It’s hard to believe Allstar Weekend would have lady troubles. Even though they have thousands of girls willing to beat each other with flat-irons for a date with one of them. The guys told us about the girl that inspired their new video for Blame It On September.

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Danielle Staub, the controversial star of The Real Housewives of New Jersey has told People Magazine she is embracing her newfound … virginity?

“I’m abstinent now,” she told People. “I realized that with abstinence, if you really, really believe in yourself like I do, you discover your own self-worth. Abstinence means you refrain from any sex — thinking about it, doing it — even to yourself! I’m a born-again virgin.”

Staub says it’s been “over a year-and-a-half” since she’s had sex. It must not be that much of a struggle as she is not worried about a relationship sans sex, because she says the anticipation will be worth it.

“Can you imagine what it would be like on wedding night?” she said. The reality TV star has been shooting the show’s second season, which is to return with a spring premiere. Once “the one” comes along, so will the sex.

“I am saving myself for marriage. I didn’t do it the first two times but I learned from my mistakes. So now, it’s okay to wait,” said Staub.

She isn’t worried about finding a soul mate either, in fact, she’s not even out looking for one.

“I will never find him, he’ll find me. I think the right one will see me. I want old-fashioned courting,” she told People. “It’s going to happen. Have you seen me?”

It’s not like she has time to do the deed anyway. Staub is a single mother to daughters Christine, an IMG model, and Jillian. She is releasing a fitness and nutrition video and an athletic inspired clothing. In the spring she will be releasing an autobiography entitled, The Naked Truth. But sorry – don’t expect the pages to be gushing about her costars.

“There are two sides to each story, and this is mine. They’re not part of it. It’s not about them. My life is my own,” she said.

The Bravo hit reality series premiered in May of 2009 and is the fourth installment following: The Real Housewives of Orange County, The Real Housewives of New York City and The Real Housewives of Atlanta.

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On what was supposed to be a day of rain, Virgin Festival’s Sunday installment thankfully remained dry while offering up what was, overall, a better line-up than on sunny Saturday (best performance of the weekend still goes to Bjork, however).

The list of bands I’d hoped to catch was double that of the day before, so a relatively early trip to the Toronto Islands was needed. After sifting through the first security line, then the ferry entrance line, then the ferry exit line, then the ticket line, then the second security line, I quickly made my way to catch the final few minutes of a side-stage performance from DD/MM/YYYY (Day Month Year). Their sound is an explosive mash, and the band members play musical chairs with instruments, but it all comes together in a delightful mess. The Toronto boys also have a great time, at one point urging the crowd to take back the “raise the roof” motion. “I can’t believe you guys just did that,” quipped the drummer/singer after a disquieting number of watchers joined in.

Crossing the river onto Olympic Island, the site of the festival’s main stage, brought the reggae-influenced Britpop sounds of Jamie T. While not necessarily my taste in music, the singer charmed the crowd to no end, bringing the audience interaction to one of the festival’s requisite English performances after Arctic Monkeys failed abysmally on Saturday.

Next came a set from Toronto’s very own Tokyo Police Club, a band that has enjoyed a huge surge of success, sure to continue growing after their recently inked deal with Saddle Creek Records. They played a tight set, received amazingly well by the cheering crowd, many of whom flooded toward the stage in the minutes before their set time.

With a lull in main-stage action, I headed back over to one of the side-stages for an uninspired set from Blonde Redhead. Not being familiar with much more than their name, I found the music largely ignorable; the most interesting aspect of the performance was a fake, stuffed horse that front-woman Kazu Makino used for a keyboard bench. This band likely translates better in a smaller, darker club, but falls flat outdoors in the daylight.

Right after, however, came a rejuvenating yet all-too-short performance from The Constantines. The band is well known for their amazing club shows, but they have no problem commanding a festival stage. With two new songs (plus the announcement that their next album will be released on Broken Social Scene-populated label Arts & Crafts), they tore through half an hour of tracks from all three of their LPs, including opener “Draw Us Lines,” “Nighttime/Anytime,” and closing pick “Young Lions.” Sadly, they inexplicably ended their set 40 minutes before the following band was scheduled to play, the notice of “last song” coming from somewhere offstage and seemingly catching the band by surprise.

