God help him, he just loves that crazy broad-- Ryan Adams contemplates his marriage, navel.
Ask Mandy Moore, and she'll tell you-- there's just something about the odor of opium and existential ennui that makes a man nigh irresistible.
That's right-- while Ryan Adams is busy chasing a Pulitzer and letting his guitar gently weep, Mandy Moore, the cherubic succubus of all those squeaky clean pop records and pre-teen sex comedies, has managed to wrap her tentacles around Adams and drag him into the unholy sacrament of matrimony.
After announcing their engagement in February, Adams and Moore were married on Tuesday in a ceremony that was kept secret in part because they didn't want anyone there to interrupt this clearly ill conceived scheme, and partly because they over estimate their combined celebrity.
There must certainly have been an audible snicker from the pastor in charge of the service as he approached the "til death do us part" bit-- the on again, off again couple has been canoodling for scarcely a year.
Ah, but who knows. The caddish Adams may simply be looking to add "whirlwind divorce" to his ever growing resume of debauchery in order to properly feed his wellspring of poetic energies. How will this marriage fly? Given Adams' new literary output, we'll likely be able to keep tabs on the two of them in an upcoming book, provided you can stomach the man's free verse.