Sometimes our celebrity brethren need to feel the white hot sting of my bitch-slap o’ advice so badly, I have trouble even typing. This, friends, is one of those times. Our girl crush Scarlett Johansson, who, until very recently, was married to Ryan Reynolds, People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, may be hooking up with — guys, y’all might have to sit down for this – Sean Penn. Ohhhh, it hurts. [Read more →]
‘Tis a new year, kids, and I am excited about the work I have ahead of me. I have a feeling 2011 is going to be a busy one for Meg Boyle, Patron Saint of Celebrity Advice. Thankfully, there is enough of me to go around (and if I keep eating the way I did over the holidays, there may soon be even more me to go around…).
But which wayward celebrity will end up needing my advice the most, I wonder? Let’s take a look at some of the nominees for Potential Hottest Mess of 2011… [Read more →]
Fun fact about Meg Boyle: I was a huge fan of E!’s reality show “The Girls Next Door,” which documented the high-larious hijinx of Playboy Magazine founder Hugh Hefner and his three barely legal, barely natural girlfriends (note: I speak of the original, awesome “GND”, not the weird, twin-tastic reincarnation). Those who were also fans of the show know well the bitter pill that long-suffering “#1 Girlfriend” Holly Madison – who genuinely seemed to love The Hef, or so it seemed to this viewer – had to continuously swallow every time Hugh brushed off her long-held desire to marry him and have his children. Eventually, Holly followed the sound of her ticking biological clock right out of the Playboy Mansion as we fans shed a single tear for what might have been and then promptly forgot that the show ever existed.
But! Now! News from the InterWeb: Hef! Gets! Engaged! The man who said “marriage isn’t part of my puzzle” proposed to his 24-year old girlfriend on Christmas Eve, which also happens to be one day after Holly’s birthday. Fans, join me now in a rousing chorus of “Aw, hell nah!” Poor Holly. All those emotions she must be feeling right now! Who ever can she turn to for advice on how to cope with this heartbreak? Lucky for you, Holly dear, I have a lot of experience finding out that the dude you left because he wouldn’t commit has miraculously changed his tune for the very next chick he laid eyes on. Come crawl into Auntie Meg’s lap, Holly; I’m about to share with you my five-step plan for dealing with hypocritical ex-boyfriends, a five-step plan I like to call Dancing It Out with Meg Boyle. [Read more →]
I’m back, dear readers. I hope you’ll forgive my little gentleman’s intermission of the past few weeks–let’s just say that I do not recommend moving in the middle of Thanksgiving. And let’s just say that I’m a little underwhelmed with the traffic of celebrity gossip this month. No celebrities hot-footing it to rehab, no nasty divorces (except Eva Longoria, to whom I have to say: Really? You’re divorcing him because of text messages?). I’m like a man without a country; a nun without a calling. Luckily, when Hollywood lets me down, there will always be an even more dysfunctional town in this country that needs me. My advice this week goes out to you, Washington, specifically to two former foes who are dancing on my last two nerves. [Read more →]
I am sick as a dog, dear readers. How sick is she? She is sicker than a consumptive waif in a Bronte novel. She is so sick that her eyes, burning with fever, can barely see the screen upon which she types her weekly words of wisdom. She is so sick, in fact, that she will have to keep her advice very short this week. Charlie Sheen, this one’s for you: Get it. The hell. Together. [Read more →]
Mike…Mike, please hear me out…
I have nothing against Christmas. Adult though I am, I still look forward to it every year. In fact, last Christmas I bought not one but two advent calendars; one for home and one for the office, and not just because I love chocolate. Because I love Christmas. So you can imagine the joy I felt when I woke up yesterday morning and it was Christmas. I smiled as I passed the heartwarming red displays in the department store windows. I delighted in the wreaths hung jauntily off the lampposts. But encountering the holiday displays at the Duane Reade gave me pause. Why? Because it was November 1st, Mike. November 1st. [Read more →]
The circus came to New York last night, and I do not mean Barnum and Bailey. Last night was the first and likely only gubernatorial debate and it was, if I may be blunt, a shit show. I knew the debate would be a bit crazy when I heard that all seven candidates would be allowed to debate (if I may quote Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music: “SEVEN???!!!”), but no one could anticipate just how glorious this figurative rape of our political system would be. The debate was more entertaining than the season finale of “Mad Men.” The front runners of the race, Andrew “Nepotism” Cuomo and Carl “Get off my lawn!” Paladino, offered nothing substantive or entertaining, but that left plenty of room for the remaining five candidates to get their freak on. And what will become of these candidates, now that their fifteen minutes are up? I have a few helpful suggestions… [Read more →]
Ooooh, girl, did you hear the news? Courteney Cox and her husband David Arquette, of the Los Angeles Arquettes, have decided to separate. Somewhere, Jennifer Aniston is throwing her arms up to the heavens and shouting “Yes! I’m no longer the saddest former Friend!” Don’t worry, Jenny, that title has long been reserved for Matt LeBlanc. Anyway, in their statement to the press, the Cox-Arquettes said they hope that “friends, family, fans and the media also show us respect, dignity, understanding and love at this time as well.” What better way to show my respect, dignity, understanding and love than by offering Courteney the benefit of my advice? Oh it feels so good to give. [Read more →]
So I was walking down the street on Saturday, leaving a voice message on my friend’s cell phone when something I saw stopped me in my tracks, mid-sentence: The advertisement for A&E’s new show “Teach: Tony Danza.” Apparently, it’s his toughest role yet. If you’ve seen this ad you might have assumed, as I did, that this is some lame prime time drama series starring Tony Danza as a teacher but no! You’re wrong. You’re so wrong! It’s – guys, I’m so excited to share this with you that I can barely type – a reality show about Tony Danza actually teaching! Yes! Teaching people’s children! If you didn’t see the first episode, I’ll sum up what you need to know: Tony Danza has a degree in history and always wanted to be a teacher. And since we Americans give celebrities anything they want, the administrators of Northeast High School in Philadelphia said “Sure, what’s the worst that could happen?” Allow me to stop writing while I finish laughing.
