Diamonds, Engagement Rings & Diamond Jewelry in popular culture

Over the weekend of December 20, actress and singer Zooey Deschanel got engaged to Emo god Ben Gibbard of the band “Death Cab for Cutie”.  The shamelessly adorable couple has been dating for over a year, despite the misguided rumors of her engagement to another Emo musician, AFI bassist Hunter Burgan.  Although there is no word yet about engagement rings, and pictures of Zooey wearing one have not been splashed all over the tabloids yet, it is only a matter of time.  When Emos mate, they tend to do so in a much more understated way.   It’s like watching the Discovery Channel, only with a more emotional soundtrack.  And anyone filming must be quiet, so as not to spook the camera-shy tender-hearts, who often hide behind long dyed-black bangs and thick black glasses.

Zooey Deschanel: Cute As A Roomful of Kittens, and Engaged!

Nonetheless, she joined the establishment with her role as Allison in the Jim Carrey blockbuster “Yes Man”.  Since Jim Carrey is incapable of doing anything on a small scale, Zooey found herself in the middle of a huge freakin’ deal.  Great for the wallet, certainly, but not when your fan base is largely people who sit in their basements contemplating the futility of life and burning themselves with lighters ‘just so they can feel something’.
Fortunately for our Zooey, who is as adorable as a room full of kittens, she is in an obscure-but-beloved band called “She & Him”.  And all doubts about her were certainly cast aside when she became engaged to Ben Gibbard, singer of not one, but TWO Emo bands, “Death Cab for Cutie” and “The Postal Service”.  I’m sure there are tears being wept in basements and dark rooms all over the world as greasy-haired boys listen over and over to the Emo anthem “Transatlantacism”.

The couple is ecstatic over their engagement, and Zooey feels as though she’s been ‘swept off her feet’.  They have not yet announced a wedding date, but we can be certain that the affair will be tasteful, that the wedding rings will be understated, and that the music at the reception will be awesome.

My mother emailed me over the weekend to tell me that Tom Brady had finally proposed to Gisele Bundchen. ESPN had reported that Brady had presented the Brazilian supermodel with an engagement ring on Christmas Eve. Why ESPN reported it is a mystery, considered Brady hasn’t taken the field since he was injured in September, and has spent the bulk of his time carrying around Gisele’s little dog instead of a football. Perhaps it was a better headline for “Dog Fancy” magazine.

"Please Don't Leave Me If I Get Pregnant."

Except the blessed event might be a complete fabrication. A few weeks ago, a rumor flew around that the freakishly-tall-and-attractive duo were planning on a March wedding in Costa Rica, but that they wouldn’t be engaged—they’d jump straight to the wedding rings instead.

A day after this latest engagement rumor broke, Tom Brady, Sr., told the “Boston Globe” that “Nobody told me. We talked to him and there’s nothing to say. It’s rumor, rumor, rumor”. In an email to the “Boston Herald”, Bundchen’s twin sister (yes, there are two of them) said that rumors are simply “not true”.

Although they may or may not be getting married soon, Gisele is certainly very much in love with the oft-injured, pine-riding quarterback. She told “GQ” magazine: “He really, genuinely doesn’t have a bad bone in his body…and I think he is a really great person”.

Perhaps all of the flashing bulbs and sun exposure have affected her brain, because she seems to have totally forgotten the circumstances under which they met and began dating in the end of 2006. At the time, Brady was in a serious relationship with another model/actress, Bridget Moynahan. As it turned out, she was pregnant with their baby when Brady bailed on the relationship in favor of dating Gisele.

Nonetheless, Tom and Gisele have been regularly seen together at events, and she probably even got to watch him play football a few times, in between his injuries. Maybe they really are engaged, and this is all just a smoke-screen. Maybe not. I just hope for Gisele’s sake that she never gets either pregnant or fat, as it will probably cause the first athletic maneuvers for Brady in months, as he back-pedals to avoid another blitz.

