(Pic: merriganco.blogspot.com)

Apparently, Canada only has room for one comic named Russell (our Russell’s last name is Peters) because Russell Brand was denied entry to our great country when making his way across the boarder to do some shows.  What gives boarder-gaurds?  He only wants to make us laugh.

Maybe they saw Arthur and decided “we don’t want that guy here”.  I don’t blame them.  Based on that movie alone, I wouldn’t want him here either.

Tanya: Lame. This is actually one show I’d like to see.

(Pic: popcrunch.com)

Well, by now you all know that Amy Winehouse died yesterday at the age of 27.  Tanya and I hummed and hawed about what we actually wanted to say about this.

Sad?  Yes.  Surprising?  No. And, of course, as with all celeb deaths, once someone passes away everyone comes out of the wood works saying how much they loved them when in actuality they had turned their backs on them long before their deaths.

The thing that always surprises me is how everyone seems to think it is so much more tragic because the person is famous.  And in Amy’s case, because she was so talented.  But the truth is she was a junkie.  WIth a serious addiction.  Like so many out there.

I decided to finally post something about this because I thought Russell Brand, who penned a blog about her this morning, really hit the nail on the head.  The blog is heart felt, coming from his own personal experience, and poignant.  For anyone who has had someone in their life with addiction, I am sure it will hit home.

While Amy’s death is sad, let us not forget that there are millions out there who face this same problem everyday, and lets hope that they seek help and get better.  Because while we poked fun at Amy every no wand then, I know I speak for both Tanya and I in saying we hoped she could have over came her addictions:

When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone.

Frustratingly it’s not a call you can ever make it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.

I’ve known Amy Winehouse for years. When I first met her around Camden she was just some twit in a pink satin jacket shuffling round bars with mutual friends, most of whom were in cool Indie bands or peripheral Camden figures Withnail-ing their way through life on impotent charisma. Carl Barrat told me that “Winehouse” (which I usually called her and got a kick out of cos it’s kind of funny to call a girl by her surname) was a jazz singer, which struck me as a bizarrely anomalous in that crowd. To me with my limited musical knowledge this information placed Amy beyond an invisible boundary of relevance; “Jazz singer? She must be some kind of eccentric” I thought. I chatted to her anyway though, she was after all, a girl, and she was sweet and peculiar but most of all vulnerable.

I was myself at that time barely out of rehab and was thirstily seeking less complicated women so I barely reflected on the now glaringly obvious fact that Winehouse and I shared an affliction, the disease of addiction. All addicts, regardless of the substance or their social status share a consistent and obvious symptom; they’re not quite present when you talk to them. They communicate to you through a barely discernible but un-ignorable veil. Whether a homeless smack head troubling you for 50p for a cup of tea or a coked-up, pinstriped exec foaming off about his “speedboat” there is a toxic aura that prevents connection. They have about them the air of elsewhere, that they’re looking through you to somewhere else they’d rather be. And of course they are. The priority of any addict is to anaesthetise the pain of living to ease the passage of the day with some purchased relief.

From time to time I’d bump into Amy she had good banter so we could chat a bit and have a laugh, she was “a character” but that world was riddled with half cut, doped up chancers, I was one of them, even in early recovery I was kept afloat only by clinging to the bodies of strangers so Winehouse, but for her gentle quirks didn’t especially register.

Then she became massively famous and I was pleased to see her acknowledged but mostly baffled because I’d not experienced her work and this not being the 1950’s I wondered how a “jazz singer” had achieved such cultural prominence. I wasn’t curious enough to do anything so extreme as listen to her music or go to one of her gigs, I was becoming famous myself at the time and that was an all consuming experience. It was only by chance that I attended a Paul Weller gig at the Roundhouse that I ever saw her live.

I arrived late and as I made my way to the audience through the plastic smiles and plastic cups I heard the rolling, wondrous resonance of a female vocal. Entering the space I saw Amy on stage with Weller and his band; and then the awe. The awe that envelops when witnessing a genius. From her oddly dainty presence that voice, a voice that seemed not to come from her but from somewhere beyond even Billie and Ella, from the font of all greatness. A voice that was filled with such power and pain that it was at once entirely human yet laced with the divine. My ears, my mouth, my heart and mind all instantly opened. Winehouse. Winehouse? Winehouse! That twerp, all eyeliner and lager dithering up Chalk Farm Road under a back-combed barnet, the lips that I’d only seen clenching a fishwife fag and dribbling curses now a portal for this holy sound. So now I knew. She wasn’t just some hapless wannabe, yet another pissed up nit who was never gonna make it, nor was she even a ten-a-penny-chanteuse enjoying her fifteen minutes. She was a fucking genius.

Shallow fool that I am I now regarded her in a different light, the light that blazed down from heaven when she sang. That lit her up now and a new phase in our friendship began. She came on a few of my TV and radio shows, I still saw her about but now attended to her with a little more interest. Publicly though, Amy increasingly became defined by her addiction. Our media though is more interested in tragedy than talent, so the ink began to defect from praising her gift to chronicling her downfall. The destructive personal relationships, the blood soaked ballet slippers, the aborted shows, that youtube madness with the baby mice. In the public perception this ephemeral tittle-tattle replaced her timeless talent. This and her manner in our occasional meetings brought home to me the severity of her condition. Addiction is a serious disease; it will end with jail, mental institutions or death. I was 27 years old when through the friendship and help of Chip Somers of the treatment centre, Focus12 I found recovery, through Focus I was introduced to support fellowships for alcoholics and drug addicts which are very easy to find and open to anybody with a desire to stop drinking and without which I would not be alive.