Ok, I’m back. Now, I could spend my time with you this week commenting on how unfair it is that while Philly is struggling to find the funds necessary to keep their best educators from being laid off, someone who lists “tap dancing” in the skills section of his resume is just handed a job teaching tenth grade English. But I remember well the baptism-by-fire that is your first year as an educator so Tony, I’m going to take pity on you and give you ten golden nuggets of advice, from one former teacher to a future former teacher. [Read more →]
The nightmare I’m about to describe starts out like any other evening: You’re lying in bed after a long day, enjoying a glass of pinot grigio and flipping channels on the television. That’s when you see one. Dark, round, and virulent-looking. And just as quickly, it’s gone. Wait, are your eyes playing tricks on you? But no, for there is another. And another. And…another. You start to sweat, you start to cry, you jump up off the bed and battle the urge to burn the whole house down. Alas, it is too late. You’ve been infested, and the innocence you once knew is now gone. No, dear readers, I am not talking about bedbugs. I speak of the Kardashians. [Read more →]
A nasty cold kept me from my advice-giving duties last week and wow, did my immune system choose one hell of a week to crash and burn like the Hindenburg. Those crazy celebrities are just running wild out there like this is Lord of the Flies! There are simply too many wayward celebs who need my guidance this week and so I give you…Meg Gives Advice to Famous People: The Lightning Round. And…go!! [Read more →]
Do you remember the indie horror film “The Blair Witch Project”? Remember how frustrating it was to watch the three victims make stupid mistake after stupid mistake? And remember the end of the film when they found that abandoned house in the woods and, exercising no common sense whatsoever, actually went inside? Remember how by that point you were so annoyed with the whole thing that instead of shouting “Girl, don’t go in there!” you shook your head and said “They deserve whatever they’re going to get.”? If you do remember, well, then you know exactly how I feel about Kat Von D dating Jesse James. [Read more →]
Before I hand out my weekly dose of celebrity advice, I’d like to thank the great people of New York for realizing that, as always, I was right and for choosing to view Manhattan over Serendipity at the Central Park Film Festival last week. I was worried but you pulled through for me. You’re a good bunch, NYC. Even you, Staten Island! Now, let’s talk about someone whom I am very proud to say is not a New Yorker: Paris Hilton. [Read more →]
By now, my faithful readership (all three of you) knows what this column is all about. Celebrities are crazy, and need good advice. I am awesome, and give good advice. Everybody wins. Today, though, I feel compelled to share my wisdom with a different type of celebrity: The people of New York City. Individually, we may not be much. Collectively, we possess the star power of Elvis in his heyday and Bono on any day combined. This week, we New Yorkers have the power to harness that brilliance and put it to good use. I am speaking, of course, about the biggest decision facing our city today, the importance of which is even greater than our inevitable future decision whether to re-elect King Bloomberg for a 15th term: The choice of whether to screen Woody Allen’s Manhattan or John Cusack’s Serendipity at the upcoming Viewer’s Choice Night of the Central Park Film Festival. New York, you need to choose Manhattan. [Read more →]
I recently spent a week at the beach with friends. We ate ice cream, we swam, and we drank a truly inestimable amount of red wine. Jealous? You should be. Anyway, my beach read of choice this year was the chick-lit phenom Eat, Pray, Love. Was it good? Not even a little. (I think my friend Kevin’s assessment of the plot says it best: “White people have so many problems!”) Did 300+ pages of pontification get my advice-giving juices flowing? Oh, yes. Those juices flowed like the fat off of a slice of Neapolitan pizza. Maybe, I started to think, the self-absorbed heroine of Expedite, Photograph, Lunge is on to something. Maybe, just maybe, another insanely rich woman out there could benefit from taking a sabbatical to find herself through gelato and yoga. That woman, dear readers, is Jennifer Aniston. [Read more →]
A little update for you faithful readers: Last week, Bristol Palin called off her engagement redux with Levi Johnston, no doubt because she read my advice and realized that, as always, I was totally right. You’re welcome, Bristol. Now let’s see, on whom shall I direct my magic wand of miracle-working advice this week? Ah, yes: Laurence Fishburne, I choose you! [Read more →]
Birds flying high, you know how she feels. Sun in the sky, you know how she feels. Breeze driftin’ on by, you know how she feels. It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life…and LiLo’s feeling good. That’s right, kids, Lindsay Lohan is a free woman. So now that she knows why the caged bird sings…what’s next? There’s been a lot of speculation on what LiLo’s first move should be, post-prison. Sit on Oprah’s couch? Embark on a spiritual retreat? Take a wild, girlish stab at acting? Nay! The question, dear friends, is not what Lindsay should do; it’s who Lindsay should become. [Read more →]
Bristol, Bristol, Bristol. The story of your charmed teenage years could have been taken right off the cover of a dog-eared Sweet Valley High paperback. You met a guy you liked, you had unprotected sex because condoms make Jesus cry, your mother forced you and your swollen belly to make an appearance at the RNC, and then your baby daddy abandoned you, trashed your family in Vanity Fair, and came crawling back with a diamond ring and five pounds of freshly-killed moose meat. I mean, really, what little girl hasn’t dreamt of a future like that? I get it, honey, you fell in love with the dream. And now I’m going to wake you up. Come crawl into Auntie Meg’s lap, Bristol Palin; it’s time for some tough love. [Read more →]
