What difference can one man make?

As Kermit once sang, "It's not easy being green". Those words are probably ringing in the ears of BP Chief Exec Tony Hayward right now, as he struggles to oversee the massive clean-up operation in the Gulf of Mexico.

BP might have a lovely green logo and a big section on its website about 'environment and society', but so far, its attempts to resolve the disastrous oil spill are about as effective as a prison guard cleaning up a dirty protest with nothing more than a KFC moist towelette.

Thankfully, even as the Deepwater Horizon oil field continues to spew forth more toxic sludge than Courtney Love's Twitter feed, help is at hand from a most unlikely source.

This week, a team of dedicated environmental activists in the Castro area of San Francisco did their bit to raise money for the gulf wildlife relief effort, the only way they knew how.

A bunch of well-intentioned gay men stripped down to their underwear and staged a series of wrestling matches, slathered in canola oil. As they got to grips with each other's slippery surfaces on top of a large mattress covered in a plastic sheet, they were cheered on by supportive onlookers, clad only in a clump of strategically placed leaves.

As well as fundraising for the gulf, the "Crude Boys Oil Wrestling" matches were part of a week-long exhibition designed to raise awareness of America's dependence on the black stuff. Not only is canola oil believed to be one of the healthiest cooking oils available, it's a promising source of biodiesel fuel. Of course, it also looks a lot hotter than crude oil when drizzled all over this kind of 'wildlife'.

OK, so it all seems vaguely ridiculous, and little more than excuse for some gratuitous nudity, but it's still a hell of a sight more effective than would-be Vice President Sarah Palin's ideas for solving the problem. The folksy fantasist declared on Twitter that, since nothing else seemed to be working, we should rely on divine intervention instead.
If God was too busy to ensure that his pick for VP made it to the White House, what makes her think that he's got time to hose down a flock of brown pelicans?

You're showing your age

Everyone knows the first rule of etiquette - never ask a lady her age. Problem is, in these modern times, where whole world's your gynaecologist (especially if Perez Hilton's on the case), age is the least of your worries.

Nonetheless, some folks in Hollywood are getting hot under the collar about the fact that audiences might get wise to the chicken neck it's hiding. As a consequence, one of the world's most popular websites, IMDb.com, is coming under fire for showing artists' birth dates.

Performers and behind-the-scenes talents are up in bingo-winged arms about their true ages being revealed, not only to fans but also other industry bigwigs. It's a fair point - Lancome might be able to make Julia Roberts look younger than her niece Emma, but it's much harder to airbrush a birth certificate.

In essence, sites like IMDb are holding up a figurative mirror to these glamorous stars, and they don't like what they see in it. Interestingly, the Huffington Post chose to illustrate their coverage of this story with a screen grab of Demi Moore's page on IMDb - which lists her birthdate as '1962'. Although it's not clear whether that's BC or AD.

Age discrimination legislation is now commonplace around the world, and was introduced to safeguard workers against agist hiring policies. Technically, employers aren't supposed to ask prospective employees their age, and candidates are advised to leave their birth date off the CV.

According to the various film-making guilds, Hollywood's workforce suffers from an industrial prejudice that favours 25-year olds. The way they see it, listing someone's age on their profile page exacerbates the problem and makes it easier for unscrupulous producers and casting directors to disregard talent that's the wrong side of forty.

It's a particular problem for writers, who are expected to convincingly convey the lifestyle of people several decades their junior. One writer, Paul Levine, commented "Not that anything ever overt was said, but not one time was I interviewed by my someone my own age. I was always interviewed by people 20 to 30 years younger. It could be a problem if a show runner or his or her first lieutenant has scripts piling up, and they were trying to figure out who to interview. Looking at a credit list, if one writer is 35 and the other is 52, they're going for the 35 year old."

Unfortunately, the talents could get their own way and have their birth date expunged from IMDB, but it won't really change the underlying problem. They say you're only as good as your last job, and if your last job involved Abbott and Costello, you're going to be hard pressed convincing anyone that you're still in your flirty thirties.

Walk a mile in her stripper heels

Scientists are a noble breed - devoting long hours in the laboratory attempting to unravel nature's greatest mysteries and, in the process, enhance the lives of millions around the world.

However, not all lab-coat-wearing boffins are dedicated to solving the inexplicable complexities of modern life. Instead, they spend their days attempting to define and categorise facts that require no further elaboration.

In fact, there's a whole scientific sub-genre focused on explaining things that are already accepted as common wisdom. Take Dr Christine Stanik of Michigan University, for example. She's conducted an extensive study into women's reproductive habits to deduce that bimbo's aren't quite the airheads we take them for.