Crossing the river again, I maneuvered through the insanely packed crowd. Since last year, a number of fenced-in areas had been added to the side of the main stage, completely congesting all areas with a decent view, when many had room for blankets (and breathing) last time. Next up was the night’s most anticipated performance, judging from audience excitement, with the Killers taking the penultimate slot. The first (and only) time I’d previously seen this band was at a small Toronto club, opening for Stellastarr, who still plays small clubs. Things have changed. Brandon Flowers is obviously a gifted front-man, but there is a distinct air of entitled arrogance that envelops the group. From the victory parade-like music of their video montage opening to Flowers’ glittery gold jacket, the whole performance is rather pompously over-the-top. The crowd digs it, though, and “Somebody Told Me” gets a bigger sing-a-long going than any other song on either day of the festival.

I didn’t stay long, though, as British band Editors was set to headline one of the side-stages. After another battle through the over-packed crowd, I found a fairly small gathering for the Joy Division-inspired group. Despite the frequent comparisons to Interpol, this band is an entirely different experience live. Unlike Interpol singer Paul Banks, Editors front-man Tom Smith is energetic and engaging, prodding the crowd for cheers, throwing kicks in the air, and generally showing a demeanor that definitely doesn’t find its way through the band’s dark, deep sound. The group seemed genuinely appreciative of the rousing response from the crowd (which grew as they played), and rewarded with a strong, sharp set of material from both The Back Room and An End Has a Start. This is definitely a rising group worth catching on a return visit.

To close the night and this year’s installment of Virgin Festival came Billy Corgan and his mostly non-original pack of Smashing Pumpkins (the reformed group features only Corgan and drummer Jimmy Chamberlain from the band’s original lineup). The performance was the band’s second in Canada since regrouping (they played Montreal the night before), and rivaled the Killers in terms of anticipation. Opening with “United States” from their recent album Zeitgeist, the band sounded tight. Unfortunately, the song spun into an extended guitar solo featuring Hendrix-inspired renditions of both American and Canadian national anthems. It was a little much for early on in the set. Quickly adding to the disappointment was the lackluster performance of “Bullet with Butterfly Wings” that followed. Corgan sounded passionless compared with the song’s intense original version, despite the fact that it didn’t seem to be a slowed-down or otherwise reworked performance of the song. The band was quickly living up to the watered-down standards linked with so many reformed groups (though decades usually separate them from their heydays).

But the Pumpkins’ improved, and with a solid performance of “Tonight, Tonight,” plus blistering shots of “Zero” and current single “Tarantula,” the band proved that there is some grounds to justify their pseudo-reunion. Corgan’s interaction with the crowd was limited to the odd “thanks,” but he put a little more of himself out there for the audience with an acoustic, solo version of “1979″ that must’ve opened many a memory floodgate across the park. Closing their main set was another strong performance in “Heavy Metal Machine” from 2000′s Machina/The Machines of God, which Corgan amusingly transitioned into a cover of Canned Heat’s “On the Road Again.” Clever. After a short break, the band returned for a quick, one-song encore of “Today.” And while the second and final day of Toronto’s Virgin Festival 2007 may not have been the greatest ever, considering the crowds and the cloud-cover, it was pretty alright.

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With a weaker line-up than on Sunday, the advantage for Virgin Festival Day One was in a sunny, blue sky and a light, cool breeze. With only a few bands that I really wanted to catch, the day was spent mostly walking between the stages, enjoying the atmosphere of another concert festival on the beautiful Toronto Islands (versus the sparse fields and dusty bowl of Barrie’s Molson Park, the only comparably-sized/suited venue in the Greater Toronto Area).

