Well here is some genuinely good news. Duchess Kate, future queen of all Britain and current queen of our hearts, is out of the hospital, where she's been laid up with something called hyperemesis gravidarum, which is not the whimsical Harry Potter spell that makes everything float that it sounds like, but rather an acute form of morning sickness. Oh, yes, she's pregnant! But you remember that. Anyway, that's why they had to announce the pregnancy sooner than they wanted, because they didn't want to lie about why she was in the hospital. But now she's out, which is good. And she had a fine time there, really. All the nurses with their tall white hats did their busy, bustling rounds and gave her broths and tonics, the kindly old doctor felt her forehead, knocked her knee, and mumbled a bit awkwardly that it was "women's troubles." Then some school children came around selling chocolates, singing some sort of old Anglican hymn, and all the patients who were able gave them a guinea and said, "Well done on you, lads and ladies, well done on you." So after enough of that, Kate was ready to leave. William met her with a bouquet of flowers, big bright yellow things, and they smiled as gamely as they could at all the cameras outside and Kate told reporters, "I'm feeling much better, thank you." "Thank you," as if she owed them that, this Duchess of Cambridge, party supply princess of all things. Ah well, it was good of her. And now she's home in the palace — yes, a palace — resting, William likely hovering around, saying in that horsey baritone of his, "What can I do dear, is there anything I can do," and Kate kindly waving him away, sitting by the window, watching trees in the Kensington Gardens sway in the early winter wind, thinking of those children and their chocolates, wondering if they, too, made it home all right. [Daily Mail]
On the complete other side of the news, Lindsay Lohan has made it back out into the world after her recent nightclurrrb arrest oopsy. Yes, a week or so later Lindsay attended the big Jingle Ball concert in Philadelphia, the radio station-run thing that happens all over this great nation this time of year, and actually draws some big acts. Lindsay was hanging out backstage with one of the non-big acts, that sadly adult group of grown men who are in a little boy band called The Wanted. Those blokes were actually at the clurrb and witnessed the (alleged) punching that led to Lindsay's arrest and were apparently pretty OK with the whole thing and don't think Lindsay's some kinda weirdo. She's clearly after one of them, in a romance way, so we'll see how that all plays out. Anyway, the Jingle Ball, ladies and germs. [Us Weekly]
Oh lawd. Speaking of the Jingle Ball in Philly, are you curious about what Justin Bieber wore to the event and while on stage? Well, here are the pics. I don't know why this kid is letting The Great Gazoo from The Flintstones style him, but that's what he's doing, and so we've got this little jerk in bizarre moon pants and puff-shoes, plus these ludicrously big gold chains, which I guess must have signified Making It back in whatever Ontario holler he sang his way out of. It's just increasingly not a good look. Like, put the kid in some jeans and a T-shirt for god's sake. A skinny suit, a regular suit, not some spangled leather thing. Some trousers and a sweater. Anything but these weird leftover Fifth Element costumes. I know that he knows he's a bit on the short side so he's trying to overcompensate with flashy looks, but J.Biebs, nobody's buying it. Get yourself to J.Crew and buy some human clothes and you'll be so much happier you did. Trust. Because this is a disaster. It used to be funny but now we're just worried for you. [Daily Mail]
Ack! Good news! Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman are working on their marriage! They might not split up, even though they are still separated. He says "we're working on it," which is progress. Though, hm, he also says this: "Rhea and I are really close. Actually, still together — just separate, but together." So... who the hell knows what that means, or whether they'll ever get back together? But we can hope, can't we? We can divine something positive from these particular tea leaves, right? I think so. Let's choose to do that. Rhea & Danny forever. Danny & Rhea always. [People]
Oh, for heaven's sake. From that good eternal love to this rancid mess: Calvin Klein's ex trick Nick Gruber — he's the porn actor that Klein paid a lot of money to have surgically fixed up — is now running around like a dope with his money supply cut off saying that Klein did this awful thing and that awful thing, trying to get some attention. The latest thing he's peddling, and Page Six is buying, is that Klein once suspected Gruber of cheating and so drove him to a "Holiday Inn in Chelsea" (which, yowsers, that place must be something) and took him down into a basement and there waiting for him was a guy called "Dr. Love" who administered a lie detector test. Which, right, sure, OK. If that happened? It is weird. No denying that. But do I think it happened? I don't know. I don't really know how many Holiday Inns with mysterious Punch Drunk Love characters waiting in the basement Calvin Klein is really visiting. Like, that all sounds a bit much. But beyond that, it's definitely not a story you just burble out to Page Six for some cheap attention. You gotta sit on that, Nick. (Not the first time you've heard that, I'm sure.) Wait for the memoir or whatever. The E! exposé. (Do they do things like that anymore?) Running your mouth to gossip sheets is not going to get you anywhere, kiddo. Especially not in the arms of another rich daddio. You gotta think the long con, bub. Page Six is shortsighted. Some later deal with Simon & Schuster to write They Did Me Wrong is the real goal. [Page Six]
Here's a terrible story, who knows if it's true, that Real Housewives of Beverly Hills fright Brandi Glanville is telling about her ex-husband's new lady, LeAnn Rimes. The story is that Rimes has drinking and eating problems and that one of Glanville's sons got extremely ill after eating one of the laxative pills he found in Rimes' purse. Glanville said this: "He thought he finally found candy." Which, holy cats, if that's not the most depressingly telling thing in the whole goddarned story, I don't know what is. "He thought he finally found candy." This poor grubby bastard, rootin' around in some lady's purse, looking for any little tiny shred of human fun and happiness in the tattered world his parents have made for him. He thought he finally found candy. Finally. At long last. What a journey it had been. This poor ragamuffin stuffed that treat in his mouth so fast you could barely see it, so scared was he that the world would somehow snatch his precious away. And then what happens? The sh-ts. The violent, terrible sh-ts. That's what you get, kiddo. For stupidly thinking the world a kind or forgiving place. You live in demontown, my friend. And in demontown, when you think you've finally found candy? Well your ass is gonna fall off. Sorry. That's just what happens. Blame your parents. When you're sixteen you can run away and join the circus, learn the trapeze, marry the fire dancer, live a life on the rails. But for now, just know that you'll never find candy, there is no candy where you live, there's nothing sweet in that poor bitter place. [Daily Mail]
This article is from the archive of our partner The Wire.