Christian Slater: ChickenPox Gate
Christian Slater, he who wore a Nixon mask on Thursday, has apparently come down with Chicken Pox!
Most curious, in an almost David Lynchian way, this turn of events. According to the BBC:
"Slater, 34, was taken ill on Friday while rehearsing One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest in London.
"However, its producers remain hopeful he will recover in time to appear in the first performance on 6 August.
"The show had earlier lost its director when Guy Masterson quit the production, blaming stress and family illnesses.
"'Felix Dexter, a member of the cast, was struck down with chicken pox in the second week of rehearsal,' said producer Nica Burns on Saturday.
"Christian and company are in fantastic spirits."
"Nica Burns 'We had hoped that the rest of the cast had escaped it, but yesterday Christian was taken ill and it is confirmed today that he has it.' "
What the fuck?! Let's drink this *alleged* preposterousness in for a minute, shall we? And, while we're drinking (A distraught Corsair haphazardly sips an alluring aged champagne from his icy pimp goblet, to settle his nerves, you know), let's not make assumptions about this, but use logic, like William of Baskerville, played by Sean Connery in The Name of the Rose, which also starred, yes, the man in question, Christian Slater.
Our boy Christian was at Stringfellows strip club on Thursday night wearing a Nixon mask, that we know! He wouldn't take said mask off and, as a result, was asked to leave. The mask is out of character for Christian, as he usually just goes there 'as is.' Often.
Now, the argument can be made that Christian put the mask on for fear that the press would discover him leaving the club, and his wife might beat his ass up. Again. And, to be sure, the London press has been riding him hard on his visits to the ecdysiasts.
Solid argument, that, except, Slater was already inside the club. In private, where, ostensibly, no one has a camera, he didn't remove the mask, even when asked, he voluntarily left the club rather than demask. Bouncers are on the lookout for cameras at a strip club -- to protect the dancers and the married men, you know, fairly serious protocol ... or so they tell me. Ehr. Not that I am expert in this sort of arcana, just so you know.
Anyhoo, I'm not laying down any charges here, I don't want a lawsuit, couldn't handle the lawsuit, really, but isn't this an odd coincidence? And was a highly contagious Christian at risk of spreading contagion to the ecdysiasts? When did he know he had chicken pox, that is front and center, people, in chickenpoxgate.
For shame, if he knew and thought the grim, jowly image of Tricky Dick would provide ju-ju capable of conquering the contagion!
According to the Indiana University Health Center Online:
"Chicken pox is contagious through direct contact with the fluid in the blisters and by airborne droplets that are inhaled. Incubation period is 7-21 days. A person is contagious from 1-2 days before the rash appears and until all the lesions form crusts."
Do the strippers at Stringfellows even have health insurance?
And what of Slater's "English Rose"? Will she soon be developing rose-petal shaped lesions?
I'm just asking. Someone's got to, you know.
Saturday, July 31, 2004
A Little of the Old In and Out
In: The Romantic Lives of Presidential (and Presidential Candidates') Children. Yes, yes, yes, we are curious about Jenna and Barbara and Chris and, of course, we have more than a passing fancy in the choices Those Fabulous Kerry Sisters make, who, according to Page Six, are too hot to handle, having moved on from The Affleck -- yesterday's news, over to bigger game, namely, John Cusack, the man who won't talk to The Post:
"Both of presidential nominee John Kerry's daughters, Alexandra, 30, and Vanessa, 27, seem to have the hots for John Cusack. After Alexandra was seen sharing cigarettes and some kisses with the actor on a bench outside 15 Beacon in Boston, a jealous Vanessa came out and tried to steal him away. A staffer at the restaurant told PAGE SIX that the blond Vanessa tried to sit between her sister and Cusack and was rebuffed, so she sat on the other side of Cusack and chatted with them for a few minutes. Meanwhile, the reason the party was so packed was that both sisters insisted that 35 guests not on the list be let in."
Why are these girls so free with their kisses and why arent I on the receiving end? Or http://www.whatevs.org. Why don't bloggers get respect?
According to Rush and Molloy, Vanessa, just a couple of days ago, was seen kissing up on The Affleck, not once, but twice (The Corsair crosses himself and fashions a scarlet letter), and, mirabile dictu, "he didn't resist."
Oh, John Cusack, resist ... resist!
My guess if that this is all an elaborate plot to sabotage the insurgent Cusack for President campaign with incriminating photos.
Out: Nic Cage Weds Sushi Waitress. MSNBC reports:
"Oscar-winning actor Nicolas Cage has married for the third time.
The 'Leaving Las Vegas' star wed 20-year-old Alice Kim on Friday at a private ceremony on a ranch in Northern California, publicist Annett Wolf told The Associated Press.
"It is the third wedding for Cage, 40, who split with his previous wife Lisa Marie Presley after less than four months in 2002 (Ed Note: Nic almost -- impetuously, like the Aquarius that he is -- remarried her). Before that, he was married for six years to actress Patricia Arquette.
"Kim, a former sushi waitress, met Cage when the actor visited the Los Angeles restaurant where she worked. This is her first marriage."
Hmmm. Three wives; not a solid track record. Odds are he will be Gone in 60 Days, back on the road. We hope he gets back to his edgier indie fare. And his comic book collection.
In: Kelly Ripa is becoming quite the household Hampton's name, of late. The perky milf is gaining mindshare in the tony Hamptons, according to Fashionweekdaily, people are talking:
"First off, and what is sure to be talked about for weeks, is the seventh-annual Super Saturday hosted by Donna Karan, Kelly Ripa, and In Style?s Charla Lawhon, taking place at Nova?s Ark Project in Water Mill. Expected fashion industry guests include Karan herself, Vogue?s Virginia Smith, Perry Ellis? Patrick Robinson, Coach?s Reed Krakoff, Lulu Guinness, Vera Wang, Aerin Lauder, and Stefani Greenfield."
Then there's that juicy New York Post item:
"The crowd at Russell Simmons' Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation benefit began ignoring the main fund-raising portion of the evening on Saturday by either talking loudly or refusing to bid.
"'Everybody shut up a little bit and reach into your pockets deep. That's why we're here, to raise some money,' said live auctioneer Chevy Chase upon starting.
"But the chatter went on and the offers continued to flatline and Chase grew increasingly irate. Finally, a fed-up Simmons grabbed one of the microphones onstage, looked into the eyes of the well-heeled crowd and delivered a stinging message:
"'The basis of your life is what you give ? and life gives to the givers and takes from the takers,' he said. 'All of those who have success and can't share are not really rich.'
"Then, waddaya know, the next round of bidding for a 2.5-carat Hello Kitty diamond pendant ? designed by Russell's wife, Kimora Lee ? became fierce. The opening bid of $5,000 quickly zipped to $20,000 with the pendant finally secured by Mark Consuelos, the husband of host Kelly Ripa.
"'Oh, you are going to be rewarded tonight,' Ripa told her hubby."
The Corsair, quite frankly, wonders when Ripa has time to breathe, to digest food, or even to in between Reeg, the kids, the husband, Hope and Faith, the Jimmy Choos, and now, a budding career as a Hampton's socialite and party host. We like Ripa, who is as ambitious as she is overwhelmingly cute.
Out: Nick Carter, lunkhead, ex boy bander. Paris Hilton has launched a major -- if covert -- little PR war against Nick Carter, according to the Post's Paula Froelich:
"A bruised and battered Paris Hilton is telling pals ex-boyfriend Nick Carter hit her, leaving the ugly marks on her face and arms.
"In photos, Hilton has an obviously swollen lip and bruises up and down both arms.
"She has said the bruising came in Los Angeles Monday evening, after she and Carter joined pal Amanda Demme at the Argyle Hotel, where Demme throws a weekly party.