I started off at one of two side-stages, catching the latter half of a set from local Arts & Crafts-ters The Most Serene Republic. Lead singer Adrian Jewett was clearly having fun, rolling around on the huge and bouncing around like a sugared-up kid. Their new album, Population (due out October 2 on A&C), was featured prominently, and it sounds great, with Jewett having toned down some of the nasally vocals that grated slightly on their first LP.

After an extended stop at the autograph tent for a significantly delayed appearance from Interpol’s Paul Banks and Sam Fogarino (they arrived an hour and a half late, cruising in on a golf cart), I trekked over to the main stage as Arctic Monkeys finished up their set. The band is certainly proof of the power of the Internet in creating rock stars, garnering huge cheers and massive sing-alongs. But they also prove that this phenomenon of Myspace-sparked overnight success strips away the traditional approach of attracting fans through an incredible live show; the Monkeys are damn boring. They delivered hits like “Fake Tales of San Francisco” and “I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor,” but simply mirror the recorded versions and didn’t even take a stab at audience interaction. Yawn.

Following their set was Interpol, another band short on banter. It didn’t help that the sun was still in the sky when they hit the stage, killing the dark mystique that so wonderfully complements their live show. Kicking off with “Pioneer to the Falls” from their new album, Our Love to Admire, the band put out a solid set of tracks mixed between all three of their records. One uncharacteristically light moment came with a mis-start on “No I in Threesome,” when Banks bemusedly announced, “I don’t know where I am,” and brought the rest of the band to a halt before they tried again.

Yet the real treat of the day (and the weekend, as it later proved) was Bjork, in her return to the Islands following a gig there on her own in 2003. Supporting her latest effort, Volta, Bjork also brought with her an apparent love of flags, as the stage was draped in brightly coloured, mediaeval-style banners featuring various animals. Even her horn section/backup singers (one in the same, incredibly), dressed in solid-coloured jumpsuits, had flags protruding above their heads.

The singer herself bounded onto the stage with the explosion of confetti cannons, dancing emphatically in a frilly, multi-layered frock. Aside from the horn section, all musical support came from just three black-clad fellows, who moved between various electronic gadgets and other percussion instruments. Two big-screen TVs set up on the stage (and also projected on the larger, side-stage screens) gave close-up views of the electronic noodling.

The light show was also incredible, with huge bursts of red flames lighting up the stage during the very tribal “Earth Intruders.” During “Joga,” those who looked toward the back of the field were rewarded by the very neat effect of a green laser light sketching out random shapes and squiggles on the tree canopy.

Bjork herself is an amazing performer, engaging through the songs with endless energy and somewhat interpretive (without being silly) dancing, contrasted her cute, French thank-yous. With a set that also included “Army of Me,” “Hunter,” “Unravel,” “All is Full of Love,” and encore-closer “Declare Independence” (with its loudening cries of “Raise your flag! Higher, higher!”), it was certainly the highlight performance of the festival. Should Bjork return to Canada on her Volta tour, the show is not to be missed.

Still to come: our coverage of Virgin Festival Day Two, featuring Editors, The Killers, and Smashing Pumpkins.

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When Richard Branson, the head of Virgin Group, hit his music festival’s main stage on Sunday, he didn’t dazzle the audience with his usual daredevil antics. Instead of jumping out of a helicopter or rappelling down the stage scaffolding, Branson simply rolled into view on the back of a slow-moving Harley that he wasn’t even driving.

That’s basically how his festival went, too. Months ago, when this past weekend was just a long list of great bands spread out over two days on the Toronto Islands, everyone was prepared for a massively fun British-style music festival, the likes of which this city has never seen. But what we ended up getting was a watered-down version of the UK’s established V Festival, and an event that was so poorly organized it was shocking.

I arrived late in the day on Saturday, just in time to catch the last half of Muse’s set. The band seemed to be pumping some energy into the near-shivering crowd (note to festival organizers: stick to the summer months), though I still don’t understand the popularity of their wailing, overdone Brit-rock sound. The worst part, however, was that the schedule seemed to be running about half an hour behind. And for anyone that’s been to a concert on the island before, you’ll know that the shows are governed by a strict noise curfew of 11:00 p.m.

