The Best of The Corsair
   
The Corsair's Remote Control Tour Diary
 
USA: Waif Nation
 
An Interview With John Kerry's Hair
 
Mia Farrow's Mission
 
70s tv
 
Dick Morris vs Bill Clinton
 
2003 Corsair Year End Awards
 
Tyson vs. Snipes
 
RZA is Crazy
 
McCain and Kerry
 
Diana Vreeland Loved Soul Train
 
On George Stephanopoulos  
 
Samuel Jackson's Subway Nightmare
 
Trump Loves Pennies

    
And this raucous rant (I was so much better in the old days, no?):
 
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. 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.