A Little of the Old In and Out

In: Jack Shaeffer. Shaeffer spanks Jayson Blair in The New York Times Book Review, with just the right amount of english on the paddle to give everyone a satisfying conclusion, after our loong hard slough of media navel gazing re: his -- his -- plagerism. And although we are a little upset at his recent tirade, which I think is unfair against my comrades, my amigos in media and political snark Gawker and Wonkette, here, at least, he squarely gets Blair for the allegedly unrepentant tone of the book (ed note: I have not read the book, nor do I plan to, but every reviewer I've read agrees that the tone is not repentant, as is it on his other media interviews, which I have seen). But Schaeffer, hey! lighten up on the Edward Murrow judgements on Wonkette and Gawker, who leave me glad at heart in those hungover mornings, not sad of heart, as you say. I have to give the man some credit: Jack Shaeffer was all over the mediascape this week.
So was Editor and Publisher. Those guys worked it this week, turning out the most interesting -- and ethical -- questions to Blair, and holding his feet to the fire over his answers.

Out: Liz Clairbourne Aims to Replace Martha Stewart. The vultures are circling the disbudded golden Guernsey, Martha Stewart. Michael Flaherty of Reuters writes:

"Sofas, love seats and armoires are joining sweaters, slacks and blouses under the Liz Claiborne brand, as the clothing designer guns for big-name rivals including Martha Stewart with a planned September launch of a full furniture line.

"Liz Claiborne last year signed an agreement with home furnisher Lexington Home Brands for 140 furniture items. Liz Claiborne Home products already offers floor coverings and bed and bath merchandise, and last month hired Blockwares LLC to design and manufacture home organizing products.

"'This is an opportunity to replace Martha Stewart,' said Barbara Friedman, president of licensing for New York-based Liz Claiborne Inc. Stewart, the lifestyle trendsetter, was convicted last week of lying about a stock trade, and rivals are taking aim at her media and household goods company Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia.

Look out, Martha!Don't take a shower alone ("and that's not a good thing"!)! But as even as the girl gangs in Danbury, CT are salivating for a tussel, targeting you, look to your home! Watch your back! Liz Clairbourne is casing the joint!

In: Suge Knight's Uncut. Just yesterday it was noted that Russell Simmons is retiring (thank god!) the godawful advertisement for himself, that -- that thing, called Oneworld Magazine (hey Russell, cornbread, how about one last Kimora cover feature for the road?) . Well, Suge Knight has plans to launch another urban title in its stead, reports the Page Sixers:

"MARION 'Suge' Knight wants to start his own magazine. According to allhiphop.com, the founder of Tha Row Records wants to release Uncut, a part-hip-hop, part-tabloid publication. 'Suge wants to do it,' a source told the Web site. 'The major obstacle is that there is a British publication by the same name, so a name change might happen.' Knight will start work on the magazine when he gets out of jail next month. He was sent back to prison in June of 2003 on a parole violation."

Out: Suge Knight's possible ties to a cannibal rapper. Folk's ... I couldn't make this up if I tried. According to the previously mentioned allhiphop.com, "(Suge's) Death Row provided drugs to Anton 'Big Lurch' Singleton, who is charged with the grizzly murder of a 21 year-old Los Angeles, California area woman."

Knight told Reuters that he knows nothing of Singleton, offering this insight on the motivation behind the attempt to smear the name of Death Row -- which, of course, is sterling. (Affects Boston Brahmin accent) My dear, everyone who is everyone knows that Death Row is to music what Skidmore, Owings and Merrill is to architecture, lo ultimo. "They're just looking to get paid," Knight told allhiphop.com. "It's not only just slander. It's fraud."

Allhiphop.com reports:

"(Anton 'Big Lurch' Singleton) is on trial for the murder of Tynisha Ysais, 21. Ysais was found her apartment with her chest ripped open. According to testimony, Singleton and Ysais' boyfriend Thomas Moore, spent the evening prior to the murder smoking PCP.

"On Friday (April 11), Ysais' mother, Carolyn Stinson filed a wrongful deat lawsuit in Los Angeles Superior Court against Stress Free Records and Knight's Death Row Records, claiming that both provided Singleton drugs in an attempt to make him more marketable as a 'gangsta rap' artist.

"Authorities later arrested a disoriented Singleton as he wandered down the street nude, covered in blood."

Nolan Strong continues, horrifyingly:

"Later testing revealed human flesh in his stomach. When Ysais body was discovered, her lungs were exposed and had been chewed on.

"Stinson's lawyer also appeared to back away from the allegations leveled at Death Row in the lawsuit.

"'We're continuing to investigate,' McKesson said. 'If it turns out that Death Row is right -- that there is no connection, we will drop them (from the lawsuit) immediately.'"

Yikes.