Nevertheless, the evening continued as planned, with Gnarls Barkley taking the stage in full karate outfits (the band wore white, while Cee-Lo and Danger Mouse stood out in red ensembles). While the performance was tight, the crowd wasn’t all that into it, and even their ubiquitous single “Crazy” fell a bit flat.

Even so, Gnarls played out their full set time, casting serious doubt on the chances of a whole Flaming Lips performance being squeezed in before the curfew. And when it became apparent that the Lips’ elaborate stage set-up would take a while to come together, the doubt grew.

With the clock passing 10:30, the band finally launched into their performance in full party mode. Confetti dropped, fans dressed as aliens and Santa Clauses danced side-stage, and singer Wayne Coyne bounded across the heads of the crowd in his giant, inflatable hamster ball. Once Coyne returned to the stage and shed his bubble, the Lips launched into “Race For the Prize.” Dozens of oversized yellow balloons descended on the crowd while Coyne shot off confetti gun after confetti gun.

But as expected, the good times didn’t last long. A little after 11, a roadie in a Captain America costume told Coyne that he had to end the set – the plug was literally being pulled. After only four songs, the night’s headlining act was finished. Coyne explained to the stunned crown that the band had wanted everyone else to perform – likely the reason no sets were eliminated or cut short – but it didn’t make up for the fact that many had shelled out $60 for a ticket just to catch this one performance. It was a sad, dismal end to a cold, dismal day.

The weather had picked up a bit by the time I boarded the ferry on Sunday. With the sun out and the temperatures rising, it almost seemed as though the second day of the Virgin Festival might live up to all those lofty expectations.

Arriving a few hours earlier than on Saturday, I managed to catch a number of the afternoon acts on the bill. First was Sweden’s José González, whose delicate folk songs have garnered attention by being featured both on “The O.C.” (his song “Crosses”) and in a Sony commercial (his cover of The Knife’s “Heartbeats”). He played those and other selections from his debut album “Veneer,” and closed his performance with a striking cover of Massive Attack’s “Teardrop” (the band was supposed to headline that night, but had cancelled earlier in the week due to immigration problems). Though the crowd was relatively sparse for his set on the second stage, those who did make it over were familiar with González’s talent, and gave him one of the warmest receptions of the festival.

I then made my way over to the main stage in time for Sam Roberts’ performance. While I expected a bland set, now that his popularity seems to have trailed off, Roberts actually managed more sing-a-longs from the crowd than anyone else at the festival. His music does seem more suited to warmer summer days, but few people seemed to care as he charged his way through a set of material off his latest LP, “Chemical City,” and a few old hits, including the standard “Brother Down.”

Next up was The Strokes, one of the later additions to the festival’s line-up and also one of the most highly anticipated acts of the day. The crowd seemed to nearly double in the lull before they took the stage, and it quickly became clear that the boys from New York City deserved a more prominent billing. Though front-man Julian Casablancas wasn’t as engaging as he was for the band’s last Toronto stop – the most he offered was a confusing explanation of how he now “gets” Canada after many trips here – he still managed to put across a tight set of songs representing every Strokes record, with a particularly emphasis on their breakthrough debut, “Is This It.”

The Strokes set was suitably followed by that of another “saviour of rock’n'roll,” Jack White. Making his first Toronto appearance with The Raconteurs, White came across as the most respected and talented musician at the festival. Also featuring Brendan Benson, the band played most tracks off “Broken Boy Soldiers,” and even threw in an intense, powerfully reworked cover of Nancy Sinatra’s “Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down).” It was by far the best set of the day, and left me praying this band returns to town soon for a proper show of their own.

But just as it happened the night before, the day’s high point led directly into the low point. With the main stage set up on its own island, the only way to access the second stage was across one of two bridges. I wanted to catch at least part of The Mooney Suzuki’s second stage set before Broken Social Scene (the last minute replacements for Massive Attack) closed out the evening.