"'They were dirty dancing together,' said one Argyle spy. 'They were very lovey-dovey, staring into each other's eyes. We all thought they were back together.'
"But after Hilton and the ex-Backstreet Boy left the Argyle to party at another club, Joseph's, the mood turned sour.
"'Nick wanted to leave, Paris didn't,' said a Hilton pal, adding, 'Nick forced Paris to leave, he made her get in a cab with him.'
"Hilton alleges to friends Carter later lost his temper.
"Friends say Hilton is 'scared to death.'
"The pal added: 'He has major anger-management issues . . . We have seen bruises on her before and asked her about them. She has always denied it ? until now.'"
In: Chris Heinz, the red hot bachelor and man-about-town, the new JFK, Jr. According to Fashionweekdaily, he is slated to attend the Mercedes-Benz Polo Challenge, week 3, hosted by the Hilton family (Paris, Darling Nikki, Kathy and Rick Hilton are hosting, pooling their collective well-knowness in an act of strength; we wouldn't suggest you take the opportunity to corner Paris and ask if indeed it is true that Nick Carter physically assaulted her during their stormy on-again, off again relationship). Of all the Heinz clan, Chris is the most out there, and, of course, the ladies take notice.
Out: Mike Tyson. The AP sums it up nicely:
In: The Romantic Lives of Presidential (and Presidential Candidates') Children. Yes, yes, yes, we are curious about Jenna and Barbara and Chris and, of course, we have more than a passing fancy in the choices Those Fabulous Kerry Sisters make, who, according to Page Six, are too hot to handle, having moved on from The Affleck -- yesterday's news, over to bigger game, namely, John Cusack, the man who won't talk to The Post:
"Both of presidential nominee John Kerry's daughters, Alexandra, 30, and Vanessa, 27, seem to have the hots for John Cusack. After Alexandra was seen sharing cigarettes and some kisses with the actor on a bench outside 15 Beacon in Boston, a jealous Vanessa came out and tried to steal him away. A staffer at the restaurant told PAGE SIX that the blond Vanessa tried to sit between her sister and Cusack and was rebuffed, so she sat on the other side of Cusack and chatted with them for a few minutes. Meanwhile, the reason the party was so packed was that both sisters insisted that 35 guests not on the list be let in."
Why are these girls so free with their kisses and why arent I on the receiving end? Or http://www.whatevs.org. Why don't bloggers get respect?
According to Rush and Molloy, Vanessa, just a couple of days ago, was seen kissing up on The Affleck, not once, but twice (The Corsair crosses himself and fashions a scarlet letter), and, mirabile dictu, "he didn't resist."
Oh, John Cusack, resist ... resist!
My guess if that this is all an elaborate plot to sabotage the insurgent Cusack for President campaign with incriminating photos.
Out: Nic Cage Weds Sushi Waitress. MSNBC reports:
"Oscar-winning actor Nicolas Cage has married for the third time.
The 'Leaving Las Vegas' star wed 20-year-old Alice Kim on Friday at a private ceremony on a ranch in Northern California, publicist Annett Wolf told The Associated Press.
"It is the third wedding for Cage, 40, who split with his previous wife Lisa Marie Presley after less than four months in 2002 (Ed Note: Nic almost -- impetuously, like the Aquarius that he is -- remarried her). Before that, he was married for six years to actress Patricia Arquette.
"Kim, a former sushi waitress, met Cage when the actor visited the Los Angeles restaurant where she worked. This is her first marriage."
Hmmm. Three wives; not a solid track record. Odds are he will be Gone in 60 Days, back on the road. We hope he gets back to his edgier indie fare. And his comic book collection.
In: Kelly Ripa is becoming quite the household Hampton's name, of late. The perky milf is gaining mindshare in the tony Hamptons, according to Fashionweekdaily, people are talking:
"First off, and what is sure to be talked about for weeks, is the seventh-annual Super Saturday hosted by Donna Karan, Kelly Ripa, and In Style?s Charla Lawhon, taking place at Nova?s Ark Project in Water Mill. Expected fashion industry guests include Karan herself, Vogue?s Virginia Smith, Perry Ellis? Patrick Robinson, Coach?s Reed Krakoff, Lulu Guinness, Vera Wang, Aerin Lauder, and Stefani Greenfield."
Then there's that juicy New York Post item:
"The crowd at Russell Simmons' Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation benefit began ignoring the main fund-raising portion of the evening on Saturday by either talking loudly or refusing to bid.
"'Everybody shut up a little bit and reach into your pockets deep. That's why we're here, to raise some money,' said live auctioneer Chevy Chase upon starting.
"But the chatter went on and the offers continued to flatline and Chase grew increasingly irate. Finally, a fed-up Simmons grabbed one of the microphones onstage, looked into the eyes of the well-heeled crowd and delivered a stinging message:
"'The basis of your life is what you give ? and life gives to the givers and takes from the takers,' he said. 'All of those who have success and can't share are not really rich.'
"Then, waddaya know, the next round of bidding for a 2.5-carat Hello Kitty diamond pendant ? designed by Russell's wife, Kimora Lee ? became fierce. The opening bid of $5,000 quickly zipped to $20,000 with the pendant finally secured by Mark Consuelos, the husband of host Kelly Ripa.
"'Oh, you are going to be rewarded tonight,' Ripa told her hubby."
The Corsair, quite frankly, wonders when Ripa has time to breathe, to digest food, or even to in between Reeg, the kids, the husband, Hope and Faith, the Jimmy Choos, and now, a budding career as a Hampton's socialite and party host. We like Ripa, who is as ambitious as she is overwhelmingly cute.
Out: Nick Carter, lunkhead, ex boy bander. Paris Hilton has launched a major -- if covert -- little PR war against Nick Carter, according to the Post's Paula Froelich:
"A bruised and battered Paris Hilton is telling pals ex-boyfriend Nick Carter hit her, leaving the ugly marks on her face and arms.
"In photos, Hilton has an obviously swollen lip and bruises up and down both arms.
"She has said the bruising came in Los Angeles Monday evening, after she and Carter joined pal Amanda Demme at the Argyle Hotel, where Demme throws a weekly party.
"'They were dirty dancing together,' said one Argyle spy. 'They were very lovey-dovey, staring into each other's eyes. We all thought they were back together.'
"But after Hilton and the ex-Backstreet Boy left the Argyle to party at another club, Joseph's, the mood turned sour.
"'Nick wanted to leave, Paris didn't,' said a Hilton pal, adding, 'Nick forced Paris to leave, he made her get in a cab with him.'
"Hilton alleges to friends Carter later lost his temper.
"Friends say Hilton is 'scared to death.'
"The pal added: 'He has major anger-management issues . . . We have seen bruises on her before and asked her about them. She has always denied it ? until now.'"
In: Chris Heinz, the red hot bachelor and man-about-town, the new JFK, Jr. According to Fashionweekdaily, he is slated to attend the Mercedes-Benz Polo Challenge, week 3, hosted by the Hilton family (Paris, Darling Nikki, Kathy and Rick Hilton are hosting, pooling their collective well-knowness in an act of strength; we wouldn't suggest you take the opportunity to corner Paris and ask if indeed it is true that Nick Carter physically assaulted her during their stormy on-again, off again relationship). Of all the Heinz clan, Chris is the most out there, and, of course, the ladies take notice.
Out: Mike Tyson. The AP sums it up nicely:
"A comeback born out of financial desperation didn't go past the fourth round Friday night when an unheralded British heavyweight by the name of Danny Williams knocked Tyson out with a savagery that may have once and for all exposed Tyson as a shot fighter."
Of course, Tyson, unlike Ali, likes to "party" while training. Anyhoo, it's time for Tyson to retire from boxing, and approach Viacom Executives about doing a BET Reality Series, called Like Mike, chronicling your life. And cut me in for a taste, as I came up with the idea.