And now, from the cannibals to the coutouriers:

In: No Man Can Serve Two Masters. Vanessa Friedman of the Financial Times takes us deep within the wine dark ermine robes of the fashion industry, examining the latest crease:

"For the last decade, conventional wisdom has held that the shortcut to brand success was to appoint a designer with an already existing line and identity to a stagnant label and watch both grow; by contrast today's PPR appointments say one designer cannot serve two brands, and talent is grown, not bought.

"'At one point it was the model for a designer to start their own line and develop it and then be snatched up by a large house,' says Floriane de Saint Pierre, president and general director of Floriane de Saint Pierre Associates, a fashion and luxury executive search firm. In exchange for creative contributions to a pre-existing brand, the designer would receive investment in their own brand and management aid. 'But how do you split your time? Your creativity?'"
Short answer: you can't. At least not well.

Out: What if Prince William Came to Live in New York For a Year? Apparently someone forgot to tell William Nowich that we beat the British during the end of the 18th century in a little somethig-something called the American Revolution. Hello?

Anyhoo: What would William do by way of a job? Norwich guesses, "Editorial assisting at royalty-friendly Vanity Fair would serve nicely."

''I wouldn't put a royal below 14th Street,'' says the real estate broker Linda Stein. ''Uptown is safer. The prince needs to get to an airport fast, just in case. He also needs something where the lobby is not too busy. He needs something with a discreet entrance.''

Okay, I'll admit, Norwich entertained me on that little divertissement.

In: Owen Wilson enjoying the perks of fame. Well, Owen was everywhere this week (see blog below), even popping up in, of all places, the New York Times Men's Fashion supplement, in Rome, interviewed by Josh Patner, who writes:

"(Owen) Wilson is no wide-eyed hick. Writers have called him a ''big-popcorn movie star' and 'bankable headliner.' He is an actor who has it all: down-home folksiness and art-house weight, megaplex sex appeal and a deep sense of complex characters. His peculiarly deadpan delivery (he sounds like an old-time character actor playing a boozy cowboy) and versatile presence on screen (he can be ironic and naive) have made for a charmed career. 'Bottle Rocket,' his first film, a crime caper written with Anderson, who also directed, was screened at the Sundance Film Festival in 1993. 'It's kind of incredible,' he says, a toothpick twirling in his teeth. 'Wes and I were friends in school; we'd go see two movies a night. Wes worked in the projection booth, so we went for free. And here we are at Cinecitta, where Scorsese filmed. It's good, man.'"
You lucky dog, Owen.

Out: Will Hillary be Veep in 2004? Although she may win him Arkansas -- possibly -- the Dems need a stronger regional candidate, and New York is a foregone conclusion, a given, even if Dubya picks Giuliani to stand in for an "ailing" Dick Cheney.
But strategist Dick Morris seems to think that a Veep spot is the last chance for Hillary to fulfil her Presidential potential. He writes:

"If Kerry wins in 2004, he will very likely seek re-election. The last time a president served four years and didn�t try to succeed himself was back in 1880 and the president was Rutherford B. Hayes. So, unless Hillary wants to try to mount the first successful challenge to a presidential renomination since Gene McCarthy forced Lyndon Johnson into retirement in 1968, she will have to sit out the 2008 contest.

"Should Kerry be re-elected, his vice president will probably be the Democratic candidate in 2012. All five times, since 1960, that a vice president sought the nomination for president after his party controlled the White House for at least two terms he has gotten it (Richard Nixon in 1960, Hubert Humphrey in 1968, Gerald Ford in 1976, George H.W. Bush in 1980, Al Gore in 2000). That means that Hillary would be out in the cold until at least 2016 and, if the Democrat won and was re-elected, until 2020. She�ll be 73 by then."

"... And don�t kid yourself; the decision is Hillary�s to make. The Clintons still control the Democratic Party. If Hillary wants to run for vice president, Kerry has to go along.
For him to spurn the former first lady would be to cause a schism in the party. He�ll be pulling knives out of his back for the entire race."

In: Kerry's Proposed Lincoln-Douglas style Debates. Locking up the Democratic Party nomination, John Kerry has an interesting proposition. Fascinating, really: hold a series of Lincoln-Douglas style debates across this polarized country and let the people decide. The idea comes through Massachusetts (the historic Silber versus William Weld Gubernatorial race), by way of Ilinois 1858.

The Lincoln-Douglas Debates are, perhaps, our most noble rhetorical moment -- moreso than the debates surrounding the Articles of Confederation, I believe. Lincoln's "House Divided" speech ("A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure, permanently, half slave and half free.") places him as a sort of Moses for Modernity, certainly for African Americans.

The President sets himself up as a bold and principled Everyman, so, in theory at least, he cannot back down or lose some of his edge. Kerry gains in that the exposure -- on equal footing with the President of the last superpower -- feuls his candidacy. It also solves the cash gap of the corporations and the right. If Kerry scores in a debate, the free positive publicity for him, and the free negative publicity for the president would be, if you'll excuse the term, "priceless."