Now Amy Winehouse is dead, like many others whose unnecessary deaths have been retrospectively romanticised, at 27 years old. Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy’s incredible talent. Or Kurt’s or Jimi’s or Janis’s, some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill. We need to review the way society treats addicts, not as criminals but as sick people in need of care. We need to look at the way our government funds rehabilitation. It is cheaper to rehabilitate an addict than to send them to prison, so criminalisation doesn’t even make economic sense. Not all of us know someone with the incredible talent that Amy had but we all know drunks and junkies and they all need help and the help is out there. All they have to do is pick up the phone and make the call. Or not. Either way, there will be a phone call.

There is really nothing else I can say about this.

(pic: I’m Not Obsessed)

Is it because Katy Perry is on tour or because this angle makes his face look a little cubby?

Stacey: I wonder if he had a beard before to hide the fact that he has a HUGE jaw?

(pic: I’m Not Obsessed)

Gross. I’m not entirely sure what Amy Winehouse was up to with Russell Brand’s dad, but they were photographed leaving a bar and then hopping in the back seat of a car together.

Instead of the haunting images of them hooking up I am going to choose to believe that Elder Brand is giving Amy motivational tips on how to stay sober just like his boy Russell.

Stacey: How awesome would it be if Amy married Russell’s dad?  Then she would be Rusty Rocket’s step mother and Katy’s step mother in law.  HA!

(pic: The Superficial)

Our favourite celebrity couple, Katy Perry & Russell Brand, sharing a kiss on the red carpet of the Grammy Awards last night. Katy didn’t win any of the awards she was nominated for and Russell looks painfully awkward every time the camera cut over to them. He hosted Saturday Night Live the night before so maybe he was just a little tired after being up late and then flying back to the other side of the country.

Stacey: These two are so cute!  Love them together.

And maybe Russell was all akward looking because he wasn’t good on SNL…like terrible.  It was kind of disappointing actually.  So bad that even getting to kiss Katy Perry all night probably didn’t make him feel any better.

(pic: I’m Not Obsessed)

Here’s an old photo of Russell Brand from when he was a teen. Some people say it’s photoshopped but I believe it to be accurate – the chunky kid got skinny, popular, realized that sex and drugs are awesome, then had to clean up his image and ended up marrying a total hottie. I bet Brand can’t wait for his high school reunion.

Stacey: I love this picture so much.  The eyebrows.  They kill me.

(pic: Celebitchy)

This is amusing. Some magazine (I think it was OK! but I grabbed this list from I’m Not Obsessed) did a poll on who the most and least desirable celebrity spouses are and this is what they came up with:

Least Desirable Celebrity Husband:

1: Charlie Sheen
2: Mel Gibson
3: Tom Cruise
4: Mickey Rourke
5: Pete Doherty
6: Marilyn Manson
7: David Hasselhoff
8: Ricky Gervais
9: Chris Moyles
10: Wayne Rooney

Least Desirable Celebrity Wife:

1: Amy Winehouse
2: Lindsay Lohan
3: Britney Spears
4: Heather Mills
5: Gwyneth Paltrow
6: Katie Holmes
7: Lady Gaga
8: Madonna
9: Nicole Kidman
10: Sarah Jessica Parker

Most Desirable Celebrity Wife:

1: Natalie Portman
2: Megan Fox
3: Katy Perry
4: Kate Moss
5: Gisele Bundchen
6: Cheryl Cole
7: Christina Hendricks
8: Rihanna
9: Kim Kardashian
10: Kate Middleton

Most Desirable Celebrity Husband:

1: Prince Harry
2: Justin Bieber
3: Robert Pattinson
4: David Beckham
5: Russell Brand
6: Colin Firth
7: Prince William
8: George Clooney
9: Piers Morgan
10: Brad Pitt

I agree with most of the “Least Desirable” spouses list but the “Most Desirable” ones are a bit off. Kate Moss & Gisele Bundchen?? Kate Moss is about as desirable and Pete Doherty and Gisele Bundchen sounds like she takes away your balls once she gets the ring.  As for the men, well, we see the problems right off the bat: Prince Harry and Justin Bieber. Bieber’s balls haven’t dropped yet and Prince Harry would probably be one of those “you’re probably going to see something in the tabloids that looks really bad, but it totally isn’t what it looks like” kinda guys. He’d be fun to date, but I’d say not a desirable husband.

Stacey: Clearly this poll came from somewhere overseas and was filled out by Brits and 12 year olds.  Because people like Kate Moss and Cheryl Cole would not even hit the radar over here.  Ok, Russell Brand over Brad Pitt?  That just doesn’t seem right.

Here’s Russell Brand and some kid looking all matchy matchy. I’m a sucker for this and will probably make my kids do this too. Funny story: my husband’s family would do that sometimes when he was growing up. I’m not sure if it was just for photos or if they’d go to family picnics dressed that way but he and his dad would be dressed the same and his mom and his sisters would be dressed the same. I’m talking 80s tracksuits here. It is hilarious and totally awesome. Future kids: you have now been warned of what lies ahead.

Stacey: Like this?

Tanya: Almost, but not quite. I’m talking the SAME outfit, not just the same theme.

(pic: Socialite Life)

(Pic: Just Jared)

So cute!  Katy Perry and Russell Brand helped Katy’s grandma ring in her 90th birthday yesterday at the Planet Hollywood Resort & Casino in Las Vegas.  90 years is definitly something to celebrate.  I hope she had a blast!

Check out her pimpin’ cane too!  I need me one of those.  Not because I actually need one but because it is totally awesome!

Tanya: OMG! I am totally getting my grandma one of those canes for Christmas next year!