If you are into blood sports, this is the best analysis of how Tyson could get back in the game.
In: African Americans generally don't stalk. If you haven't already, check out the link, as I've made some additions, and you know how funny a potential stalker situation can be.
Out: I like Roger Friedman, he's a great gossip columnist, but he made a glaring mistake the other day that Fox News hasn't corrected when giving his report backstage at the Democratic Convention in Boston:
"... One heart-stoppingly strange moment came when former Clinton secretary of state Janet Reno attempted to come down the stairs close to where the New York delegation was sitting, only to be met by the ascending Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs, who was wearing his 'Vote or Die' T-shirt, and seemed to be interviewing people for MTV.
"'He probably thought she was Will Ferrell in drag,' one onlooker quipped."
Reno was, of course, the Attorney General of the United States, Madeline Albright was at State.
In: Stereogum on John Water's new homage to Baltimore, "head injuries and sex-addicts in blue-collar Baltimore." I never thought Selma Blair could ever be so ... busty.
Friday, July 30, 2004
Entourages Are the New Black
The Lil Kim perjury trial involving her entourage was postponed this week until February, which was bad news for entourages in general, but there are several other mitigating factors that ought to be taken into account when rendering a final verdict on the social merits of that significant cultural artifact, the entourage.
The Corsair puts on his culturall anthropologist hat, then tips it to the side, at a 45 degree-angle, giving it a little "Fosse," a little Kevin Federline flavor, if you will.
Frankly, The Corsair believes that even the exquisitely witty Thorstein Veblen, the patron saint of snarky bloggers, would agree that it is indeed a good time in general to be a celebrity tag along. Why, the excess pussy runoff alone (okay, that does sound kind of gross) makes this a noteworthy career option that "merit un detour."
For one, HBO renewed Entourage for a second season, validating their existence.
Second, to be sure, entourages were all over the DNC convention in Boston, like ugly on Congressman Tom Delay. Diddy's alone filled 4 golf carts. The Affleck's peeps were on DefCon 3, separating the wheat from the chaff. Chris Heinz's were busy fending off young women determined to sperate him from his trust fund. But the most symbolic of symbols: Kerry's "Band of Brothers" -- Can anyone say "entourage"? -- was in full effect, ending the Convention, providing the most glorious of photo ops; yes, the entourage is no longer relegated to the music and movie industry: the entourage has infected our body politic.
P Diddy's entourage, it has been said, rivals Christ's. Although his people are far from saintly, truth be told, and they are probably not as loyal as that charismatic Jesus', just ask Joyce Wadler of the NY Times, who took an elbow to the chops from an unruly yes-man. But they tend to have a Spaniel-like fidelity to the one who pays the bills, and, as The Old Gray Lady says, where the star goes, so does their entourage, and, depending on the drawing power of the star, executives may have to rearrange plans:
"Ocean MacAdams, vice president for news for MTV ... was trying to secure Thursday floor passes for P. Diddy's entourage. Mr. MacAdams admitted that he had offered two concert tickets in exchange for floor passes but was turned down. "
Here's what I wrote about entourages way back in December:
"Entourages are the new black. There a must get, they suggest that people want to be around you, fodder over you, protect you, because you are rich and famous and, it logically follows, fabulously interesting. You don't have to say it's all about me when you have an entourage around you -- it is simply taken for granted.
"An entourage implies money -- how else would one be able to keep beefy bodyguards in the Cristal and swordfish and 'the sticky ickey'; how else could one clothe, bejewel and perfume a gaggle of models, pay the cellphone bills of a murder of publicists and 'guys from around the way'?
"The ultimate in entourage chic, as here demonstrated by (Charlize) Theron (2nd Item), is the fact that one's entourage grows, evolves, as the night progresses, into an unwieldy mass. You meet people and people want to meet you. People change, as 'social philosopher' Ritchie Rich once observed to me at a Pseudo.com show taping: so why can't one's entourage reflect the social evolution that a hipster makes during the course of one boozy evening? Apparently a member of Theron's entourage -- who just kind of got absorbed into her gang during the course of an evening, kicked Brazilian paparazzo Laura Giannoni in the leg at Viscaya Lounge in New York.
"Theron, that hipster, probably doesn't even know who was in the entourage that evening, the Page Sixers wrote:'Giannoni filed a police report at the 13th Precinct. 'They took pictures of my face, but I can't press charges against the guy because I don't know who he is . . . I am distressed, depressed and tired.'"
"Forget the me generation, true believers, where's the cachet in that? It's the entourage generation, baby, who loves you? (Points to The Corsair entourage) they do."
I couldn't agree more, six months later; except bloggers don't have entourages, we have cyberstalkers. But we're drinking milk.
The Lil Kim perjury trial involving her entourage was postponed this week until February, which was bad news for entourages in general, but there are several other mitigating factors that ought to be taken into account when rendering a final verdict on the social merits of that significant cultural artifact, the entourage.
The Corsair puts on his culturall anthropologist hat, then tips it to the side, at a 45 degree-angle, giving it a little "Fosse," a little Kevin Federline flavor, if you will.
Frankly, The Corsair believes that even the exquisitely witty Thorstein Veblen, the patron saint of snarky bloggers, would agree that it is indeed a good time in general to be a celebrity tag along. Why, the excess pussy runoff alone (okay, that does sound kind of gross) makes this a noteworthy career option that "merit un detour."
For one, HBO renewed Entourage for a second season, validating their existence.
Second, to be sure, entourages were all over the DNC convention in Boston, like ugly on Congressman Tom Delay. Diddy's alone filled 4 golf carts. The Affleck's peeps were on DefCon 3, separating the wheat from the chaff. Chris Heinz's were busy fending off young women determined to sperate him from his trust fund. But the most symbolic of symbols: Kerry's "Band of Brothers" -- Can anyone say "entourage"? -- was in full effect, ending the Convention, providing the most glorious of photo ops; yes, the entourage is no longer relegated to the music and movie industry: the entourage has infected our body politic.
P Diddy's entourage, it has been said, rivals Christ's. Although his people are far from saintly, truth be told, and they are probably not as loyal as that charismatic Jesus', just ask Joyce Wadler of the NY Times, who took an elbow to the chops from an unruly yes-man. But they tend to have a Spaniel-like fidelity to the one who pays the bills, and, as The Old Gray Lady says, where the star goes, so does their entourage, and, depending on the drawing power of the star, executives may have to rearrange plans:
"Ocean MacAdams, vice president for news for MTV ... was trying to secure Thursday floor passes for P. Diddy's entourage. Mr. MacAdams admitted that he had offered two concert tickets in exchange for floor passes but was turned down. "
Here's what I wrote about entourages way back in December:
"Entourages are the new black. There a must get, they suggest that people want to be around you, fodder over you, protect you, because you are rich and famous and, it logically follows, fabulously interesting. You don't have to say it's all about me when you have an entourage around you -- it is simply taken for granted.
"An entourage implies money -- how else would one be able to keep beefy bodyguards in the Cristal and swordfish and 'the sticky ickey'; how else could one clothe, bejewel and perfume a gaggle of models, pay the cellphone bills of a murder of publicists and 'guys from around the way'?
"The ultimate in entourage chic, as here demonstrated by (Charlize) Theron (2nd Item), is the fact that one's entourage grows, evolves, as the night progresses, into an unwieldy mass. You meet people and people want to meet you. People change, as 'social philosopher' Ritchie Rich once observed to me at a Pseudo.com show taping: so why can't one's entourage reflect the social evolution that a hipster makes during the course of one boozy evening? Apparently a member of Theron's entourage -- who just kind of got absorbed into her gang during the course of an evening, kicked Brazilian paparazzo Laura Giannoni in the leg at Viscaya Lounge in New York.