Out: Luciano Pavarotti. Not a fan. Never was. He was cheesy. So, I'll "excavate" an old blog, from December 13, 2003, that tells my feelings better than I could myself:

"Right off the bat I am not going to say that I am a fan of Opera as a species, per se, although the early operas of Monteverdi have moved me, what with their odd sense of acceleration of pace and repetitions of phrase. I have found myself caught in the funk, so to speak, on those occasions, and have been known to move my midsection vigorously, to oscillate wildly, like Courtney Cox in that godawful Springsteen video. No, I really didn't but it sounded interesting, didn't it? No? Whatever.

Not that Luciano Pavarotti would ever include Early Music in his pre-processed cheesy repertoire. So, as you can guess, I do not see the need for his physical coming-to-be in Western Civilization, although I am vaguely aware that he actually does exist. He's big with bored housevives in the Midwest, isn't he?

Anyhoo: The big man got all pimped out for his wedding to his 30-year old ex-secretary, Nicoletta Mantovani (ed note: this is from December 2003). How cliche is that, anyway?

And with The Corsair, the only sins are sins of cliche ... and tackiness ... and Pavarotti is the king of tackiness; his tack is very very nessy. We like to call him Louche-iano Pavaratti, in my little media precinct of one. The dyed jet-black beard is highly implausible, my sweet readers -- highly! --and that fake ever-present smile (sotto voce) so fake, creeps us out. And then there's that cheesy Three Tenors video where Arnold Shwarzenegger sits in the front row, fairly busting out his tuxedo, applauding loudly, sweet, sweet sophisticated readers: That was the moment that Oswald Spengler so tragically predicted, rendered agonically in Decline of the West. Yuck!

Reuters reports:

"'Alice joyfully invites you to the wedding of daddy Luciano and mummy Nicoletta,' read the invitation from the couple's 11-month-old daughter."

Ababymommy. They continue:


"A host of stars, including Irish rocker Bono and Italian singer Zucchero, turned out for the wedding which was eagerly anticipated by Italian gossip magazines and television chat shows."

Well, if Zucchero was there, then it must indeed have been the thing to do on that particular evening.

But the true story -- and The Corsair is nothing if not a bloodhound on the search for scoop -- lies with Adua, jilted wife number one.

Somewhere the well-paid Adua is speaking of things Pavarotti from behind clenched teeth and making broad and fast arm movements as is the Italian manner when emotional issues are involved. And boy would I like a translator to decipher that scoop.

Because we all understand the language of jilt. What? You mean you've never excavated the archaeology of "dumped"? It's just me being bitter? Okay (gets highly agitated) ... : whatever.


Owen Wilson: Behind Enemy Lines in Stripclub Armageddon

Britain's 3AM Girls have the gift that keeps on giving -- pipin' hot scoop! And you thought I was going to say something naughty, didn't you? (winks slyly)

Anyhoo: Owen Wilson is the stud of the moment, according to the 3AM Girls, and, I think, the beautiful Jen Chung (heart flutters), who goes on about him in Gothamist. At the UK premier of Starsky and Hutch, Wilson made like it was the 70s all over again at London's nightclub Trap, and wound up "inviting a dozen girls back to his hotel to continue the party." Keep on truckin', big man

Then, as the 3AM Girls note, things took a rather sinister turn:

"... Although Owen was the centre of attention at the bash, it was a different story the night before, when he visited lapdancing club Sophisticats and tried to make a move on a blonde dancer named Crystal.

"Owen soon found his fame had little effect on the object of his affection. In fact, her furious husband called us to name and shame Owen for breaking the club's 'no touching' rules.

"'Owen beckoned her over and asked for a dance, and, at first, he just seemed to be enjoying himself like any other punter,' the hubby told us.

"'But then he started trying to chat her up and asked if she wanted to come to the premiere.'

"The sexy strumpet laughed off his advances but Owen didn't take the hint ..."

The Corsair plays sinister crime-reality shjoe "reinactment music." *shivers*

"'He started touching her, putting his hands on her bottom,' continued her angry hubby, who asked to remain nameless. She stood up and told him: 'No, no, no! You're not allowed to touch me - that's against the rules.' He wasn't happy about the rejection.

"'He got in a sulk, paid for the dance and stormed out."

"That must have been a disappointment for his companions for the evening, (Ben) Stiller and comedian Steve Coogan.

"'He's just lucky he got to walk out, if security had seen him he'd have been thrown out - and if I'd been there, I'd have knocked him out,' added our outraged spouse.

"We're sure the babes he met at (the Starsky and Hutch) bash more than made up for his embarrassment."

Oh Owen, what would J.C. say about your boorish behavior?