he world continues to surprise reporter Ted Ted in what he thinks he knows. Surprise event of the week occurred last Tuesday when actress and breast-delivery system Jennifer Love-Hewitt released another album that was demanded somewhere, at some time, by somebody completely unknown to Ted Ted.

The album, cock-teasingly titled Barenaked, the one-word spelling somehow making it more musical, contains tracks presumably sung by Jennifer Love-Hewitt and possibly even written, co-written, or just bought by the actress for the purpose of singing on the album. The release is the latest in a series of maddening superstar actor vanity albums by the likes of John Travolta, Telly Savalas, Joe Pesci, Sebastian Cabot, and Joey Lawrence, and the notorious William Shatner release The Transformed Man, which is actually really funny and should immediately be listened to for its covers of "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man" and "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

Love-Hewitt, however, who sings normally and really has nothing outstanding from Britney Spears except her brunette hair, should not be listened to. There's always the possibility that something exceptional is being recorded on Love-Hewitt's CDs that could surprise everyone and make her a huge cult hit, but it is seriously in doubt, and Ted Ted, for one, is not going to risk listening to one to be the one to find out. All likelihood points to major sucking.

The new album release, discovered during a routine search for topless actresses, may be called Barenaked but even the cover fails to live up to that. The chance that the album is nothing more than Love-Hewitt describing herself naked in vivid detail is very low, but ought to inspire a few dozen sales out there at least among her alleged fans.

Love-Hewitt's latest movie, The Tuxedo, with Jackie Chan, looks putrid, even for a Jackie Chan film. Love-Hewitt has made a career out of awful teen-age movies like I Know What You Did Last Summer and the brilliantly-named I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, which is possibly a sequel. The two best reasons to see the films—Love-Hewitt's breasts—can likely be obtained online from the thousands of fansites for the actress run by fans of her breasts, though who is buying her music is still unknown.

Claims that Ted Ted should "get over it" or "let it go," made by office wank Ramon Nootles, were immediately invalidated by the fact that Nootles is not a music fan and has standards so low he himself might own every Jennifer Love-Hewitt album ever released, and even some unreleased singles or EPs or recorded concert audio, who knows. Calls to prove he doesn't own a Jennifer Love-Hewitt CD have remained unanswered.

Love-Hewitt, apparently a well-selling star in Japan, proves once again Ted Ted's theory the Japanese will buy anything as a joke. The Japanese sense of humor, though wickedly ironic, is still a negative factor in as much as it encourages the release of Jennifer Love-Hewitt albums here in the states as well, as do the people who go to see poor-quality movies like The Tuxedo.

In its entirety, the release of the album and the continuation of Love-Hewitt's popularity at least serve as evidence in Ted Ted's belief that society's standards, even as low as they have been in the past, continue to erode hideously. More on this as it develops.

oney, the verdict is in and Hollywood is saying a resounding "Mmm-Mnnt!" to a Nebraska bank robbery in which five were killed and three were left scared out they ever-lovin' minds by three hold-up men.

The robbery happened in Norfolk, a dead town with no night life whatsoever, when the three hold-up men shot four bank employees and one civilian like they were last year's fashions and crashed through the wall in a balls-out kaboom to flee the scene. Another customer was winged in the shoulder in true Hollywood style. Police chased down the robbers in a sweet-ass manhunt that reminds this reporter of her early years. The governor authorized the use of Black Hawk helicopter in a show of force that certainly won my heart.

Yet with all of this grade-A material, don't wait for Hollywood to put this on your local theater screen.

"Frankly, most of it plays great," said Universal Vice-Vice President Armio Durkness, "the daring daylight robbery, the guns and the explosions and the Black Hawk helicopter—God, I'm wet over the Black Hawk helicopter. But the shooting of four bank people? And the customer? Bad move, guys. Makes us less sympathetic to your character. We're passing for now."

Apparently our fearsome threesome have a Master's degree in domestic terrorism, but a big fat failing grade in media savvy.

"Man, it could have been great," said MGM Studio Exec Dandelion Waters. "Three buddy bank robbers in the western United States decide to pull off that one big heist and the evil, corrupt governor—metaphorically speaking, of course—wants to bring them down so he can get re-elected. Sends out every cop in the state, even a super high-tech Airwolf-style chopper. Then they had to go and ruin it by blowing away people. Nobody wants to see that on their news and they definitely don't want to pay to see it at the theater."