Mariah Carey and young husband Nick Cannon went to Aspen to celebrate Christmas, as the singer has done every year since she became rich enough to afford Aspen at Christmas.  This year, she brought along a special surprise: her dog, and husband Nick Cannon to babysit the dog while Mariah takes her chest out for photo-ops. 

Mariah Carey Brings The Twins To Aspen.

Regardless, the two hit it off, and, after a lengthy one-month courtship during which they managed to control their animalistic urges, they married at Mariah’s Bahamian estate on April 30.  Nick was proud to tell the press that the two had not been intimate before they married, and the world was collectively shocked, not believing that Mariah could keep her drawers on for that long.  She later cleared up for her fans—and anyone who was within earshot—that they were intimate, but not in the biblical sense.  Whew. 

After only a few weeks of dating, Mariah showed up at the Tribeca Film Festival wearing a $2.5 million engagement ring from Jacob &Co..  The ring featured a 17-carat emerald-cut diamond set in platinum.  Prior to that, some of her friends already knew that she and Nick had gone to get tattoos together, and that hers reads “Mrs. Cannon”, while Nick’s says “Mariah” in ginormous letters across his back.  Mariah has said that she loves the rings and the tradition of them, but tattoos are forever.  Or, at least, until you get them lasered off (Angelina’s “Billy Bob” tattoo is nearly invisible now!).  Nick’s wedding band, which he proudly displays, is a diamond-encrusted platinum wedding ring, and perfectly illustrates the quiet modesty that Mariah herself is known for.

Mariah and Nick's Tasteful Christmas Greeting

Prior to their trip to Aspen, Nick bought Mariah an early Christmas present—a $1.5 million ski chalet, so the couple could “avoid the hassle of renting”.  And how inconvenient that must be for two multi-millionaires.  He also, allegedly, bought her a different diamond ring for each room of the chalet.  Considering that I’m still trying to figure out who Nick Cannon is and what exactly he has done to become rich and famous, this seems a tad on the extravagant side.

Nonetheless, the happy couple is frolicking in the snow at Aspen as only Mariah can, with all of us wondering how she doesn’t get a chest cold.  Maybe it’s the Magic of Christmas.

Rapper 50 Cent is dodging bullets again, only this time they aren’t of the lead variety.   His babymama, Shaniqua Thompkins, is suing him for 50 million dollars.  50 MILLION dollars.  One can only imagine how she and her attorneys arrived at that number.  50 responded to the suit by saying: “If I ever intended to make that kind of commitment…I would have married her” (TMZ.com).  He never gave her an engagement ring, or even a promise of one, but she claims that their love, evidently, transcended that kind of thing.  For a while, anyway.

Would You Trust Anything This Man Does Orally?

I think I saw that in a movie once.  Who was the star of it again?  Oh yeah…50 Cent.

Because real life is seldom like the movies and 50 bailed on the relationship, Shaniqua (undoubtedly with the help of fun-loving litigators with a taste for danger) decided to sue the volatile rapper for breach of contract.  She claims that they had a verbal agreement in which she and their son, Marquise, would live in 50’s $2.4 million house in Dix Hills, Long Island, and that she would own the house.  After putting down the money for the house, he instead put the house in his own name.  The nerve!  In 2007, she claimed that the $25,000 she received in child support was not enough.  Is this kid wearing diamond-encrusted braces?  Unfortunately for 50 Cent, with his diamond jewelry and tailored suits, he gives off a scent more powerful than pheromones: money.  Not only has 50 Cent had massive success as a rapper and moderate success as an actor, but he made himself into a full-on mogul with the release of his “G-Unit” clothing line, on sale now wherever thug-wear is sold.

Thompkins’ attorney claims that the relationship between his client and 50 might be viewed as a common-law marriage.  He argues that “there wasn’t a written contract but an expressed oral agreement…whatever profits he was able to achieve would be divided equally, and he had promised her and their son that they could live in the house”.  An oral agreement with 50 Cent, a notorious rapper and lyricist that penned the classic “Candy Shop” (you’ll have to look it up yourself) isn’t worth the air it takes to keep her attorney talking. 