Anyone who's ever had an argument about Katie Price (or is that just me) and has had to listen to the stories about what a great business woman she is, already knows the gist of Stanik's argument. It turns out that, although they may act like they have the IQ of a Marks & Spencer's prawn sandwich, these 'bimbos' are shrewd enough to plan for the financial future of their offspring.

It's scary to think that we live in a reality where the WAGs and Paris Hiltons of the world can be considered 'shrewd', but facts are facts. And unless you have a clipboard and a flip chart full of calculations, who are you to argue?

Apparently it's "only natural" for women with an underwhelming education and crappy career prospects to try and bag a wealthy husband. The Daily Mail's coverage of this story uses the example of Anna Nicole Smith to illustrate the point, reminding readers that she was dismissed as a "gold-digging blonde bimbo" when she married a billionaire 63 years her senior.

In typically sexist fashion, the Mail's article revels in the opportunity to dismiss sluts and career women in one fell swoop. Women are either avaricious whores or emasculating, power hungry monsters living "frantic lifestyles that [are] badly suited to stable relationships". Brilliant.

Still, in light of the revelation that these 'bimbos' are smarter than we give them credit for, we finally have conclusive proof that Kerry Katona is the stupidest woman on earth. Rather than "wooing a man who could provide a stable financial future", she opted for a Westlife-evacuee, Mark Croft, and now a white van man. It's nice to know that in these complicated times, there are certain immutable truths on which we can rely.

What shall we do with the Vuvuzela...

The World Cup is now in full swing. It seems as though every ad campaign in existence has found a way of involving Terry Venables (curious to see how Tampax and Toilet Duck work him into their concepts) and watercoolers around the country are besieged with people lamenting England's outdated adherence to the 4-4-2 arrangement.

Our boys may be playing with all the enthusiasm of a care home resident prodding his pudding with a plastic teaspoon, but strangely, the biggest source of anxiety so far is the African equivalent of the football rattle.

The vuvuzela (or lepatata if you speak Tswana) is an elongated plastic blowing horn which emits an annoying buzzing noise, and is a standard accessory at most South African football matches. I'm sure the occasional short burst wouldn't be too bad, but 90 minutes of incessant buzzing is sufficient to make you worry that you're either developing a new strain of tinitus or about to be attacked by a swarm of hornets.

In fact, the only sound more annoying that the constant humming of 40,000 vuvuzelas is the mindless droning of the commentators, who manage to make Megan Fox sound lucid and informed.

The BBC has been inundated with complaints about the annoying plastic horns, prompting sound engineers to investigate whether it's possible to deliver an alternative sound feed of the matches with the honking and buzzing muted out. Presumably, suggesting that viewers locate the volume switch on their remotes would be too simple a solution?

Anyway, the Telegraph reported that help may finally be at hand from a most unusual source. Neil van Schalkwyk, who first cottoned on to the idea of mass producing vuvuzelas for football matches, is now attempting to atone for his sins by manufacturing earplugs to drown out the incessant humming.

This 'hearing protection' is called "vuvuzela unplugged" and enables fans to block out the noise and protect themselves from permanent hearing damage. Even better, the industrious ex-plastics factory worker now plans to export the vuvuzelas and ear-plugs once the World Cup is over.

Suddenly, all those conspiracy theories about companies like Symantec and McAfee creating viruses to keep their PC security systems in demand don't seem quite so preposterous. I'm sure it won't be too long before Sir James Dyson starts manufacturing 3kg bags of household filth.

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...

She likes it but she gonna put a lid on it

Oh dear - looks like it's the end of an era for lovers of modern dance routines. It's been reported today that Beyoncé Knowles has grown tired of her iconic dance routine for 'Single Ladies' and is considering dropping the bootylicious bop from any future live performances.

It's hard to believe that the now legendary video is only 12 months old. It used to be said that Superman and James Bond had achieved such global fame that you could visit the most remote village in the world and the people there would recognise the fictional characters. Beyoncé's video is a little like that. I'm sure there are isolated tribespeople living in Terra Indigena Kampa e Isolados do Envira who have already mastered the sassy routine.

Despite Kanye West's belief that Beyoncé "made one of the best videos of all time" - it's still deceptively simple. A plain white set, three women in heels and a camera that shifts around like a dog trying to find the most comfortable position on a cushion.

The problem with great ideas though, is that they're so easy to imitate. As a result, anyone with access to a pair of heels, a leotard and a video camera has made their own version of the clip.

Justin Timberlake, Joe Jonas, even Liza Minnelli's had a go. They might not be able shake their ass like they're strapped to the agitator of an out-of-control washing machine, but most of them give it a good go.