"Theron, that hipster, probably doesn't even know who was in the entourage that evening, the Page Sixers wrote:'Giannoni filed a police report at the 13th Precinct. 'They took pictures of my face, but I can't press charges against the guy because I don't know who he is . . . I am distressed, depressed and tired.'"
"Forget the me generation, true believers, where's the cachet in that? It's the entourage generation, baby, who loves you? (Points to The Corsair entourage) they do."
I couldn't agree more, six months later; except bloggers don't have entourages, we have cyberstalkers. But we're drinking milk.
Ben Affleck Watch
According to The Boston Globe, or, as they call it there there, "the Bahrston Globe," (okay, bot my best stuff, but that's what you get for expecting me to be funny on Friday, procrastinating, with work deadlines looming like Michael Jackson at a puppet show)
The Affleck, The Globe tells us, has special dietary needs:
"Chef Gabriel Frasca prepared a special dinner for Affleck: rosemary chicken with seasonal roasted vegetables prepared without oil, because Affleck is trying to be healthy, he told the staff."
And, no, Ben Affleck did not say to Frasca, "Now go get me some Cambodian Breast Milk." That simply did not happen, no matter what Matt Drudge says.
God bless The Globe, which, quite frankly, rocked with it's Convention and party coverage. They really deserve some Pulitzers thrown their way.
According to the AP (2nd story), The Affleck attended the damp Chili Peppers concert sponsored by The Creative Coalition and the Recording Industry Association of America, but " ... Ben Affleck made a heavily escorted escape after the concert was done."
And BoiFromTroy, filling in for Wonkette, who is doing th MTV Choose or Lose gig, posted this item on The Affleck, Leo and P Diddy. No doubt "world domination" was mentioned, as is wont to happen when two Scorpios (Diddy and Leo) and a Leo (Affleck), sit around hatching plans.
Finally, Reliable Sources notes, "(at )GQ magazine's impossibly crowded party for San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom ... Fire marshals repeatedly threatened to shut down the party, thrown in a restaurant that held only 240, while rained-upon mortals -- assured they were on the guest list -- waited grousing outside as the likes of Arianna Huffington were swept inside. Seems hoi polloi had to be patient until the boldfacers within (including political offspring Kristin and Karenna Gore, Cate Edwards and Andrew Cuomo) exited and made space. 'I'm terribly, horribly sorry,' a PR rep kept apologizing, 'but a lot of people in there want to talk to Ben Affleck.'"
Damned cheek! One doesn't simply call him Ben (Averted gaze). That's "The Affleck," to you, sirrah, or it will be drawn ancient pistols at noon!
And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is The Week That Was Affleck.
According to The Boston Globe, or, as they call it there there, "the Bahrston Globe," (okay, bot my best stuff, but that's what you get for expecting me to be funny on Friday, procrastinating, with work deadlines looming like Michael Jackson at a puppet show)
The Affleck, The Globe tells us, has special dietary needs:
"Chef Gabriel Frasca prepared a special dinner for Affleck: rosemary chicken with seasonal roasted vegetables prepared without oil, because Affleck is trying to be healthy, he told the staff."
And, no, Ben Affleck did not say to Frasca, "Now go get me some Cambodian Breast Milk." That simply did not happen, no matter what Matt Drudge says.
God bless The Globe, which, quite frankly, rocked with it's Convention and party coverage. They really deserve some Pulitzers thrown their way.
According to the AP (2nd story), The Affleck attended the damp Chili Peppers concert sponsored by The Creative Coalition and the Recording Industry Association of America, but " ... Ben Affleck made a heavily escorted escape after the concert was done."
And BoiFromTroy, filling in for Wonkette, who is doing th MTV Choose or Lose gig, posted this item on The Affleck, Leo and P Diddy. No doubt "world domination" was mentioned, as is wont to happen when two Scorpios (Diddy and Leo) and a Leo (Affleck), sit around hatching plans.
Finally, Reliable Sources notes, "(at )GQ magazine's impossibly crowded party for San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom ... Fire marshals repeatedly threatened to shut down the party, thrown in a restaurant that held only 240, while rained-upon mortals -- assured they were on the guest list -- waited grousing outside as the likes of Arianna Huffington were swept inside. Seems hoi polloi had to be patient until the boldfacers within (including political offspring Kristin and Karenna Gore, Cate Edwards and Andrew Cuomo) exited and made space. 'I'm terribly, horribly sorry,' a PR rep kept apologizing, 'but a lot of people in there want to talk to Ben Affleck.'"
Damned cheek! One doesn't simply call him Ben (Averted gaze). That's "The Affleck," to you, sirrah, or it will be drawn ancient pistols at noon!
And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is The Week That Was Affleck.
A Little of the Old In and Out
In: Elizabeth Jagger, according to British Vogue, which says:
"ELIZABETH JAGGER was spied this week popping into her local Waterstones to pick up a copy of the bright pink and, much to her apparent embarrassment, therefore difficult to disguise book The Intimate History Of The Orgasm. Lucky old Sean Lennon."
Looks like she inherited more than just the lips, no?
Out: Damon Dash. Can he hang? Doubtful (Averted gaze). According to the 3AM Girls, Dash can't score the digits, even with an entourage of man-mountains to give his cred. This is the saddest story that I have ever heard:
"Our spy in West End nightspot Aura reveals: 'Damon was in the VIP area with his huge entourage when he spotted a girl he really fancied.
"'He sent one of his flunkies over to approach her on his behalf. He duly obeyed and told the girl that Damon requested the pleasure of her company. She seemed to think it was quite amusing. She looked over at Damon and giggled before politely turning him down.'
"'(The lady's date had) been at the bar buying drinks but had seen what was going on. It's fair to say he was the possessive type,' our on-site mole discloses.
"He went over to one of Damon's man-mountains and started kicking off, saying: 'Don't you f***ing come near my girl.' Club security had to intervene to stop the situation escalating."
Like I said: Dash. Can't. Hang.
Mixed: Katie Couric. We can't yet tell if she's in or out these days because there were conflicting reports of the elvin Today Show host at the Convention. According to The Boston Globe, Katie got a little nook-nook:
"NBC morning gal Katie Couric and Red Sox chairman Tom Werner had lunch at Via Matta and were spied yesterday holding hands as they walked to the Public Garden."
Which is cute and all, but then, according to the excellent Rush and Molloy, the pendulum swung:
"Katie Couric has made extreme sacrifices for the sake of her craft, but this week at the convention marked a new low: Security officers confiscated the hairspray from her stylist's bag. Never fear - we're sure Couric's perkiness will prevail."
The verdict? Mixed.
In: Estates in New Jersey. New Jersey is the new black; no, wait, I already said entourages were, so, like, Estates in Jersey are the new, uhm, Mini Motorcycle, yeah, that's it. P Diddy just bought one. According to Newsday:
"Hip-hop star and entrepreneur Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs has purchased a 21-room Bergen County mansion for more than $10 million. Combs bought the 17,000-square-foot home in Alpine from financier Mark Arzoomanian. The brick colonial home is set on 3.5 acres with a gated, tree-lined driveway that winds to a circular courtyard.
"The home has three bedroom suites with sitting rooms, five additional bedrooms with private baths and a six-car garage. It also has an outdoor pool with a waterfall and separate spa; a movie theater; tennis, racquetball and basketball courts; a wine cellar, and a 700-gallon aquarium."
That's still less than half the size of the 35,000 square foot Saddle River, New Jersey mansion of Russell Simmons. Not that we're counting, or anything: I'm just sayin'.
New Jersey has a lot to be proud of: Bon Jovi, Whitney, Undrinkable Post Apocalyptic Water, Mike Tyson ... uhm, scratch Tyson, because .... he's ...
