Amy Schumer Accepts Woman of the Year: “Thank You For Calling Me A Woman”

Amy Schumer was named Woman of the Year at last night’s Men of the Year Awards, hosted by British GQ. In her acceptance speech, Schumer began by thanking the magazine for “calling me a woman,” and emphasized how important it was that “finally we are celebrating men!”

The recently published author, whose collected memoirs, The Girl With the Lower Back Tattoo, have already become a #1 New York Times bestseller, was quite candid in the rest of her acceptance speech. “Next year, it’s not going to go as well for me, and I won’t be at places like this, and I’ll feel forgotten,” she said.”

She remained enterprising as always, continuing: “I hope you guys will go to my website and look at my merchandise. I have t-shirts, and a sweatshirt – but the zipper breaks.”

Schumer wrapped up the speech by sharing some of her fondest memories of her trip to the UK. “Patrick Stewart has come all over my tits. More times than even he remembers,” she said. “Michael Caine, don’t look away. Look at me, sir.”

Elaborating on the experience, she explained: “You have to make a shelf so [the semen] doesn’t fall. It’s the saddest shelf in the world. I just went to the Anne Frank house, and I can still say it’s the saddest shelf in the world.”

Watch the full speech below.

The Girl With the Lower Back Tattoo is now available on Amazon.

Julie Delpy Gives the Best Possible Description of ‘Before Midnight’

We’re pretty excited for Richard Linklater’s Before Midnight here at BlackBook, although, sorry, but two of us have already seen it. And we loved it! I can’t wait for it to come out, because I want to see it about a thousand more times. In the meantime, however, the next-best thing is to read anything that co-star and co-writer Julie Delpy has to say, such as the glorious things in a Q&A with GQ, in which she is pretty magnificently blunt about the way the film depicts a realistic couple, particularly their sexual behavior. "Sometimes I see films where people have sex with a bra on. I mean, what country do they come from? I don’t think I’ve ever had sex with a bra on in my life, except maybe once," Delpy states. "This movie isn’t fantasy. This is a film for people who can handle a pair of tits." Deal with the tits, America. DEAL WITH THEM.

[via GQ]

The Five Most Insane Sentences in Buzz Bissinger’s Gucci Confession

My dad used to be friends with Buzz Bissinger, the sportswriter. But these days, when you bring up that name, my dad’s eyes glaze over and he kinda shakes his head like: “What the hell happened?” If this appalling GQ “article” is any indication, the answer is Gucci. Bissinger is hooked on the shit. Don’t bother reading the whole thing, it’s barely coherent. I’ll distill it for you: 

1. On his philosophy: “Gucci men’s clothing best represents who I want to be and have become.”

2. On seeing the Milan collection: “It’s like Indiana Jones finally finding the Holy Grail, even though it was only three days ago that I bought the pony-hair jacket.”

3. On the amount spent over a four-day shopping binge: “That is equivalent to roughly a full year’s tuition at my son’s college, Kenyon.”

4. On an item he forgot he had ordered online while drunk: “But I still kept it, and it still is seriously smoking, and none of you can fucking have it.

5. On himself: “I look good.”

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Prince Hot Ginge, I Mean Harry, Covers ‘GQ Australia’

GQ Australia‘s latest smoldering (I mean, smouldering) cover model is Prince Hot Ginge himself.

The accompanying article in the April 2013 rhapsodizes over Prince Harry’s  princely ass:

"Let’s consider Prince Harry’s arse. We have, surely, all seen it by now — muscular, well-formed and very white. The ghost of his board shorts speaks of a long day in the hot Las Vegas sun."

But it quickly segues to the 28-year-old prince’s military career, which he recently admitted has included taking some lives in Afghanistan, and notes that he’s only become more likeable to the public after his naked-romp-in-Las-Vegas shenanagins this past summer. 

Harry also recently covered the high-end British tabloid Tatler as their "Man Of The Year." The American magazine Town & Country named him their "Most Eligible Bachelor" of 2012, beating out George Clooney and 38 other men. (Ffffttttt. Obviously.) 