Unfortunately, Beyoncé doesn't want to be part of the joke anymore. Digital Spy quotes a source as saying "Beyoncé loves the fact the video and the routine have been so huge and has really enjoyed performing 'Single Ladies' live but that’s it now, she's moving on. She doesn't want to be part of a long-term joke..."

Sad faces all round, since it means the end of amazing virals like this:



But maybe it was always destined to be this way. As the lady herself sings in the song - "Cuz you had your turn, but now you gonna learn what it really feels like to miss me..." Beyoncé, we already do...

Schock tactics

Cast your mind back to GCSE English (or O-Levels if you're of a 'certain age') - remember the oxymoron? It refers to the a pairing of two contradictory words that have no business being together, like 'bittersweet' or 'living dead'. More recently however, another oxymoron has slipped into common parlance - hot politician.

There was a time when you knew where you stood with your elected representatives. They were either stern, matronly women who looked like they could whack you with a temperance spoon at a moment's notice, or curmudgeonly patricians, with eyebrows could keep a topiarist in gainful employment for the foreseeable future.

Not anymore. Now we've got people like the Miliband brothers who, whilst unlikely to trouble the naked issue of Cosmopolitan anytime soon, are decidedly more attractive than most of the people you've seen interrogated by Jeremy Paxman. Even Nick Clegg has been known to arouse a few trousers in his time.

Over in the States it's even more confusing, with Huffington Post recently naming their 'Hottest Congressional Freshmen' - a bipartisan investigation into the loin-lifting lawmakers of DC. The winner of the poll, proving that even the left-leaning HuffPo has to occasionally admit the the Republicans get something right, was 27-year old Aaron Schock from Illinois - the first member of the U.S. Congress to be born in the 1980s.

If you like your political news coverage to be stuffed with eye-candy, you really need to get out more. But you should also be thankful for young Aaron - who looks like he should be trading fish eyes for immunity on a Potomac edition of Survivor, rather than debating abortion in Congress.

Unfortunately, Aaron may have the body of an Adonis, but he has the soul of Jesse Helms. They say beauty's only skin deep, and Aaron's aesthetic barely scratches the epidermis. He's resolutely opposed to any kind of progressive or inclusive social policy, and has managed to win the favour of many 'old school' conservatives on Capitol Hill.

But it's not all work-work-work for the pretty politico - one of the biggest issues he's currently facing is the accessibility of the House members' gym which he attempts to visit every day. Little wonder, then, that a photo of him in a clingy pair of wet swim shorts managed to cause something of an internet meltdown when it appeared on TMZ.

It's important that he keep in shape - after all, he's now the only one of his siblings not married with children. And as he points out: "I had a group of five or six guys, and we hung out and traveled—ski trips and stuff. They slowly got picked off—married, married, married." Shame.

Maybe Aaron's simply too busy focusing on his career to settle down. Or perhaps he hasn't met the right girl yet. Just as long as no-one suggests that he might be one of the boyz.

Over the weekend, Gawker posted a lovely picture of Schock at a White House picnic that caused a flurry of speculation. Maybe it was the fuscia checked shirt. Or could it have been the jaunty teal belt? Either way, Aaron didn't just look gay, he was so flaming that even Red Adair would have had trouble putting him out.

Not to worry - Aaron dealt with the lazy speculation the way anyone with nothing to hide might react. He burned the offending accessory and tweeted the news, just to be sure.



Way to go Congressman. I'm sure no-one suspects a thing...

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.

Better in time

Here's something a little different for all you p0pvulture regulars - a concert review. Yesterday I received no small amount of stick for stating on facebook that I was going to miss England's first World Cup match because I was at the O2 watching Leona Lewis' first arena tour.

As it turns out, I had the far better deal, since the game sounded about as enjoyable as trawling around the B&Q paint department with a handful of swatches, asking the 'paint technician' to colour-match a batch of emulsion, taking it home and painstakingly redecorating the entire house, and then watching it dry.

Meanwhile, I got to see the full effect of three years of 'stagecraft' training on possibly the best singer to ever be discovered on a TV talent show (apologies to Michelle McManus who was pipped at the post, because she ate it).

There were snorts of derision when Leona's tour was first announced. Not because they thought she couldn't handle the live vocals - that's one element that she had in the bag - but because she had, to date, shown all the flair and dynamism of a soiled hospital gown.

Given her reputation as a balladeer, it was fair to assume that the most she'd need in the way of props and set-dressing would be a box of tissues, a half-bottle of chardonnay and a duvet. But no - we had sets, dancers, aerialists, lasers, hydraulics and some pretty cool projections, as well as Leona herself stomping all over the stage in some thigh-high pleather boots (she's a vegan) and throwing herself into the choreography.

