MILEY/HANNAH: THE BEST OF BOTH GIRLS

BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL

I love Hannah Montana. Not in a creepy Roman Polanksi way, but in a hearking-back-to-simpler-times way, when kids were Hooked on Phonics not narcotics, when they went to recess not rehab, when Greg smoking cigarettes was cause for A Very Special Brady Intervention.

For those outta the loop, Hannah Montana is the titular character on a popular Disney Channel show starring Miley Cyrus, daughter of Billy Ray “Achy Breaky Heart” Cyrus, who also plays her onscreen dad. Miley’s a normal ninth-grader with a secret known only to her family and two best friends: She’s pop sensation Hannah Montana! As the theme song proclaims, she’s “got the best of both worlds.”

Sure, the secret alter-ego premise has been flogged senseless, and the show’s homespun homilies border on Clampett-esque cornpone, but it has a certain appeal largely attributable to Cyrus’ goofy-sweet charm and her palpable bond with Dad.

It might seem odd, even childish, that a Mature Grownup Adult like myself gets a kick out of a kiddie comedy, but so what? Don’t judge! The simple truth is: It’s refreshing to see a kid act like a kid, both onscreen and off.

So it was with sorrow that I learned of the “scandal” currently rocking Hannah fandom. While other celebri-kids ignite controversy over nude photos, drugs or a bun in the underage oven, Cyrus is on the hot seat for the comparatively innocuous crime of using a body double in concert. Holy Vanessa Hudgens, say it ain’t so!

On her sellout tour, the entertainer employs a double for less than a minute while Hannah changes costumes. The stand-in dances and makes singing motions, hiding her face to eliminate the need for lip-synching, exiting quickly when the star returns as Miley.

News flash: Miley Cyrus is an actress. Actresses frequently use body doubles. The only difference here is that she did it onstage rather than onscreen. It's not like she got caught pantomiming to recorded vocals because her "acid reflux" (cough, Ashlee Simpson, cough-cough!) was acting up.

Is the media so desperate for dirt that this is all they can dig up on a 15-year-old so wholesome she makes the "High School Musical" cast look like the tough kids hotboxing Marlboros behind the gym? Would they rather she had a rap sheet instead of Hello Kitty bed sheets? (A fact I know only because I watched Billy Ray’s “Home at Last” reality show once at my mom’s when I was really bored and there was nothing much on TV and again, don’t judge!)

Some are taking the exposé in stride. "I don't think they were trying to fool anyone,” says an online message board poster. “She needed a breather … to make that particular outfit change.” Others, however, are crushed. “She was my role modle!” writes a devastated, spelling-challenged fan.

Cheer up, Hannah-maniacs … Miley's still a great role model. Just ask any teenage boy who’s had to wait 45 minutes instead of 45 seconds while his girlfriend changed clothes.

TALKIN' 'BOUT A RESOLUTION

BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL

New Year’s resolutions. I don’t make ‘em. Never have, probably never will. After all, I’m like Mary Poppins: Practically Perfect In Every Way. But without the cool, aerodynamic bumbershoot.

Of course, I’m kidding. I’m the first to admit I’m far from perfect, but I don’t see the point in choosing a specific day to make a significant, life-altering commitment … which might explain why I’ve unloaded three wedding gowns on eBay in the last decade.

Seriously, though … if I’m determined to change, I can do it just as well on Groundhog Day as on January 1. Sure, I understand that New Year’s Day symbolizes a fresh start, but for me, every day is a fresh start. And not just because of my rapidly advancing short-term memory loss.

I see myself as a work in progress, unbeholden to the constraints of time. I’ve watched friends have nuclear meltdowns because they’ve jazzercised and Tae Bo’ed till their teeth sweat, but haven’t shed X-number of pounds by a certain date. Lemme tell ya, it’s a lot less stressful to take it one day at a time, ‘cos if you’re still fat on Monday, there’s always Tuesday.