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Linkage: Solange Pops Out at ‘Girls’ Party, Beyoncé Might Be Crazy, Justin Timberlake is “Ready”

Holy cow, Solange. Sure, we’ve been paying a lot of attention to Beyoncé’s moves lately, and it seems like her kid sister didn’t want to stand in her shadow too much longer. Last night, the singer-songwriter attended last night’s Girls premiere party in a Just Cavalli patterned suit. You have our attention, Solange. We’ll spend the afternoon listening to “Losing You” on a loop. [MTV Style]

Speaking of Beyoncé, the interview accompanying her recent GQ cover reveals that pretty much every moment of her life for the past seven years has been recorded on film: “This digital database, modeled loosely on NBC’s library, is a work in progress—the labeling, date-stamping, and cross-referencing has been under way for two years, and it’ll be several months before that process is complete. But already, blinking lights signal that the product that is Beyoncé is safe and sound and ready to be summoned— and monetized—at the push of a button.” So much for hoping that Beyoncé isn’t a total nut. [GQ]

Paul Schrader was apparently so desperate for a project that he agreed to direct The Canyons—his first film in ten years—despite protests from friends and family. Even his wife, Mary Beth Hurt, gave up on the screenplay, penned by Bret Easton Ellis, after just fifty pages. And then he cast Lindsay Lohan and James Deen. Is anyone still thinking this isn’t all a completely terrible idea? [NYT]

Britney Spears is bowing out as a judge on The X-Factor after a tenure of just a single season. Without Britney regularly on live television, how will we make sure Britney is OK? I’m worried. [Reuters]

We had no idea what to expect from Justin Timberlake this morning, but the singer dropped a video of him wandering around a recording studio as his thoughts meander about his music and his obsessions and what the next year holds, et cetera. The important part: we’re supposed to wait longer for new music from Justin Timberlake. But, like, he’s ready. Just not “right now.” [Idolator]

The ads for David Beckham’s H&M underwear line were directed by Guy Ritchie, but they also feature the soccer star running around in boxer briefs, so, you know, things could be a whole lot worse. [The Gloss]

Then again, Conan O’Brien and Ricky Gervais took a bath together. [Hypervocal]

Featuring songs with titles like “They Get Nasty,” “I Don’t Make Love, I Fuck!,” and “There’s a Hole Inside of Me” a musical parody of Fifty Shades of Grey heads to Manhattan this weekend by way of Chicago. [NY Post]

The BAFTA nominees are pretty close to the Oscars, although they recognize Kathryn Bigelow and refuse to hand out nominations to nine-year-old girls. [Guardian]

Godzilla is coming back, this time possibly battling not Mothra or Megalon, but rather Kick-Ass star Aaron Taylor-Johnson. [Deadline]

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Beyoncé Is Obviously the Sexiest Woman of the Century

Beyoncé, who I am convinced is some amazing extraterrestrial being who was placed on this earth to make everything better, covers the new issue of GQ. The magazine cover leaked online yesterday, revealing B in a crop top shirt (which reveals the bottom fourth of her boobs, bless us all) and zippered panties (sorry, everyone who hates the word "panties," but what the hell else do I call those things?). I suppose this will placate my need for a new Beyoncé album, like, right this second. Aren’t there at least four songs on 4 she didn’t shoot a video for? What the hell is she up to, other than preparing for her Super Bowl halftime performance and singing the national anthem at Obama’s upcoming inauguration? 

Alright, enough of what Beyoncé can do for us. It’s time for all of us to figure out what we can do for Beyoncé. We owe her so much, people.

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The Literary World’s Fascination With James Deen

If the internet itself hadn’t done the job already, last winter’s issue of GOOD magazine surely put porn star James Deen on the radar of every tote bag-laden liberal arts major this side (the south side, that is) of 14th Street. And while the profile gave fascinating light to the porn star’s cult following among teenage girls, it’s safe to say that between Wells Tower’s piece in this month’s GQ and the casting of Deen in Bret Easton Ellis’s new film The Canyons, the Jewish “boy next door” might have another prominent fan base: literary white males.