Out: Mike Tyson. After tearing through $40 million, he's back, he's broke, and here's what he has to say for himself:
"'I cannot dwell on the past. Most of my past was not euphoric,' said Tyson during a Wednesday press conference. 'The future seems so much brighter than the past. The layoff between fights has not been fun. I have been miserable with myself. My professional life is going great now, though my personal life stinks (laughing). I do not have anyone. I am alone.'
The Corsair plays "All by Myself" by Eric Carr on a boombox, and holds it aloft like Lloyd Dobler in "Say Anything."
"'I am very appreciative of the response and reception I have received from Louisville. It is a little embarrassing and humbling,' added Tyson, who claims to be in financial trouble. 'I have trained hard. I did not train for a short fight. I am ready.'"
In: Alessandra Ambrosio. According to Fashionweekdaily: "Members of the press and passersby alike were in no need of caffeine yesterday morning, thanks to a jolt provided by the scantily-clad Victoria�s Secret model Alessandra Ambrosio. Donning little more than a white miniskirt and fitted tank top with the word 'Pink' written across the front, the model strutted from a white H2 Hummer in sky-high pink stilettos to introduce the company�s new collection of lingerie and sleepwear."
Out: The Gina Lee Swollen Tape, according to Lindsayism, "Just a tip - when the guy says 'I'm gonna make MILLIONS' it's probably time to destroy the tape."
Or the girl, Lindsay; somewhere out there, most probably in Southeast Asia, making the rounds, is an incriminating, athletic Corsair smut tape made while he attended a private liberal arts college in Vermont.
They're just waiting for me to become famous so they can release it, to bring a brother down.
In: Elizabeth Jagger, according to British Vogue, which says:
"ELIZABETH JAGGER was spied this week popping into her local Waterstones to pick up a copy of the bright pink and, much to her apparent embarrassment, therefore difficult to disguise book The Intimate History Of The Orgasm. Lucky old Sean Lennon."
Looks like she inherited more than just the lips, no?
Out: Damon Dash. Can he hang? Doubtful (Averted gaze). According to the 3AM Girls, Dash can't score the digits, even with an entourage of man-mountains to give his cred. This is the saddest story that I have ever heard:
"Our spy in West End nightspot Aura reveals: 'Damon was in the VIP area with his huge entourage when he spotted a girl he really fancied.
"'He sent one of his flunkies over to approach her on his behalf. He duly obeyed and told the girl that Damon requested the pleasure of her company. She seemed to think it was quite amusing. She looked over at Damon and giggled before politely turning him down.'
"'(The lady's date had) been at the bar buying drinks but had seen what was going on. It's fair to say he was the possessive type,' our on-site mole discloses.
"He went over to one of Damon's man-mountains and started kicking off, saying: 'Don't you f***ing come near my girl.' Club security had to intervene to stop the situation escalating."
Like I said: Dash. Can't. Hang.
Mixed: Katie Couric. We can't yet tell if she's in or out these days because there were conflicting reports of the elvin Today Show host at the Convention. According to The Boston Globe, Katie got a little nook-nook:
"NBC morning gal Katie Couric and Red Sox chairman Tom Werner had lunch at Via Matta and were spied yesterday holding hands as they walked to the Public Garden."
Which is cute and all, but then, according to the excellent Rush and Molloy, the pendulum swung:
"Katie Couric has made extreme sacrifices for the sake of her craft, but this week at the convention marked a new low: Security officers confiscated the hairspray from her stylist's bag. Never fear - we're sure Couric's perkiness will prevail."
The verdict? Mixed.
In: Estates in New Jersey. New Jersey is the new black; no, wait, I already said entourages were, so, like, Estates in Jersey are the new, uhm, Mini Motorcycle, yeah, that's it. P Diddy just bought one. According to Newsday:
"Hip-hop star and entrepreneur Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs has purchased a 21-room Bergen County mansion for more than $10 million. Combs bought the 17,000-square-foot home in Alpine from financier Mark Arzoomanian. The brick colonial home is set on 3.5 acres with a gated, tree-lined driveway that winds to a circular courtyard.
"The home has three bedroom suites with sitting rooms, five additional bedrooms with private baths and a six-car garage. It also has an outdoor pool with a waterfall and separate spa; a movie theater; tennis, racquetball and basketball courts; a wine cellar, and a 700-gallon aquarium."
That's still less than half the size of the 35,000 square foot Saddle River, New Jersey mansion of Russell Simmons. Not that we're counting, or anything: I'm just sayin'.
New Jersey has a lot to be proud of: Bon Jovi, Whitney, Undrinkable Post Apocalyptic Water, Mike Tyson ... uhm, scratch Tyson, because .... he's ...
Out: Mike Tyson. After tearing through $40 million, he's back, he's broke, and here's what he has to say for himself:
"'I cannot dwell on the past. Most of my past was not euphoric,' said Tyson during a Wednesday press conference. 'The future seems so much brighter than the past. The layoff between fights has not been fun. I have been miserable with myself. My professional life is going great now, though my personal life stinks (laughing). I do not have anyone. I am alone.'
The Corsair plays "All by Myself" by Eric Carr on a boombox, and holds it aloft like Lloyd Dobler in "Say Anything."
"'I am very appreciative of the response and reception I have received from Louisville. It is a little embarrassing and humbling,' added Tyson, who claims to be in financial trouble. 'I have trained hard. I did not train for a short fight. I am ready.'"
In: Alessandra Ambrosio. According to Fashionweekdaily: "Members of the press and passersby alike were in no need of caffeine yesterday morning, thanks to a jolt provided by the scantily-clad Victoria�s Secret model Alessandra Ambrosio. Donning little more than a white miniskirt and fitted tank top with the word 'Pink' written across the front, the model strutted from a white H2 Hummer in sky-high pink stilettos to introduce the company�s new collection of lingerie and sleepwear."
Out: The Gina Lee Swollen Tape, according to Lindsayism, "Just a tip - when the guy says 'I'm gonna make MILLIONS' it's probably time to destroy the tape."
Or the girl, Lindsay; somewhere out there, most probably in Southeast Asia, making the rounds, is an incriminating, athletic Corsair smut tape made while he attended a private liberal arts college in Vermont.
They're just waiting for me to become famous so they can release it, to bring a brother down.
Christian Slater, Unmasked!
Who can blame that fabled celebrity connoisseur of ecdysiasts, Christian Slater, for wearing a mask when he dropped in for a spot of Ale at his favorite London strip club, Stringfellows. Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name.
That Christian Slater wears a mask is significant, psychologically revealing, really; as actors tend to have a nebulous sense of self -- who else would choose a vocation involving constant protean change, oftentimes three or more serious character studies a year, all this and to live in a land, namely: Tinseltown, filled to the brim with plastic personas who have "people" who will call your "people" about "doing lunch"? (The Corsair does an airkiss, followed by an averted gaze, exaggerated cough, and feigned detatchment)
A mask is also useful because, well, Slater's wife has a penchant for kicking his ass when she gets upset when the red-blooded actor strays from his marriage vow. But his choice of masks is almost Freudian. According to the 3AM Girls:
"Just hours before our spies caught him canoodling with a mystery blonde in London's Nobu, the Hollywood hunk was kicked out of his favourite lap-dancing club, Stringfellows, for refusing to take off his ... mask.
"Bizarrely, we're told the 34-year-old True Romance star was disguised as, ahem, dead US president Richard Nixon."
"A club source tells us: 'Christian has been to Stringfellows many times and has always been one of our favourite customers.
"'He's not keen on being photographed going in or out but he has never resorted to fancy dress before.'"
The Corsair sips casually from his icy pimp goblet, displaying a three quarter profile, shadowed in such a way as to suggest intrigue, by the venetian blinds across the room.
"When the actor, who's currently in rehearsals for a stage production of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, pitched up wearing the rubber mask last Saturday, he was quizzed by puzzled doormen.
"'He told them he'd been in a few days before and had been spotted when he left.