When it comes to resolutions, I say, “If you don’t make ‘em, you won’t break ‘em.” Actually, I do make a few resolutions … just not for myself. I make them for those lacking the sense to know what’s good for them: Celebrities.

Last year, Britney Spears told “Extra” that her resolution for 2007 was “to take care of me more.” Yeah, that worked out real well. This year, she should shoot for more realistic goals like, “Start a therapy fund for little what’s-his-name and the other one” and “Don’t give Jamie Lynn parenting advice.”

Paris Hilton, given a new lease on life after a stint in the slammer, told Larry King she wanted to “do something humane.” Here’s an idea: “Retire from acting and singing; take up needlepoint.” Or perhaps pottery. She’s less likely to hurt herself with some nice, soft clay.

Extolling her own virtues in a September interview with Q Magazine, Avril Lavigne said: “I’m a very giving person. When the hurricane thing happened, I went to my closet, filled six boxes of stuff and said to my assistant, ‘Take it to Katrina!’” Avril, honey, you’re all heart! For 2008, I suggest: a) Buy a ladder to help you down from that high horse; b) Send money to victims of “the hurricane thing” instead of size-zero Hot Topic hand-me-downs; and c) Ask the Wizard for a brain.

Other proposed resolutions:

* Lindsay Lohan: Two words. “Designated” and “driver.”

* Amy Winehouse: Next time they try to make you go to rehab, say, “Yes, yes, yes!”

* Don Imus: Ditch the radio gig and join the rap world, where racist, sexist remarks equal big money.

* David Hasselhoff: No more videos of you drunkenly eating hamburgers on the floor. At least not without a napkin.

And last, but not least, to Pamela Anderson: Put those things away, will ya? You’re gonna put out somebody’s eye one of these days.

HARK, THE HORRID MANGLERS SING!

BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL

Simply ha-a-ving a wonderful Christmas time … simply ha-a-ving a wonderful Christmas time … simply ha-a-ving … oh, holy night, make it stop! It seems Santa brought Paul McCartney a new synthesizer in 1979 and we’ve been assaulted by this bouncy, repetitive tune every year since.

But it could be worse. A lot worse. We’re talkin’ worse than tunes about getting hippopotamuses or two front teeth or nuttin’ for Christmas. Worse than singing dogs, cats, chipmunks or other mammals.

We're talking Weapons of Musical Destruction.

Here are 10 holiday songs I’d like to see get run over by a reindeer:

1. "The Bell That Couldn't Jingle" – Bobby Vinton. See, the bell was crying because it "had nothin' there inside," so Santa froze a teardrop to make a clapper – what most of us call "that thingy that makes a bell ring." So the bell no longer felt sad and empty, see? I, on the other hand, had nothin’ there inside – my stomach – after listening to this dreck.

2. "Deck the Halls" – William Hung. I’d like to deck the genius who gave this "American Idol" reject a recording contract. There’s one good thing about the album featuring this tune: It only runs 20 minutes – five minute longer than Hung’s career.

3. "Do You See What I See?" – Rosie O'Donnell with Elmo. Do you hear what I hear? A voice, a voice, grating on my nerves, from a mouth as big as the sea. And Elmo’s pretty annoying, too.

4. "Jingle Bell Hustle" – Wayne Newton. Mr. Las Vegas does disco! Danke schoen, but no thanks.

5. "Mom and Daddy, Please Don't Steal for Me This Christmas" – Suzannah. Treasured childhood memories of viewing Christmas lights withered and died with this verse: Through the neighborhood he browses/Showing me the pretty houses/But why does Daddy write the numbers down?

6. "Please, Daddy (Don't Get Drunk This Christmas)" by John Denver, who must have been Rocky Mountain High-as-a-kite when he introduced this song as a "funny little ditty." Yep, nothing says “fun” like a 7-year-old’s plea to his alcoholic father. Way to go, John-Boy.

7. "Same Old Lang Syne" – Dan Fogelberg (R.I.P.). Despite heavy airplay between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, this isn’t really a Christmas song. And it’s not that it’s awful … just awfully tedious.