Is Shaniqua Thompkins really naïve enough to believe the words of a post-coital rap-superstar?  Thank God for lawyers and their endless need to chase down the fame and money that others have earned.    And Thank God for 50 Cent’s inability to just shut up and go get a sandwich afterwards like a normal man.

As we’ve all heard by now, Paris Hilton’s Sherman Oaks home was tragically burglarized early Friday morning, with the thief making off with nearly $2 million dollars worth of jewelry and ‘personal items’.  This is Hilton’s second robbery in the last few years.  She also, during this time, lost and then found her chihuahua (and I mean her actual little dog, Tinkerbell), misplaced all of her undergarments, and ended 2 or 3 engagements.  It has been a rough few years for the unfortunate heiress.

Paris believes in this case that “whoever did this, definitely has been there before” .  Since the items were all taken from her bedroom, the list of suspects is virtually limitless.  Police believe that the suspect, a male wearing a hooded sweatshirt (hoodies are so last year), forced his way through the front door and went directly for Hilton’s bedroom.  By “forced his way in”, the police make reference to the way this dangerous criminal meandered up to the front door, turned the knob, and walked in, all in view of a video camera.  They Keystone Cops are currently examining the video for clues.

In Her Defense, Where Would She Put Her Keys?

Hilton told E! News that “it’s just an invasion of privacy and it’s happened to me before.  It’s really scary but they’re doing a major investigation on this and we’re going to catch this person”.  You can almost feel the fear in that tiny little voice, although ‘privacy’ becomes a relative term after you spend the summer showing the world your naughty bits as you get out of your outrageously-expensive car. 

She is feeling much safer now, reporting that she has “upped the security majorly”.  She asks the thief, whom she assumed is watching E! News, to return the items he stole.  She invites him to have a taxi anonymously drop off a box full of his ill-gotten booty at her front gate.  Certainly, no one would steal it from way, way outside her house.  Why should they, when they can just walk right in, instead?

It won’t be so easy for the next criminal mastermind, however.  Hilton stated that “we have three security guards there and a 24-hour guard who is always on my property.  We have the alarm on, the dogs we have, the guards with the gun, so no one is going to be coming into my house”. 

However, there are a few reasons I think we can count on future capers at the Hilton home.  First, where were the guards for her gated community when this guy strolled on through to Paris’s inner sanctum (I mean her bedroom)?  Second, her dogs are all teacup poodles and Chihuahuas and other football-like breeds. And three, the victim in question–violated, scared, and robbed– still can’t remember to bring her house keys.

Donald Trump, King of the Ridunkulous Comb-over, is very upset over his failed transplant attempts. It all started in the sleepy little white-bread town of Rancho Palos Verdes, California, where Trump decided to build a world-class golf course, because that’s what California really needs more of. Initially, the town was tickled to have a piece of the Trump and the obscenely wealthy clientele he would bring, luring them with golf and rolling greens and a 19th hole where you can get hammered on Chivas without cameras around. Also, the town looked forward to sightings of the most recent Mrs. T, with her 15-carat emerald-cut engagement ring and legs for days.

Transplant THIS, Trump.

The town’s enchantment with The Donald waned when he demanded that a street be named after him. Perhaps the Mayor felt “Megalomaniac Boulevard” was too much for his happy little town. Then, as Trump dug his heels in and began suggesting massive changes that would better reflect the “Trump Image”, the town bit back, refusing a few of his requests.

First, the city asked that he remove a row of 12-foot ficus trees that Trump had placed along the course to block the views of “unsightly homes”. Being that the median income for a family in Rancho Palos Verdes is around $100,000, one can only imagine what Trump might find ‘unsightly’. Was it the lack of solid gold fountains adorned with cherubs bearing the face of the Donald, delicately spewing mineral water from ever-pursed golden lips? Was it driveways without Bentleys parked alongside 30-bedroom cottages?

So, the Donald did what the Donald does. He sued. He was especially irate, at one point, at the public school district, which owned a piece of land on which the golf course was built. God knows the way to a town’s heart is to sue for money slated for the already-underpaid educators and the land on which they teach.