"'He managed to convince staff that it was him so, as he's such a good customer, they let him in.' But Christian's 'eccentric' behaviour continued inside ..."
Did Slater inadvertently channel the corrupt ex-President, thus drawing bad "ju-ju"?
"'It all got a bit strange because he continued to wear the mask,' says our mole.
"'It was a bit disconcerting for the girls to be dancing for someone who looked like a weirdo. So one of the promoters politely asked him to remove the mask.' But father-of-two Christian was adamant that it was staying on.
"He just wouldn't take it off, so the decision was taken to ask him to leave.
"'Christian was pretty good about it - he didn't kick up a fuss and left straight away - and still the mask remained on.'
" ... Stringfellow's flamboyant owner Peter Stringfellow yesterday confirmed to us: 'Yes, Christian was asked to leave the club because he wouldn't take off his Nixon mask.'"
Why do we think that tonight Stringfellows will be filled to the brim with men wearing Nixon masks looking for lapdances?
Comment here or on VH1's Best Week Ever Blog
Who can blame that fabled celebrity connoisseur of ecdysiasts, Christian Slater, for wearing a mask when he dropped in for a spot of Ale at his favorite London strip club, Stringfellows. Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name.
That Christian Slater wears a mask is significant, psychologically revealing, really; as actors tend to have a nebulous sense of self -- who else would choose a vocation involving constant protean change, oftentimes three or more serious character studies a year, all this and to live in a land, namely: Tinseltown, filled to the brim with plastic personas who have "people" who will call your "people" about "doing lunch"? (The Corsair does an airkiss, followed by an averted gaze, exaggerated cough, and feigned detatchment)
A mask is also useful because, well, Slater's wife has a penchant for kicking his ass when she gets upset when the red-blooded actor strays from his marriage vow. But his choice of masks is almost Freudian. According to the 3AM Girls:
"Just hours before our spies caught him canoodling with a mystery blonde in London's Nobu, the Hollywood hunk was kicked out of his favourite lap-dancing club, Stringfellows, for refusing to take off his ... mask.
"Bizarrely, we're told the 34-year-old True Romance star was disguised as, ahem, dead US president Richard Nixon."
"A club source tells us: 'Christian has been to Stringfellows many times and has always been one of our favourite customers.
"'He's not keen on being photographed going in or out but he has never resorted to fancy dress before.'"
The Corsair sips casually from his icy pimp goblet, displaying a three quarter profile, shadowed in such a way as to suggest intrigue, by the venetian blinds across the room.
"When the actor, who's currently in rehearsals for a stage production of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, pitched up wearing the rubber mask last Saturday, he was quizzed by puzzled doormen.
"'He told them he'd been in a few days before and had been spotted when he left.
"'He managed to convince staff that it was him so, as he's such a good customer, they let him in.' But Christian's 'eccentric' behaviour continued inside ..."
Did Slater inadvertently channel the corrupt ex-President, thus drawing bad "ju-ju"?
"'It all got a bit strange because he continued to wear the mask,' says our mole.
"'It was a bit disconcerting for the girls to be dancing for someone who looked like a weirdo. So one of the promoters politely asked him to remove the mask.' But father-of-two Christian was adamant that it was staying on.
"He just wouldn't take it off, so the decision was taken to ask him to leave.
"'Christian was pretty good about it - he didn't kick up a fuss and left straight away - and still the mask remained on.'
" ... Stringfellow's flamboyant owner Peter Stringfellow yesterday confirmed to us: 'Yes, Christian was asked to leave the club because he wouldn't take off his Nixon mask.'"
Why do we think that tonight Stringfellows will be filled to the brim with men wearing Nixon masks looking for lapdances?
Comment here or on VH1's Best Week Ever Blog
Quentin, Michael Madsen, Syringes, Lots of Ass
From a rather disturbing interview with Michael Madsen in Independent Film Quarterly, Issue 7. This throws some light -- of the scarlet variety, frankly -- on the scene in Hollywood, on those who want fame, what they are willing to do for some immortality, and the gatekeepers who dispense with that immortality as they please. Funny and sad all at the same time:
IFQ: Can you talk about the wild times with (Quentin) Tarantino on the set (of Kill Bill: Volume II)?
Michael Madsen: I don't know if we had wild times. We had good times. Quentin likes to laugh a lot. He's a great laugh. Like the night we did the syringe shot in the butt. I'd never seen so many volunteers in my whole life! Every single woman on that set wanted to be the inserted ass. They were lined up and one by one they'd lay down and I'd shoot them in the ass. (It's for the scene where Michael's character shoots Uma's character in the butt before he buries her alive in a coffin) Quentin was like, 'Let me do it. I want to do it!' Now he's putting the syringe in the butt shot. We must have done 20 different women for the butt shot! Everybody wanted to do it. I think that's Quentin's hand in the movie because I had done about six of them, and I was like, I'm going to my trailer. He spent the rest of the night out there injecting! Next. Next. Next. This side. That looks good. He got that from me because the first time we did the scene, I slapped her on the butt, and then I gave her the shot."
From a rather disturbing interview with Michael Madsen in Independent Film Quarterly, Issue 7. This throws some light -- of the scarlet variety, frankly -- on the scene in Hollywood, on those who want fame, what they are willing to do for some immortality, and the gatekeepers who dispense with that immortality as they please. Funny and sad all at the same time:
IFQ: Can you talk about the wild times with (Quentin) Tarantino on the set (of Kill Bill: Volume II)?
Michael Madsen: I don't know if we had wild times. We had good times. Quentin likes to laugh a lot. He's a great laugh. Like the night we did the syringe shot in the butt. I'd never seen so many volunteers in my whole life! Every single woman on that set wanted to be the inserted ass. They were lined up and one by one they'd lay down and I'd shoot them in the ass. (It's for the scene where Michael's character shoots Uma's character in the butt before he buries her alive in a coffin) Quentin was like, 'Let me do it. I want to do it!' Now he's putting the syringe in the butt shot. We must have done 20 different women for the butt shot! Everybody wanted to do it. I think that's Quentin's hand in the movie because I had done about six of them, and I was like, I'm going to my trailer. He spent the rest of the night out there injecting! Next. Next. Next. This side. That looks good. He got that from me because the first time we did the scene, I slapped her on the butt, and then I gave her the shot."
Thursday, July 29, 2004
The Lovely Bones
(Ed Note: This post is inspired by a dream I had last night. )
Call me Geronimo, most famous of all Apache medicine men, but that is a name the Mexican soldiers gave to me; originally I was called Goyathlay, or, One Who Yawns. Perhaps they say I yawned because I never slept-- raiding military settlements and neighboring tribes with wild abandon and impunity, after Spanish troops killed my wife, my mother and three young children. Such is the Apache way.
As the American Empire expanded west, stealing the lands of the Native tribes, I led the Apache's to fight for our land as the government pushed us into Hells Forty Acres, or what the Americans called the San Carlos Reservation in eastern Arizona. We exercised the option to flee and fight, raiding settlements and causing Uncle Sam much consternation.
During the late 19th century, it is said that one quarter of the American Army tried to locate my secret base in the Sierra Madre mountains. Once captured by the honorable General George Crook, I thought that I had honored my ancestors, and my bones would indeed find rest after a life of battle well fought for my Apache bretheren. Alas that was not to be.
Ultimately, after fighting the good fight, I died of pneumonia on February 17, 1909. That should have been the end of things. That should have been the end of things. But it wasn't.
Prescott Bush, father of the first President Bush and the grandfather of the current President, stole my bones, just as the American government took away from me freedom in the final years of my life. This is a crime, this captivity of my bones, which has led me to roam unburied, unable to enter the happy hunting ground.
