A Little of the Old In and Out

(Ed Note: Thanks Roe935 for clearing up the Laverne and Shirley issue.)

In: Lucy Sykes. According to Fashionweekdaily, "Marie Claire editor-at-large Lucy Sykes is styling the Liz Lange fashion show at the Bryant Park tents this September."

See you in September, darling. (The Corsair blows the gal an air kiss) So, don't now say that I never offered anything nice about La Sykes.

Tennis, anyone?

Out: Catwoman. Or, as Roger Friedman of Fox says purr-fectly:

"The only movie really doing worse (than The Village), of course, is 'Catwoman,' a film that's clawed its way to the bottom. The Halle Berry starrer is a financial disaster of a magnitude that must have Warner Bros. in a frenzy. (The awful New York premiere must have been an omen.)

"'Catwoman' has a $135 million price tag. So far, though, it's taken in only $36 million domestically and about $1.5 million overseas."

Meow. The Corsair still believes that Sharon Stone is the jinx of that minx, even though Halle is accident prone. Sharon has stunk up more theaters than those buttery popcorn smelling ventilators.

In: Hating X-Men director Bryan Singer. It's the new black. Hate on him, why don't you. Bryan may be an ass that gets tossed off the studio lot, but, apparently, he is fun to dish on. According to FlyOnTheWall:

"I got to see Singer in his full tyrannical glory a few years back when I was at post house to view a director friend's rough assemblage. (For you flyovers, a 'post house' is a post-production facility where sound work is done on a film; a 'rough assemblage' is a very rough first cut with only master shots.) I walked in the door of the normally quiet facility in Burbank and heard what sounded like a hoarse teenager screaming and crying in the distance. When I was escorted back to the appropriate screening room, I discovered the screeching teenager was none other than director Bryan Singer, standing on a chair in a mix room and screaming hoarsely at some poor post-production lackey for a minor oversight. Singer was in such a typhoon rage that his words were incomprehensible. But I'll never forget his face: red from crying as tears and snot poured down his puffy face to his quavering chin. He looked exactly like the overgrown baby that he is. Only in Hollywood."

Already posters are giving their favorite "Hating Bryan Singer" stories here in the comments section. The Corsair predicts that blogs are going to make it hard for Hollywood divas (and, their counterparts, "hevas") to get away with all the shit and vinegar they have been getting away with all these years in relative obscurity, ignored by their buddies in the LA press corps. The Corsair cannot wait for an Anonymous casting couch blog, dishing on Steven Segal and his ilk.

Out: Vanity Fair. According to Fashionweekdaily, "supermodel Gisele graces the October covers of both Esquire and Vanity Fair, the former being the magazine�s photo issue." So, uhm, I guess that means that since Gisele is from Brazil (but half German), that this could technically -- possibly, maybe -- count as a Latina cover for the alabaster VF? Hardly. Not "in," but out, damn VF.

In: Stalking Kevin Bacon. Question: Do you ever dream about trapping Kevin Bacon in a dungeon and watching him do the Footloose dances over and over, just for your amusement? No? It's just me?

Anyhoo: First, there was Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. The Game. And then it wasn't enough. It. Wasn't. Hardly. Enough. We Needed more Kevin; the bacon wasn't sizzling. (The Corsair breaks into a cold sweat, sharpens a meat cleaver). You don't know what it's like to be a Kevin Bacon fan, dude. You. Don't. Know.

Sometimes ... when I'm in a Diner late at night. Like: 3AM. And the waitress wants to refill my cup of Joe for, like, the tenth cup. And she's walking really slowly, so as not to distract me from my Guns and Ammo magazine. I ask for eggs and bacon, abruptly, loudly, just to keep her off balance. And when she wants to know how I want the bacon ... I tell her Kevin, get it, Kevin Bacon ... (The Corsair suddenly and abruptly breaks into a very loose imitation of Kevin Bacon's Footloose dance.

And now, (The Corsair pants audibly) the great Gawker (take it easy, Choire) has provided our prey, like a Nabokovean butterfly, mounted... I mean our Bacon fix; tee-hee:

"Saw Kevin Bacon AGAIN (I see him all the time because he lives a few blocks away) this morning, first standing on his apartment building steps peering out like a beacon of light�then following me into the subway (of course he was following me). I proceeded to stalk him into the car he was riding on but pretended I wasn�t interested. He was wearing black sweatpants with a green stripe, nicely accessorized with a well worn green Eagles baseball hat and a black t-shirt and sneaks. He wore his sunglasses and was reading the NY Times the whole time. I watched the other subway riders with amusement to see if they noticed it was him. I think a few were a little startled out of their morning stupor but no one bothered him. He is cute but a rather ordinary, if vaguely hip, guy. I got out in Midtown but he continued on�I wondered if he was going downtown to look at apartments because I saw in the NY Post that he might be looking to move out of the neighborhood (sob)!"

Then, the stalker reports go to briefly Nathan Lane, but quickly, justly, return to fixate on Our Kevy:

"Nathan Lane at Caf� Fiorello in front of Lincoln Center having an early dinner with a friend before his performance of The Frogs. Also, Kevin Bacon walking on the Upper West Side with a dreadlock headed boy."

Dreadlock freak terrorizes Gotham! (The Corsair whips up a frenzy) ... wait till they get a load of me.