When I saw these photos this morning I immediately thought of my friend Lorella who descends into (in my opinion) a disproportionate amount of rage when she sees people out together dressed similarly. Click here if you missed her full rationale.

So here we have Kate Winslet, fresh off her Golden Globe win for Mildred Pierce, leaving LA with her boyfriend Ned ROCKNROLL, like twinsies.

My greatest fear is that over time, you gossip seekers, you will become immune to the fact that he is Ned ROCKNROLL. That it will no longer be as offensive to you the way you forget how much it hurt to break your arm or cut your leg; pain fades, I get that, and I imagine that this pain might recede for you, the pain of the ROCKNROLL, and in its place an affection for the man, and support for Kate as she continues to love a man called Ned ROCKNROLL.

Fine. If you must.

But I feel about changing one’s name to Ned ROCKNROLL the same as Lorella feels about the dressing similarly thing - it’s mortally objectionable to me, that this man filled out a form and scratched out SMITH and substituted it, legally, with ROCKNROLL.

Every time he makes a reservation, every time someone calls his name at the gate at the airport, it’s:



Think of all the conclusions you can draw about a person who goes ahead with a decision like this. And there she is, Kate, breezing through the airport with him in their matching twinsets, not bothered at all that she’s holding hands with a dude who has Ned ROCKNROLL on his passport.

No. I can’t do it. I’ll never be able to.