After a 1999 landslide that sent property values into the toilet, Trump bought up land like a teenaged girl at Jonas Brothers yard sale. He claimed that he was helping to rebuild the city and they should be grateful, regardless of his requests. Because of the ficus tree transplant issue, along with the ever-growing, seething disdain for All Things Trump, the town is fighting the $100 million dollar lawsuit. Trump claims that the town is doing everything in its power to stop his progress on the golf course. The town counter-claims that he is a wealthy egomaniac and needs to be stopped before their address is changed to Rancho Trumpo, California. Who to side with?

Perhaps the Donald can relent, and allow a slight viewing of the Great Unwashed from the clubhouse. He and his rich friends can, after all, laugh at them easier if they can see them.

Or, perhaps, he can spend some of his billions on the transplants that we’ve been expecting for years. Matthew McConaughey did it. Jeremy Piven did it. Invest in your head, Mr. Trump, so we can start making fun of you for the many other hysterical things about you.

What better way to promote a new movie than by getting divorced, or—better still—letting out rumors of divorce?  Rumors of marriage, fake marriage, infidelity and impending divorce are all fantastic ways to create buzz about an upcoming film/CD/television show.  Easy to ignore?  Maybe.  But, on the other hand, sometimes not.

Jennifer Lopez went to the premiere of “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” with neither wedding ring nor undernourished husband.  Did this mean there was trouble in the Lopez/Anthony household?  Were twins Max and Emme about to become just the next children of a broken home (or several broken mansions, as the case may be)?  When a woman goes out without her 8-carat diamond wedding ring, sometimes rumors start.  When that person is an oft-married celebrity, rumors FLY.

Marriage Troubles, Or A New Movie Coming Out?

Clearly, with a new movie coming out, she needed a shot of press attention, STAT.  The upcoming movie, “Plan B”, is about a single woman who uses artificial insemination to conceive and then finds romance.  Didn’t I see an episode of “Will & Grace” like that?  Anyway, it’s a movie coming out in 2009, and no one heard of it until the clever ‘divorcing Marc Anthony and going to her own Plan B’ rumors started swirling around.

A few nights after the wedding ring-less movie premiere, J. Lo and Marc Anthony went out to dinner, together, wearing their wedding rings, and evidently looking all googly-eyed at each other.  Hopefully, Marc had a large meal, as he has spent his entire career looking sickly and vile, especially next to Jennifer Lopez and her notorious caboose. 

It is difficult to speculate as to the strength of the J. Lo/Marc Anthony union.  Jennifer has been married quite often, after all, and you never know when it’s time to trade up.  Marc Anthony, who was little more than “who?” before marrying his megastar wife, might not be enjoying his role as Mr. Lopez.  Even starring in a movie together–one that no one saw–didn’t elevate his status. Who knows?  One thing is certain, however: they are both media-savvy enough to know that nothing garners attention so much as rumors of divorce.  Thank God for that, or “Plan B” might be released, totally unnoticed.  Tragic.

Oh, Axl, how we used to love you.  We couldn’t get enough of “Appetite for Destruction”, and we waited in line until midnight in 1993 to buy BOTH “Use Your Illusion I” and Use Your Illusion II”, even though the second one really, really sucked.  We did it because we loved you.  We even paid for “The Spaghetti Incident?” with money that would have otherwise been spent on beer because we all wanted to hear the song that Charles Manson wrote.  We became the music fans of a notorious serial killer, Axl, and it was because we loved you for your skin-tight pants and flannel shirts, for the gorgeous face you tried to hide behind greasy hair and baseball caps.  For the perfect teeth that were obviously caps after your years of living on Jack Daniels and heroin.