8. "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" – Bruce Springsteen. Normally, The Boss gives us diamonds, but he laid a lump of coal with this one. Is he straining to pass a kidney stone … or a Buick? Somebody get this man a bottle of Metamucil!

9. "What Can You Get a Wookiee for Christmas (When He Already Owns a Comb?)" – Meco, from Christmas In The Stars: The Star Wars Christmas Album. May the Force be against galactic funkster Meco for his crimes against the music of John Williams. Listen to this, you should not!

10. "Zoomah the Santa Claus from Mars" by Barry Gordon, the same guy responsible for “Yes, We Have No Bananas.” Need I say more?

With rubbish like this cluttering up the airwaves, I’d gladly settle for a "Silent Night." Literally.

IT’S TIME TO PAY THE PIPER

BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL

At some point, most music lovers have downloaded free songs from the Internet. You hear a tune that knocks your socks off, but you don’t want to spring for the whole CD just yet, in case the other tracks turn out to be duds. So you hit the cyber-highway in search of a freebie.

I, of course, have never done such a thing. I wouldn’t dream of cheating artists out of the 8 to 14 cents per song that puts food on their tables. And I’m not just saying this for the benefit of any Recording Industry Association of America lawyers who might be reading this column.

Stealing music is like taking candy from babies – it’s quick, easy and hey, free candy! It’s not as much fun, though, since musicians have lawyers and babies don’t.

If you’re losing sleep over your idol suffering the unspeakable humiliation of driving last year’s Jag instead of a late-model Porsche because you’ve picked his pocket with your no-cost downloading, there’s something you can do to purge your guilty conscience.

Check out DearRockers.org, your online confessional! Here’s how it works:

1. Pick an artist whose music you’ve acquired without paying – preferably someone you really like and respect. No need to apologize if you’re one of the 8 people who downloaded Paris Hilton’s “Stars Are Blind.” You’ve already paid dearly.

2. Write the artist a letter telling them why you love their music, accompanied by $5 in cash. Why $5? Because, according to website founder Darren Barefoot, $5 “represents about three albums’ worth of income for an artist.” I know, it didn’t make sense to me, either.

3. Find the artist’s mailing address on the site and voila, absolution! No Hail Marys, no Our Fathers, no sleeping on a bed of nails. Such is the penance of pirating.

Also, if you scan or photograph your letter before mailing and submit it to the site, Barefoot will share it with the world (including any RIAA lawyers who might be reading.)

DearRockers.org give you an opportunity to express your deepest regrets, like Michele C. of Long Island does by apologizing – albeit a bit backhandedly – for ripping off Guns N’ Roses frontman Axl Rose: “Dear Axl, There are a lot of musicians I could have sent this money to … (b)ut I figured out of all of them, you could probably use the money the most … I am giving it to you in change because that’s how bum wine should be bought.”

If you ask me, the world needs more people like Michele C. Maybe if we all sent Axl a few bucks, he’d finally release that new GN’R album he’s been sitting on for eight years.

I think paying artists what they’re due is a great idea and if I were the sort of person who downloaded free music, I would totally do it. Heaven knows Britney Spears could use the money for court costs and underwear.

I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS SHOPPING

BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL

'Tis a month before Christmas and all through the house,
Shopping is done with the click of a mouse;
By people avoiding the fierce toy store brawls
Of maniacal mobs surging through local malls.

Where once they left early to line up at the doors,
They now browse and surf through the Internet stores.
No price-checks, no cart wrecks, no sore, aching feet,
No need to get out of that cushy desk seat!

No long checkout lines and no NASCAR-like races
As they zoom 'round and 'round, searching for parking spaces.
No hundred-pound packages weighing them down,
No schlepping to every darn store in the town!

No guilt for ignoring the bell-ringing guy
Who asks for donations and smiles when they lie,
"I've only got plastic," they sputter and spout.
"I'll get change and give when I'm on my way out."