Prescott Bush stole my bones from Fort Sill, Oklahoma, for the pleasure of his secret society Skull and Bones. I wish to be buried in the Triplet Mountains, but the frat boys at Skull and Bones, the gatekeepers of power, will not let me, an old Apache chief, achieve his final reward. They dug up my body in 1918. My body is at the Skull and Bones Museum. The Skull and Bones Society admitted that it held my remains as early as 1986. The palefaces hold my remains in a glass cage. The Skull and Bones Society log book records the 1918 grave robbery. According to the Skull and Bones log book entry, Prescott Bush, grandfather of George W. Bush, and five other officers at Fort Sill, Okla., desecrated my grave.
I ask the current President Bush (S&B, '68) or even John Kerry (S&B, '66) or even the first president Bush (S&B, '48) to atone for the sins of your grandfather. Please give my bones back to the Apache people, so that I can be buried on Apache land. I was born on the prairies where the wind blew free and there was nothing to obstruct the light of our common father, the sun. I was born where there were no enclosures. And now I am trapped in these stone walls.
Let this part of our history be closed.
(Ed Note: This post is inspired by a dream I had last night. )
Call me Geronimo, most famous of all Apache medicine men, but that is a name the Mexican soldiers gave to me; originally I was called Goyathlay, or, One Who Yawns. Perhaps they say I yawned because I never slept-- raiding military settlements and neighboring tribes with wild abandon and impunity, after Spanish troops killed my wife, my mother and three young children. Such is the Apache way.
As the American Empire expanded west, stealing the lands of the Native tribes, I led the Apache's to fight for our land as the government pushed us into Hells Forty Acres, or what the Americans called the San Carlos Reservation in eastern Arizona. We exercised the option to flee and fight, raiding settlements and causing Uncle Sam much consternation.
During the late 19th century, it is said that one quarter of the American Army tried to locate my secret base in the Sierra Madre mountains. Once captured by the honorable General George Crook, I thought that I had honored my ancestors, and my bones would indeed find rest after a life of battle well fought for my Apache bretheren. Alas that was not to be.
Ultimately, after fighting the good fight, I died of pneumonia on February 17, 1909. That should have been the end of things. That should have been the end of things. But it wasn't.
Prescott Bush, father of the first President Bush and the grandfather of the current President, stole my bones, just as the American government took away from me freedom in the final years of my life. This is a crime, this captivity of my bones, which has led me to roam unburied, unable to enter the happy hunting ground.
Prescott Bush stole my bones from Fort Sill, Oklahoma, for the pleasure of his secret society Skull and Bones. I wish to be buried in the Triplet Mountains, but the frat boys at Skull and Bones, the gatekeepers of power, will not let me, an old Apache chief, achieve his final reward. They dug up my body in 1918. My body is at the Skull and Bones Museum. The Skull and Bones Society admitted that it held my remains as early as 1986. The palefaces hold my remains in a glass cage. The Skull and Bones Society log book records the 1918 grave robbery. According to the Skull and Bones log book entry, Prescott Bush, grandfather of George W. Bush, and five other officers at Fort Sill, Okla., desecrated my grave.
I ask the current President Bush (S&B, '68) or even John Kerry (S&B, '66) or even the first president Bush (S&B, '48) to atone for the sins of your grandfather. Please give my bones back to the Apache people, so that I can be buried on Apache land. I was born on the prairies where the wind blew free and there was nothing to obstruct the light of our common father, the sun. I was born where there were no enclosures. And now I am trapped in these stone walls.
Let this part of our history be closed.
The Page Sixers report:
"Target (pronounced Tar-JAY)... is now selling red Kabbalah strings � like the ones Madonna, Demi Moore and Britney Spears wear � for $25.99. Listed as a 'hot buy' on Target's Web site, the string is 'believed to protect against the evil eye.' Each is guaranteed to have 'traveled to Israel, to the ancient tomb of Rachel the Matriarch, and returned imbued with the essence of protection.'"
Comment here or on the VH1 Best Blog Ever
Buyer Beware: The red string did not keep Kimora out of the big house.
A Little of the Old In and Out
In: Tina Brown. According to The Boston Globe (link via Gawker), Tina (Lady Evans, if you're nasty) has conquered that fabled, gilded city:
"Calling Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton 'extraordinary,' CNBC's Tina Brown, former editor of Vanity Fair, Talk, and The New Yorker magazines, hosted a lunch in her honor at Radius yesterday that proved to be one of the most popular gatherings of the week. Clinton covered several topics in her remarks including national security, saying the public cannot yet be assured that 'We've done all we can do' to protect against terrorism. And on the Bush administration's posture toward funding local police and fire departments: 'What they're giving with one hand, they're taking away with the other.' Spotted at the lunch were Larry David of 'Curb Your Enthusiasm'; Kevin Bacon and wife Kyra Sedgwick; former US senator and Democratic presidential candidate Carol Moseley-Braun; the chief executive of Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia, Sharon Patrick; deposed California governor Gray Davis; filmmaker Michael Moore; NBC chairman Bob Wright; and George McGovern, the former presidential candidate who can at least claim Massachusetts voted for him in 1972."
Ladies and gentlemen of the media, Tina Brown has got her groove back.
Out: Ben Affleck. The Corsair is sick and tired of pulling the Ben Affleck Watch duty, but, I suppose, someone has to, as he is of passing interest. But aren't we all just a tad "Afflecked"(TM)? I mean, The man is EVERYWHERE.
According to the Times Recorder, "Ben Affleck will be with Sen. John Kerry and Sen. John Edwards when they stop in Zanesville for a rally Saturday night." And yesterday, The Hollywood Reporter reported that, "Rebecca Romijn-Stamos is in talks to co-star with Ben Affleck in Man About Town." Affleck, Affleck, blah-blah-blah.
Even Affleck appears to be as sick of his own ubiquity as everyone else, telling the always excellent Rush and Molloy at GQ editor Jim Nelson's party Tuesday night at Boston's Federalist restaurant (The Corsair comes up for air), "'It's too much ... Who wants that? If I saw me, I would turn the other way. I'm trying to diminish it so that someone might actually be interested in dating me."
Oh, look, readers, there he is, at the Fleet Arena, getting kissed by that "Nordic milkman's daughter, with her flaxen hair," Vanessa Kerry, apparently, kissed him "twice in a box at the convention Monday night and 'he didn't resist,' a witness tells (Rush and Molloy)." We might have offered some faint resistance, Affleck, if only as a show of virtue. But the Nordic milkman's daughter takes, plundering booty like it was The Dark Ages. Affleck booty, to be sure, but booty nonetheless.
Christy Lemire of the San Diego Union Tribune sums up our feelings, somewhat confliucted, of being, essentially, Afflecked:
"Here (Affleck) is making surprise breakfast visits to star-struck delegates from Arizona and Iowa, Missouri and his home state of Massachusetts. There he is joking with Boston Globe sports columnist and author Dan Shaughnessy on his way out the door of a 'Rock the Vote' party behind Fenway Park's fabled Green Monster. (And he was inside the park, too, watching his beloved Red Sox defeat the dreaded New York Yankees, 9-6, during a nationally televised game Sunday night.)
"Then there are the interviews on CNN's 'Larry King Live,' NBC's 'Today' show and Fox News Channel's 'The O'Reilly Factor.' He's even playing the role of interviewer himself for ABC News, asking Massachusetts Sen. Edward Kennedy questions about Boston and his longtime friendship with Kerry.
"But the star of the blockbusters 'Pearl Harbor' and 'Armageddon' and the bombs 'Gigli' and 'Jersey Girl' says he simply recognizes the power of his celebrity and wants to use it to help John Kerry get elected to the presidency. "
In: Marlon Brando. In this week's Time Out New York, filmmaker Gordon Parks says:
"Marlon was quite a character. I was in Hollywood going up to see him when on the radio they announced that Martin Luther King had been shot and killed. When I got to Marlon's, he was stretched out on the bed, Brando-style, and I told him that King had been killed. He said, 'King killed?!?' He called the Panther headquarters in California and told his maid to call his gunsmith and order 12 shotguns and 12 rifles and 10 pistols. But then he went back to bed and went to sleep, and so I told the maid not to order those guns. She said, 'I wasn't going to.'"