Three men were arrested in a town about 76 miles away, but it could not be certain if the men were the ones they were seeking or just a couple of boy-toys doing an honest day's work. If the latter is true, this reporter needs to investigate personally.

The action and romantic notion of robbing a bank in modern America, minus the bring-me-down of the murders involved, is a dangling piece of candy that Hollywood may not resist entirely. Although reaction is slow and moviemakers aren't jumping on the wagon just yet, there is talk that maybe the story can be salvaged, with some Hollywood-sized adjustments.

"If they can make a big scarefest like the O.J. Simpson stuff into a movie, we can certainly work enough magic with the more ample material we have here," said Mike Oliphant, a stubble-faced producer at Miramax who smells like he works out often. "We dump the murders right out, that's a given—do a little more background on the characters, maybe make them three childhood friends doing it all for the memory of a friend who died too soon. You know, cancer, AIDS, that West Nile stuff is big right now. I'm starting to like it. Kind of a 'our last big shot to take the brass ring.' It's do-able."

The real story is being sought by many moviemakers right now, but only to see if there's any usable gold nuggets within. If not, Tinsel Town is famous for making their own brand of gold dust.

"If people wanted reality, they'd watch the news," said Dreamworks consultant John Dorfenfoof. "Or maybe not the news. Definitely not Fox News. But they'd watch something. Not movies."

I don't know why it never occurred to me before, but it's high time I did some inventing—re-inventing! That's right, I'm inventing what's previously been invented already. In short, myself. You will soon meet the new Clarissa Coleman, and I hope we can all get along.

It's the obvious thing to do at this point. When at first you don't succeed, vastly re-define the world's perception of you and try again, with more attitude. If Madonna can keep the world's attention, even moderately, as she hits the downhill side of 40 and shits out two kids, then a young potentially-hot property like myself should be able to come up with a new way to trick people in being interested in me again.

True, the commune thing hasn't worked out at all, at least in gaining people's respect. And writing book is a long job so I doubt I'm going the Carrie Fisher path of book-writing personality, whatever they call those. If I could get one of those ghost writers to write the book for me, but I think they usually work on biographies instead of fake books. And this might sound dumb to anybody who reads, which is practically nobody, but they aren't really ghosts, are they? That's some creepy Hellraiser shit to sell your soul just to get a book out there. They're probably not. But if they were, I would get that Homer guy who wrote "Space Odyssey" to ghost write mine. He's already real popular so he must be good, and hey, it doesn't hurt he has only one name, like Madonna. You gotta respect that.

My first instinct, like a lot of former child actors, is to do more "adult" roles—you know, snuff films. Or soft-core at least. But Dana Plato proved that's a no-go. I don't have anything personal against nudity or nothing, I'm not up on a moral high horse about it, or a horse that's high, and I would certainly do nudity if it were tasteful like that American Pie movie stuff. Soft-core movies just won't re-invent you, though, it always starts out with the promise that fans will see all of you, especially your butt, in a new light and ends in the cliché of the contested accidental death by alcohol and pills in a camper in some trashy suburban neighborhood. Maybe after I fail every other way of re-invention I'll try it, but not yet.

The music thing is a wash-out, so don't expect me to be releasing an album anytime soon. I'm still waiting for them to put out that Clarissa Coleman Gone Reggae album I recorded a few years ago, the one where the producer tried to set fire to the master tape, but they said it was going to ruin my career if I put it out, and possibly reggae music as well. I suppose I'll come back to music when I've failed at everything else, which should take a few weeks more at the very least.

I think it would be great if I can put together a one-woman show, but I don't know any women who could do it. I'd need the story of my life written up in a real funny way with some funky little tidbits of sadness and stuff, which can be made up, I'm sure, to make it more than just me doing stand-up comedy, but not much more. I'm not real funny, so maybe I'd get someone else to star in it and just sort of serve as an acting consultant on it or something. Put Katie Holmes or somebody in the lead role and it would be like a story about me that everyone would like and I'd get a reputation as one of these Hollywood behind-the-scenes powerhouses who touch something and turn it gold. Then touch someone and turn them to gold like Goldfinger and everyone would fear me, which is even better than respect.

These are just possibilities right now. I guess part of the mission of this column is to share this struggle for re-invention with the middling classes out there who don't know what it's like—the pressure to always perform, to receive love through whatever endeavor you can do, preferably the least difficult endeavor you can find. We all fight the good fight to re-invent ourselves everyday, and if you don't believe that, at least shut up and nod along 'cause it sounds like one of those great funky tidbits of sadness those one-woman show fans love.

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