Today’s must-reads from around the Internet.
Every month, we thoroughly examine the contents of GQ, Details and Esquire, so you don’t have to. This month’s breakdown—starring Scarlett Johansson, the color green, hardcore layering, hiking volcanoes, ice baths, hand models, Corey Feldman, Weinergate, buying gold, champagne flutes, Australian soap operas and loads of eye candy—after the jump…
Maybe it was a recent karaoke outing, maybe it was ScarJo’s recent reclamation of Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive title, maybe it’s just the overwhelming sense of alienation that comes with aging and growing and letting time pass (anyone?), but I recently had an incurable itch to rewatch Lost in Translation. And that’s when it hit me:
Holy shit. It’s been almost exactly 10 years since Lost in Translation came out.
That deserves a celebration.
It’s Monday morning, and once again you’ve spent an entire weekend worrying about Rick Ross, the gentleman hacker who liberated Scarlett Johansson’s nude photos and the apocalypse. Luckily, we’ve got a few updates for you.
She & Him may have a lot to answer for.
On the heels of her widely tolerated Anywhere I Lay My Head, Scarlett Johansson is prepping an album with soft-rock crooner Pete Yorn. The album was recorded before Ms. Deschanel ever connected with M. Ward, but the pair decided to keep it under wraps until the time was right. But now that ScarJo’s making preliminary rounds for Iron Man 2, the iron is most definitely hot, and the magazine circuit is willing to oblige. Sadly, the only leaked tracks have been conveniently muted, but curious parties can still check out the promo trailer. Fair warning: it’s a tease»
The animated gif is just a few great works away from being a legitimate art form—in fact, they’ve already got their own museum—but this is the first time we’ve seen it turned on the celebrity class.
We just ran across this gif of one Scarlett Johansson in a variety of charming poses. As PR, it does more than a dozen Esquire spreads—and we’re quite partial to those. Think of it as one more step towards flacks becoming surrogate blogmasters.
And, needless to say, it’s better than The Nanny Diaries.
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