That’s not to say he is, or passes himself off as, particularly bright (Deen, on his ABC Nightline profile: “They could have made me look bad, between all my ramblings and the dumb shit that I say, and they didn’t.”). This affinity is mainly a cosmetic thing. The scrawny five-foot-eight fellow, who looks “like a guy a chick might actually meet in a bar,” is the closest proxy your average white boy has ever had in the porn world. And even if Deen himself never boasted any intellectual prowess, his real-life background sort of lines up: born Bryan Sevilla (he’s still Bryan Sevilla) in Pasadena, CA, both his parents worked at NASA. He claims to have pretty rationally decided, in kindergarten, that he wanted to do porn. Save for a brief stint with drug addiction, he slid into his profession the way any young “self-starter” might wind up in theirs. And again, just look at him. Better yet, Photoshop him into a picture with the editors of n+1—you wouldn’t think anything of it.

Wells Tower thus offers the perfect setup for this most recent profile: if you—reader, tweedy white male, evangelist for Everything Ravaged—could swap places with James Deen, would you?

That’s not to say Tower totally invented the premise. In many ways, it’s the bait used in Paul Thomas Anderson’s masterpiece Boogie Nights, where the young Mark Wallberg, like Deen, is a handsome but unassuming Valley boy that just happens to pack an oversized member (okay, and freakishly strong abdominals). In a brilliant interview from 1998 on Hollywood Conversations, Anderson gave a thoughtful polemic against contemporary porn producers for denying the genre its place in the canon of mainstream cinematic art. Instead, he argued, they’ve churned out trash that’s distastefully removed from reality. “If you’re looking at it in a pure, hormonal boy way,” he said, “my hormones go to, ‘oh, she’s pretty.’ And no, she doesn’t have huge, enormous fake tits. Because it’s like watching science fiction—it’s a sci-fi movie at that point.” As opposed to, say, something from a John Updike story. “And the guys are not appealing in porno today,” he continued. “Looking at these people who are chiseled to perfection, there’s nothing to relate to.” Enter James Deen.

The other antecedent, you’d have to figure, is David Foster Wallace’s 1998 essay “Neither Adult Nor Entertainment” about the AVN awards, which also flirts with the question of, “Is this as fun as it looks?” (The answer is no). First off, they both lather on an SAT Verbal’s worth of euphemisms. Wallace: “Breasts are uniformly zeppelinesque and in various perilous stages of semiconfinement.” Tower: “Miss Jaymes is a ten-year vet whose huge blister-pack protrusions are somewhat at odds with her springbok svelteness.” For the lexically stimulated, that’s as masturbatory as it gets.

Moreover, it’s the tone of innocent-bookish-fellow-sent-to-“report”-on-porn that carries over from Wallace to Tower. At one point, in the middle of describing a “human centipede” scene between Deen, Proxy Paige, and Isis Love, Tower interjects, “Um, hey. You out there, do you seriously want me to keep describing this stuff? Really? Because it gets a lot worse from here.” It’s pretty considerate of him to throw that in there, much in the same way someone at your ice cream parlor asks if you’d like a mini spoon taste of the chocolate fudge brownie just so you can appear skeptical and discerning while everyone involved knows full well that you’d already planned to order four scoops of the stuff.

But the kicker is, if a quart of ice cream leaves you feeling queasy, what’s supposed to happen when you’ve watched this guy “in flagrant contravention of the USDA’s Safe Food Handling Fact Sheet, [plunge] his unwashed tuber straightaway into Proxy’s mouth”? What Tower lands on is what anyone lured in the by the idea of this boyish little ladykiller has to realize: what Deen does couldn’t be further removed from the reality of his persona’s true-life analogue. And nobody could be less equipped for that kind of emotionally detached sexual carnage than a young male who likes literature. Emotional sensitivity is our bread and butter, and whatever one’s “boy hormones” would have them believe, Deen’s lifestyle is not one to envy.

James Deen, sorry to say, is not the “boy next door.” He’s not a regular guy a chick might meet at a bar. He’s a star. He’s a big, bright, shining star. That’s right.