They kick back in comfort, not a moment of stress;
Their version of Santa works for UPS.
He'll bring gifts to put under their Christmas trees -
(Or Kwanzaa or Hanukkah, whichever you please.)

The sites offer lists of this year's hottest toys
Sure to bring lots of cheer to indulged girls and boys,
Who've made lists of their own that stretch on for years,
And the parents just can't disappoint the little dears.

There's Jamal's gas scooter - oh, how he did beg!
Although fueling it up costs and arm and a leg!
For Ashley, let's see ... what makes her go bananas?
The Cheetah Girls, Barbie and Hannah Montana!

Little Dexter wants gifts in a scholarly vein,
So what can you buy that will challenge his brain?
The Mad Science lab won't cause chemical troubles,
It's safe and non-toxic - it only makes bubbles!

Or how 'bout a toy with a slight retro flair?
It's now electronic, but its shape is still square.
The multi-hued cube's undergone evolution;
Now featuring games, it's Rubik's Revolution!

Miguel wants to party - you know, like a rock star,
So get him the popular Power Tour gee-tar!
Or if he is more of the Nintendo breed,
Then perhaps "Guitar Hero" would be more his speed.

Or maybe your game-boy's a tinier tyke,
Just right for a Smart Cycle video bike.
If cuddly critters will bring him more joy,
Then buy him a Zoobie, the three-in-one toy!

For the teen who's a fan of the film "Office Space,"
There's a gift sure to bring a big smile to his face.
Yeah, you're gonna need to go ahead and pay
For a talking Lumbergh doll - that would be great, m'kay?

There's something for everyone, that is a promise;
There's Transformers, Legos, an engine named Thomas.
And i-Sing and iPhones and bionic eyes,
For youngsters of all ages, genders and size.

It's all close at hand, at your mere fingertips,
No more shopping-mall crowds packed in hip-to-hip!
It might hurt your wallet, but take heed of this:
You won't suffer more than a slightly sprained wrist!

OFF TO SEE THE WIZARD OF OZZ

BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL
Ozzy Osbourne has done some insane things in his day, but his next display of lunacy and wild abandon will take the proverbial cake. Alert the paparazzi: The Prince of Darkness is going to – yikes! – host a Thanksgiving dinner.

On Nov. 18, four lucky metalheads will be singing, “Over the river and through Hollywood, to Ozz-father’s house we go!” as they reap the benefits of the “Thanksgiving with Ozzy” contest sponsored by mobile media company SendMe and concert/tour promoters AEG Live. At SendMe’s sweepstakes site, SoLow.com, Ozzy fans are bidding until 9 a.m. today for the chance to celebrate an early Turkey Day at the Osbournes’ new pad in Los Angeles.

Makes sense to me. After all, when you hear the word “Thanksgiving,” who doesn’t immediately think of a doddering, incoherent middle-aged Englishman in Spandex? But hey, different strokes … one man’s garbage is another man’s giblets, right?

The winning contestant will claim the grand prize, which includes round-trip airfare for the winner and three friends, $500 cash, hotel accommodations in L.A. and San Diego (I believe head-banger protocol dictates the trashing of said hotel rooms) and a concert in the latter city featuring Ozzy and Rob Zombie. But the pièce de résistance – or the whipped cream on the pumpkin pie, as it were – is the opportunity to watch Ozzy do something few have ever seen him do.

Will he utter a full sentence without using profanity?

Will he bite the head off a live turkey?

Will he mistake the gravy boat for a urinal?

No, no and no. Puh-leese … such banalities are the stuff of everyday life for a madman like Ozzy. What he has in store for his guests will shock, awe and undoubtedly change their view of their idol forever. In fact, they could very well be rendered permanently mute after the sight of – Warning: Parental Discretion Advised – Ozzy preparing his famous Yorkshire pudding.

