives. As for Miley, she was more concerned that people were calling her fat on Twitter.

As Miley continues to blossom (and maybe considers a more grown up name for herself) she's likely to encounter more troublesome brushes with issues of sexuality, so it's good that she's got a supportive family behind her. After all, the world is unfortunately littered with nutjobs like 53 year-old Mark McLeod, who was charged this week with attempting to stalk the pubescent popstrel. Next up for Miley? A rumored role in the forthcoming Sex and the City 2. Guess she'd better stock up on those restraining orders now.

Death takes a holiday, visits Hollywood

After the double whammy of Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson, suspicious celeb-watchers, convinced of the rule of three, have been scrutinising the news media for details of who would complete the terminal tryptich. Conveniently disregarding the death of long-time Johnny Carson cohort Ed McMahon and shouty infomercial legend Billy Mays, the harbingers of doom have grown increasingly random in the search for celebritragedy.

As a result, we were treated to the shocking news that stuttering movie mumbler Jeff 'one note' Goldblum had fallen off a cliff whilst filming in New Zealand. Suspicious movie fans' skepticism was presumably piqued by the very idea that Goldblum was working, given the fact that almost a decade has elapsed since anyone has seen him in anything. Nonetheless, it only took a couple of hours for the lanky ex-BrundleFly's supposed demise to be ranked in Google Trends' top five most popular search terms.

A day later and it was Britney Spears' turn to do battle with the Grim Reaper's online counterpart, as pranksters spread bogus information after hacking into her Twitpic account. Why no-one bothered to question how Britney was able to tweet from beyond the grave I'll never know. Still, with the world already in mourning mode, I guess it didn't seem too much of a stretch to add Louisiana's favourite pop tart to the 'in memoriam' guest list.

The whole phenomenon of prematurely announced celebrity mortal-coil-shuffling is nothing new, even Mark Twain once famously had to write a letter stating "the report of my death was an exaggeration". The difference is, tweets and blogs give the anonymous masses the power to make up whatever story they like and transmit it across the world in a nano-second. And information overload means its almost impossible to seperate the factual wheat from the fictional chaff.

Big Brother is watching... and Tweeting

Picture the scene. You don't want to shell out for a pricey trip to the movies, but you've got your eye on a film that you really want to see. So you fire up the interweb to see if your can find a BitTorrent site to download it. Unfortunately, the basic search engine function is too complicated, so you go to Twitter instead and post a tweet about the film you're looking for. The next thing you know, you receive a reply begging you to think again... from the studio.

That's what happened to a woman known only as Amanda, who thought her tweet would only reach her group of friends. She was looking for the movie Adventureland, only to receive a message from the film's distributor Miramax. It read "Cmon Amanda, don't do it." Which, let's face it, is about the friendliest anti-piracy warning ever. Amanda, surprised by the warm (if scarily specific) nature of this message, replied "Okay, I won't - just for you." The outcome? Miramax got in touch and offered her a free ticket to see the movie.

I've written about big companies' approach to piracy before, and how clueless they can be. Here's a nice example of one that gets it right. Instead of treating Amanda like a threat to national security, they gave her a friendly warning and then actually rewarded her for her change of heart. But I'm still creeped out by the fact that big companies seem to pay people to sit watching Twitter (and I imagine all the other social networking sites) looking for chatter about potential piracy. So goodbye personal freedoms, and hello to the occasional free movie ticket.

Li-Lo wants to lie low

Spare a thought for poor Lindsay Lohan. The hasbian-in waiting has announced via Twitter that she and Samantha Ronson are on a break. She's also spoken to E!, stating that "We are taking a brief break so I can focus on myself." Which is good to hear, after all those years of selfless do-goodery. So my thoughts go out to the star-crossed girls, in the hope that they'll somehow find the inner resolve to weather the emotional fallout. Or at least the booze cupboard.

As with any relationship breakdown, their respective families rushed to their aid. Via the press and the courtroom. Li-Lo slated the whole Ronson clan on Twitter, and they retaliated by investigating the possibilities of a restraining order.

But I guess that's the nature of modern celebrity. In a recent post about Michael Parkinson, I slated Barnsley's second favourite son (after me of course), for missing the point about the evolving nature of celebrity. Once upon a time, celebrities were mythical creatures, like unicorns and trustworthy politicians, who lived their lives behind closed doors. They engaged public relations companies to keep their secrets. Now, however, it's the opposite. Those same PR gurus (take a bow Max Clifford) are employed to share their secrets. Because celebrity is no longer the side-effect, it's the goal, the career and the reward all rolled into one.

That's why Lindsay felt the best way to tackle the break-up of her relationship was to announce it to the world via Twitter. It's a strange world, but one that I'm unwilling to condemn or celebrate - since I'm also a willing consumer.