According to the ridiculously expensive programme (priced as if Leona herself was painstakingly hand-printing them on an old piece of Letraset kit) the show was inspired by her favourite movie - Jim Henson's Labyrinth. Thank goodness she's not a big fan of The Killing Fields.

It's hard to identify exactly where the influences from Labyrinth took hold, aside from the Bowie-esque leggings on some of the male dancers, but the show hung together pretty well. It was divided into four themed sections - gothic, spacey, forest glade and disco - which technically made it more 'Crystal Maze' than Labyrinth, but now I'm just being picky. It also meant that there was a handy transition period between each segment, allowing Leona to change into an increasingly elaborate series of outfits.

Of the 18 songs which she performed, only four or five could really be considered ballads - the rest had been cleverly reworked into more uptempo numbers. As well as giving the dancers something to do, it also meant that the audience could get on their feet and shift awkwardly from side-to-side.

But above it all there was that voice. An amazing instrument, breathtakingly controlled and awesomely powerful.

Unfortunately, it was often drowned out by the over-zealous backing singers, a mixing desk controlled by Marlee Matlin, and Leona's annoying habit of turning her mike on the audience and commanding them to "sing along". I hate it when that happens, it's like going to a restaurant and the chef asking if you wouldn't mind julienning the carrots.

Nonetheless, she didn't miss a note all evening, and when she sang The First Time Ever I saw Your Face there was an audible 'ping' as 23,000 pairs of arms erupted in goose-pimples. With everything else that was going on, it was easy to forget just effortlessly she tackles those enormous notes and elaborate runs.

It would be churlish to expect her to compete with Lady Gaga or Madonna in terms of a stage show, but she pulled out all the stops to give her die-hard fans something they weren't expecting. Starting with a glimpse of some personality.

There are much worse ways of spending an hour and a half. And over the next few weeks I'm sure I'll be experiencing them first-hand. England vs Algeria anyone?

Ding dong at Number 10

There are few things more annoying than when your neighbours throw a party. They might stick a conciliatory note through your letterbox to pre-warn you of the festivities (along with a half-hearted invitation to 'drop by if you're free') but you still know that you're going to be pacing the floor at three in the morning wishing they'd turn the music down.

So spare a thought for the inhabitants of Downing Street, who must be regretting the arrival of their newest neighbours, with the news that David Cameron is planning a big gay bash to court 'the pink vote'. Here's hoping they don't mind Hazell Dean and Madonna remixes blasting out until the cock crows.

It's a little belated, given that the general election was six weeks ago, but Dave's hoping that his new 'hug a homo' policy will convince voters that he represents the new caring, sharing Conservative party. It's been a long time coming, given that his Tory predecessors at Number 10 would happily have burned gays at the stake if they'd been able to get their hands on enough wood.

Still, progress is progress, and this is in many ways quite a breakthrough for the shiny-cheeked PM. No news yet on the planned activities for the party (Pin The Tail on The Porn Star is always a hit), but the guest list is likely to include "a host of prominent gay figures", as well as other Tory and Liberal Democrat ministers.

It's to be hoped that there'll be plenty of alcohol on offer (with low calorie mixers, natch) since conversation is likely to be stilted at first. The official Downing Street statement claims that the reception will be a "celebration of the achievements of gay equality campaigners", which loosely translates as "celebrating all the times they managed to overturn Draconian and inhumane Conservative policies". Awkward.

Cameron seems to be pretty committed to his mission to evolve the Tories' reputation on gay issues - he wrote a lengthy piece in the Pink News back in April answering a range of questions from concerned readers and, in most cases, seemed to say what they wanted to hear.

However, he's not yet ready to confirm his attendance at Gay Pride on July 3rd. Maybe, like many of the gays, he's just waiting to see which music acts they book - no point getting excited over Jocelyn Brown, half of Scooch or David Van Day's Bucks Fizz.

Judging by the way the readers of the Daily Mail have responded to the news, Cameron still has his work cut out if he's going to shift the opinions of conservative Middle England. Robert from Leicester (who seems somewhat profligate in his use of quotation marks) comments "Discrinination! Why only Homosexuals? If heterosexuals had a party excluding Homo sexuals there'd be an outcry from the "Gay" lobby. What a silly idea. Cameron trying to be "with it" again."

Nonetheless, it's a brave man who throws open his doors to a crowd of homosexuals just weeks after moving into a new house. Let's just hope that he and Samantha have got their soft furnishings and colour schemes in place.