The Ozz-man is famous for many things – his years with Black Sabbath, his solo career, his MTV reality show – and infamous for many others – see above references to profanity, animal head-biting and publicly relieving himself. But seeing his name in the same sentence with “famous Yorkshire pudding” has to be a first.

I can only imagine what the dinnertime conversation will be like:

Ozzy: “Bloody ‘ell! I can’t (bleeping) work this (bleeping) electric knife (unintelligible rambling).”

Sharon: “Just take the (bleeping) thing and – down, Minnie! No! Bad dog!”

Kelly: “Mum! That contest person is (bleeping) staring at my (bleeps)!”

Ozzy: (Gibberish)

Sharon: “Minnie, no! We don’t do that to the guest’s leg! Naughty girl!”

Kelly: “Mum! Dad! (Bleeping) make him stop! Sigh … no one (bleeping) listens to me!”

Contest winner: “No one listens to your music … why should they listen to you talk?”

Ah, but I jest. To be honest, I have a soft spot for the oddly-functional-within-dysfunction Osbournes, and I’d love to be a fly on the wall during the Ozz-festivities. If nothing else, it would be worth it to hear Ozzy channeling Pink Floyd as he chides Jack and Kelly, “How can you have any Yorkshire pudding if you don't eat your meat?"

THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT MARRIAGE

BY BELINDA M. PASCHAL

Love and marriage might go together like a horse and carriage, but it seems celebrities and marriage go together like Britney Spears and underpants. What is it about fame that dooms a marriage before the ink on the license has dried?

In the time it’s taken you to read this far, a Hollywood starlet has married, divorced, re-wed, had a couple of extramarital affairs and booked an appearance on “Maury” to determine who’s her baby’s daddy.

Once upon a time, celebrity marriages were cause for glad tidings of great joy: “Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward? Lovely couple! They’ll last forever.” (Forty-nine years and counting!) Now, they’re the basis for office betting pools: “Avril Lavigne and that guy from that band? Two years. A year and a half if she writes another song like ‘Girlfriend’.”

The troubled Ms. Spears holds the record for shortest celebrity marriage – 55 hours of wedded bliss to childhood friend Jason Alexander. She beat out Zsa Zsa Gabor, who spent one day in 1982 as Mrs. Felipe Whatever (when you’re on Hubby No. 8, are names really important?), but the union was declared invalid because Zsa-squared was still married to her previous husband.

To be fair, we hear about the marriages that don’t make it because misery sells, merriment doesn’t. Vendors would have to throw in a free Bowflex and home visits by Billy Blanks to unload tabloids boasting, “Couple remains happy and faithful for yet another year!” Unless one-half of the couple was, say, Bigfoot.

We hear about the flops, but many have proven it can be done. Legendary actors Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee were married almost 57 years when Davis died in 2005. Bill and Camille Cosby, 43 years. Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman, 25 years. Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson, 19 years. Jon Bon Jovi and non-celeb wife Dorothea, 18 years. Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn never legally married, but they’ve been together 24 years. Musician John Lydon has been with his wife more than 20 years – and we’re talking about a guy best known as Johnny Rotten!

Obviously, today’s young stars could take a page from the book of love written by the “old-timers” (with the exception of Zsa Zsa, of course). Susan Sarandon, who’s been with partner Tim Robbins for 19 years, said in 2005, “I'm certainly not an expert, but Tim and I just celebrated 17 years together, which in Hollywood years I think is 45. I think the key is just focusing on this one person and not keeping one eye on the door to see who might be better.”

In other words, the “something borrowed” at a wedding should not be someone else’s husband or wife.

If the kids don’t want to listen to their elders, perhaps they’ll heed the advice of a peer. "You have to keep marriage alive, spice it up. We have something called naked Sundays,” says Christina Aguilera of life with music exec Jordan Bratman, her husband of almost two years. “We don't need to go anywhere, we're just with each other. We do everything naked. We cook naked.”

Hmm. Maybe if Britney had shed more than her skivvies, she’d still be Mrs. K-Fed.