‘GQ’ No Longer Likes January Jones or Barack Obama

In a near-perfect exercise of glossy magazine trolling, GQ has announced the 25 Least Influential People Alive. Among the twenty six folks the magazine has decided is worthy targets of indifference (the list includes former child actors Tia and Tamera Mowry as a single entity, which is a fun, modern twist on the Three-Fifths Compromise), the magazine is throwing some attention to people they think have too much attention! Most of them are TV and movie actors like Gwyneth Paltrow and Tila Tequila (fingers on the pulse, GQ!), which is a profession that sadly garners too much influence these days, but the magazine also throws shade at some political stars, as well. Ironically, there’s a pair of America’s sweethearts who had previously graced the covers of GQ: President Barack Obama and Mad Men’s January Jones. 

In the listicle, author Drew Magary admits that Obama might be considered "cheating." "He did order the raid that wiped Osama bin Laden off the face of the earth. But then he used that surplus of political capital to let everyone in Washington stick a boot in his ass." Hell, all of that pales in comparison to writing about famous people for a magazine! (I should know!) But The Blaze points out that Obama was featured on two previous covers; he was hailed "Leader of the Year" in 2009, and "Man of the Year" in 2008."

barack obama gq

Meanwhile, on the boring actress front, Nation correspondent Ari Melber points out on Twitter that GQ‘s mention of January Jones is a bit of a misstep since the magazine also featured her on the cover just two years ago. "Jones spent 2011 serving as human topiary in the new X-Men movie, getting knocked up, and passing every waking hour looking like someone stole her last box of Parliaments," Magary writes. January Jones is sooooo 2009.

january jones gq

Another huge mistake: mentioning Britain’s Princess Beatrice, completely forgetting her influence on haberdashery photography.

The Most Depressing Parts of the ‘GQ’ Billy Ray Cyrus Interview

There’s a long interview with Billy Ray Cyrus in the new issue of GQ, and to save you the trouble of reading the whole thing: it’s so depressing, you guys. Billy Ray is kind of just this sad broken man who likes to sit in darkness in his Tennessee kitchen and regret things. He’s getting divorced, he constantly worries about Miley, and he’s alone with the memories of his “Achy Breaky Heart” golden days. Here’s a rundown of the most troubling parts of the article.

● Just right off the bat, things start to go downhill when Cyrus insists that the interview be conducted in darkness: “We face each other as people generally do, fully illuminated, but after a while he asks me whether I’d mind. He flicks a switch behind him, and sinks into shadow.” ● After the 18th-birthday party when Miley’s salvia trip was videotaped, Cyrus was kept in the dark by her handlers. “‘They told me,’ he says, his contempt and despair still naked and fresh, ‘it was none of my business.'” ● On Miley’s recent troubles (the Vanity Fair photo shoot, the salvia video, etc): “‘I should have been a better parent. I should have said, ‘Enough is enough—it’s getting dangerous and somebody’s going to get hurt.’ I should have, but I didn’t. Honestly, I didn’t know the ball was out of bounds until it was way up in the stands somewhere.'” ● “‘Holy crap—I’ve lived the last five years with Geronimo’s hairdo.'” ● On whether or not his family is under attack by Satan: “I think we are right now. No doubt. There’s no doubt about it.” ● On Hannah Montana: “Oh, it’s huge—it destroyed my family. I’ll tell you right now—the damn show destroyed my family. And I sit there and go, ‘Yeah, you know what? Some gave all.’ It is my motto, and guess what? I have to eat that one. I some-gave-all’d it all right. I some-gave-all’d it while everybody else was going to the bank. It’s all sad.” ● This one’s straight-up tragic. On Miley Cyrus’ pastel room in Billy Ray’s Tennessee mansion: “Again, it’s a bit sad,” he sighs, “because it’s just a little girl’s room, ain’t it?

He basically couldn’t be more of a bummer if he tried. You can’t help but feel sorry for the guy, but it also kind of leaves a bad taste in my mouth that he’s airing his issues with his daughter in a magazine like this.

There’s something really calculated about the whole thing. For example, there are times in the piece when Cyrus’ quotes seem a little too deliberate. He knows how to talk to a reporter, for sure. But who is this helping? Certainly not his daughter — but she wasn’t really doing all that badly in the first place. (She smoked salvia once, get over it.) And not really Billy Ray, either. There’s just way too much pathos going on in here. Billy Ray: you have a huge mansion, a famous and successful daughter who is at least not in rehab, and a relatively cool new hairdo. It gets better.