After discovering that the more convenient bridge had been closed for the night – with a heavy police and security presence – I made a beeline for the second bridge at the other end of the park. But after the unnecessarily long walk, I arrived at the second stage to find The Mooney Suzuki’s set-up behind schedule. I quickly turned around and headed back for the bridge.

When I got there, a crowd had formed at the entrance, trying to work their way back onto the island to catch Broken Social Scene. They were being told aggressively by two security guards that this was an exit only, and that they weren’t allowed to cross. After tempers rose, police officers arrived to try and sort out the mess. They stopped the stream of people exiting, and allowed those trying to return to the main stage to pass. Though the delay wasn’t long enough to make anyone miss Broken Social Scene’s performance, it still reflected a nearly dangerous absence of organization and co-ordination.

But as they do so well, Broken Social Scene brought back the love. Even though they had been asked to play with only three days notice, the band managed to bring together their strongest line-up (including Metric’s Emily Haines, Stars’ Amy Millan, Leslie Feist, and Jason Collett).

With Kevin Drew at the helm, they ran through a triumphant set that included “Ibi Dreams of Pavement,” “Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl,” “KC Accidental,” and closer “Lover’s Spit” (though Millan tried to push Drew into playing “Bandwitch” instead). And though it was an entirely predictable performance (Broken Social Scene has played a summer show on the island for the past three years) it was exactly what the Virgin Festival needed to close out the weekend – a good, strong shot of solid experience.

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You must understand, a movie review has two main components: a description of the movie and the reviewer’s opinion (the DVD review had an additional component: reviewing the bonus features).

So I’ll say this with The 40-Year-Old Virgin: I did not find it funny. That’s my opinion. But I will also add that everyone I know who has seen the movie thought it was hilarious and the summer’s best film. Maybe I had very high expectations when I saw the film, since I didn’t see it in theatres until a month after it was released. By that time, everyone had already seen it and told me how brilliant it was. “Better than Old School,” said one person. Better than Old School, my favourite movie? How dare they! So I saw the movie with a vendetta already.

And another reason I did not enjoy it is because the star, Steve Carell, is near-genius in NBC’s quasi-hit The Office, as a prickly irritating boss. But in 40-Year-Old Virgin, he plays a boring, dull, everyman. I wanted that same kookiness that I was used to seeing with Carell. I realize he was supposed to play the dull guy, and he did it quite well, but I didn’t find it that entertaining. Again, others did. It’s just my opinion, one that doesn’t match up with most people who have seen the movie.

Carell stars as the loser, the 40-year-old virgin, who has had many opportunities to alter that unfortunate title, but screws up. Then he meets a single mother and all that could change. It has its moments, but I’ll stick with my Old School DVD when I need a laugh.

Extras: The only real gem is the inside look at the chest waxing. Everything else (“You Know How I Know You’re Gay,” “Andy’s Fantasies,” deleted scenes) is a bit wacky, and worth a look.

andPOP’s rating: 2.5*
Everyone else: 4.5*
Don’t take our word for it, we’re the minority.

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The upper-echelons in Hollywood made a smart move when producing “The 40-Year-Old Virgin.”

It raked in $20.5 million this past weekend placing it at number one at the box-office.

This “smart” move doesn’t necessarily equate a smart film.

Any rational thinking body has to worry, at least somewhat, about the state of the mainstream movie industry when bringing a film like this to life.

The film stars Steve Carrell-you may remember him from, “The Daily Show,” as Andy Stitzer, an electronics store employee who, as the title so blatantly states is a virgin.

His friends do all they can to help him so he can experience what the majority of the adult population has already encountered-sex.

After meeting a woman with potential, a 40-year-old single mother played by Catherine Keener, his hopes are tarnished after the two make an agreement to avoid doing the deed.

Perhaps if this film remains at number one next week it may have some credibility after all.

“Red Eye,” starring Rachel McAdams was runner-up taking in $16.5 million.

“Four Brothers,” starring Mark Wahlberg, was knocked off from top of the box office, slipping to third bringing in $13 million.

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