And we were so, so envious of Stephanie Seymour, gorgeous supermodel who has since dropped off our radar, when you gave her an engagement ring sometime while I was in college.  We endured 20-minute videos for “Don’t Cry” and “November Rain” on MTV in which you exchanged wedding rings—yours was badass, of course—with your bride-to-be.  We were with you there, in the rain, as you busted out your best acting chops and mourned her fictitious music video passing.  We even cried with you as you looked up at the sky at the end of the video as if to ask God “Why?” as she lay motionless, dead, at your very wedding–even though we hated her deeply, since she had you, and we only had your CDs to hold onto. 

Axl Rose, You Aren't 22 Anymore.

We were there with you, inexplicably, on that oil tanker, singing backup with Shannon Hoon of “Blind Melon”, and we jumped off that oil tanker with you when you made your video-music suicide attempt.  We were all rescued together by merciful bottlenose dolphins who clearly knew that there was more beautiful music for you to make. 
We put “The Spaghetti Incident?” in our CD racks, only to never really listen to it except that one first time, because it wasn’t very good.  And we saw Kurt Loder on MTV News, telling us of the discord between you and your Guns ‘N Roses brethren, and we could see that the end was coming.  Your flannel shirt foretold the onslaught of grunge music and the death of metal as we knew it.

Then, a decade later, there was that very strange appearance on the MTV Music Awards, when you showed up chubby, and with red cornrows.  We had been hearing of this “Chinese Democracy” CD for so long that it became an urban legend to us.  Then, after Dr. Pepper bet you that Guns ‘N Roses would not release “Chinese Democracy” before the end of 2008, you pulled it off.  Finally, after 15 years, it was here, and, even though all of your original hardcore fans (like me) are at least in our 30s, and most of us have either crow’s feet or botox, we are still ready to rock out with you. 

But please, Axl, that 4,500-odd word tirade on your website, explaining everything pretty much since the dawn of time, that doesn’t mesh so well with the whole heavy metal thing.  We want to read your e-novel explaining how you’ve been misunderstood about as much as we want to see you squeeze yourself into the skin-tight white “Sweet Child o’ Mine” pants again.  Let it go.  Aqua-net is dead.

Just rock out man.  We’re here with you, still, after all these years.  Can we just start the shows earlier?  I have to get up early for work.

Florida Governor Charlie Crist married a woman, Carole Rome, last Friday.  This was legal and all hunky-dory, since they are a heterosexual couple and live in Florida.  The Governor campaigned extensively for John McCain and was on the shortlist to be the running mate of the GOP Presidential candidate.  All parties involved vehemently oppose gay marriage, so it was lucky for Crist and Rome that they are different sexes.   Had Rome been born a man, the exchange of wedding rings would have most definitely been problematic, and certainly not recognized by the state of Florida.

Couldn't Get Married If They Wanted To.

Although they clearly follow the Christian Bible and, therefore, feel that gay marriage is wrong, the commandment about adultery must not apply to them for some reason.  Rome was still married to her obscenely wealthy first husband when she and Crist began their relationship.   She is also obscenely wealthy in her own right as President of Franco American Novelty Co., her family’s Halloween costume company.  This is another great stroke of luck for the First Couple of Florida, because, as Governor, Crist earns only $132, 931 each year.  After 10 months of dating, not to mention one divorce, Carole Rome received a sapphire engagement ring from Charlie Crist. 

The wedding had such B-list attendees as former Florida Governor Bob Martinez, former Olympic gymnast Shannon Miller and Geraldo Rivera.  Jill Stempel, New York Bureau Chief of World Entertainment News Network, told the St. Petersburg Times that there would not be much media presence: “…just because the celebrity factor is not there”.  Evidently, Geraldo can’t draw a crowd like he used to in the 80s.  Maybe it was the “Al Capone’s Vault” fiasco. 

Regardless, the heteros celebrated their nuptials inside while a peaceful protest took place outside.  Impact Florida, a gay rights group, had said that it would demonstrate “peacefully in pink” (Miami Herald) because of the Crist-supported ban on same-sex marriage in that state.   The group wore t-shirts that read “Congratulations, Governor Crist.  When can I get married?”  Had they kicked up more of a fuss, maybe more people would have cared about the wedding going on inside the church.