According to Ananova, Jack Nicholson, who penned Brando's Obit in Rolling Stone, said of the Master:
"'This man was a true sensation.'
"(Nicholson) explains (in the Obit) how sneaking in to watch his idol on the set of Teahouse of the August Moon in 1956 was quite a problem.
"'On that picture, the crew had these smocks and kimonos to identify them, so it took me a little work to sneak in there and watch him.
"But nothing could have stopped me from watching Marlon Brando up close.
Apparently Nicholson has little patience for the Brando weight-watching crowd:
"... What Mr Brando does for a living ain't done by the pound."
You can say that again.
Out: Clint Eastwood. Brother can't hang, according to legendary "burlesque dancer" Cece Walker, in the pages of something called Bizarre Magazine. And it goes a little something like this:
Cece: Clint Eastwood -- can you believe I left him?
Bizarre: At least you can say you dumped Clint.
Cece: My mother has never forgiven me .. we were together between 1966 and 1968, but he was suck a busy man and he wanted to make money. He kept saying, 'When I'm 70 years old I wanna be able to kick back and I wanna be able to direct and I wanna be able to do this and that ...' I was like, 'And in the meantime can you finish screwing me?' He'd be so tired. My ego couldn't stand it, I don't care who you are, if someone's falling asleep when I'm on top, riding them like a cowboy ... that's not right."
Thanks for sharing, ceece, really. On the subject of who are the best burlesque dancers right now, the outspoken Cece said, "For me, Dita Von Teese and Catherine D'Lish are probably the closest you'll get to the real thing."
Another interesting Clint Eastwood factoid: When he was dating actress Sandra Locke (2nd from left), he had her call him "Daddy." Ewwww.
In: Lads, the book, by Dave Itzkoff. According to Fashionweekdaily:
"Move over Toby Young: a new media memoirist is set to debut in September with a scathing book that?s sure to embarrass some major players almost as much as Young did Graydon Carter. 'Lads,' by Spin magazine editor, Dave Itzkoff, is sub-headed 'A Memoir of Manhood' and is a recounting of Itzkoff?s days toiling at Details and Maxim. While former Details editor, Mark Golin and Maxim?s Mike Soutar don?t get very flattering portrayals, it?s former Maxim staffers Keith Blanchard, who went on to edit Rolling Stone, and James Kaminsky, who went on to head up Playboy, that come out looking the worst. There's also the requisite gratuitous slap at tabloid queen Bonnie Fuller, with whom Itzkoff?whose nickname is 'Bitchkoff'?once interviewed at Glamour. 'Her (manhood) was bigger than mine,' the lad notes. The book?s being published by Villard."
Damn, another week, another suckerpunch to the liver delivered with lovingkindness from the media to Canada's gift to the US, Bonnie Fuller. Pow!
Out: Claudia Schiffer. According to British Vogue:
"ONLY the best for Claudia Schiffer. The German supermodel, who is expecting her second child in November, pays ($218) every two weeks to have her ($127,000) Range Rover thoroughly cleaned, inside and out. The Evening Standard revealed last night that Schiffer, who is thought to be worth in the region of ($72 million), pays Lellers Car Valet Service twice monthly to steam-clean the engine, treat the windows to 'restore optical quality', clean and soften the interior leather upholstery with a glycerine-based cleaner, vacuum and shampoo carpets and upholstery, repair scratches to the paintwork and remove tar, buff chrome fixtures, paint the tires black and use an air freshener."
The Corsair would gladly "buff" Claudia's "fixtures" for free.
In: According to Fashionweekdaily, "Charlotte Ronson is to begin designing a C. Ronson for Rocawear men?s line." We are so there. Big fan.
Out: If you thought Bill Cosby's musings on the state of African Americans was inappropriate, or, at least, ventured forth in the wrong forum, wait till you get a load of where the discussion has continued. Ready? Hold on to your keyboards, true believers: That significant cultural artifact, The National Enquirer, has taken up the cultural debate with high solemnity:
"'I think Bill Cosby is saying something he perfectly believes,' Niger Innis, national spokesman for the Congress of Racial Equality, told The ENQUIRER. 'These are legitimate critiques and criticisms that I'm sure he's experienced from examining black culture.
"'I don't consider his remarks racially insensitive at all.'"
I kid you not, The National Enquirer has taken on this cultural debate. I repeat: This is not a Fellini film. This is real life. No fooling.
In: According to Hello! Magazine, another royal is now legal, so, gentlemen, break out the Chateau D'yquem (The Corsair loves him his D'Yquem):
"Monaco's newest glamour girl, Charlotte Casiraghi, is set to ring in her 18th birthday in style this weekend with three days of lavish celebrations in Monte Carlo.
"Festivities kick off on Friday with a private party organised by Charlotte herself at the Stars 'N' Bars restaurant ... overlooking the Port de Monaco. Her closest pals, including best friend Valentine Pozzo di Borgo and equestrian trainer Thierry Rozier, are expected to attend.
"On Saturday, Charlotte's brothers, Andrea and Pierre, have reportedly planned a beachside brunch for the young beauty to continue the celebrations. But it is the night's spectacular gala which is the centrepiece of the weekend. The birthday soiree will be held at Prince Rainier's La Vigie, one of the most prestigious villas on the Riviera. The historic 40-room mansion, famed for its panoramic views of the sea, was apparently handpicked by Charlotte's mum, Princess Caroline, for the occasion.
"Sunday will see the whirlwind weekend wind down, with a private Grimaldi family breakfast at the royal palace. And August 6, three days after her 18th birthday, Charlotte will make her official society debut at the traditional Red Cross Ball."
Out: Renee Zellwegger in her High School Year Book Picture. Stereogum notes that although Zellwegger is a hottie now (link via stereogum via the Sun), she was not a hottie back then.
In: Sailing. Takes me away. La-la-la-la.
In: Tina Brown. According to The Boston Globe (link via Gawker), Tina (Lady Evans, if you're nasty) has conquered that fabled, gilded city:
"Calling Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton 'extraordinary,' CNBC's Tina Brown, former editor of Vanity Fair, Talk, and The New Yorker magazines, hosted a lunch in her honor at Radius yesterday that proved to be one of the most popular gatherings of the week. Clinton covered several topics in her remarks including national security, saying the public cannot yet be assured that 'We've done all we can do' to protect against terrorism. And on the Bush administration's posture toward funding local police and fire departments: 'What they're giving with one hand, they're taking away with the other.' Spotted at the lunch were Larry David of 'Curb Your Enthusiasm'; Kevin Bacon and wife Kyra Sedgwick; former US senator and Democratic presidential candidate Carol Moseley-Braun; the chief executive of Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia, Sharon Patrick; deposed California governor Gray Davis; filmmaker Michael Moore; NBC chairman Bob Wright; and George McGovern, the former presidential candidate who can at least claim Massachusetts voted for him in 1972."
Ladies and gentlemen of the media, Tina Brown has got her groove back.
Out: Ben Affleck. The Corsair is sick and tired of pulling the Ben Affleck Watch duty, but, I suppose, someone has to, as he is of passing interest. But aren't we all just a tad "Afflecked"(TM)? I mean, The man is EVERYWHERE.
According to the Times Recorder, "Ben Affleck will be with Sen. John Kerry and Sen. John Edwards when they stop in Zanesville for a rally Saturday night." And yesterday, The Hollywood Reporter reported that, "Rebecca Romijn-Stamos is in talks to co-star with Ben Affleck in Man About Town." Affleck, Affleck, blah-blah-blah.
Even Affleck appears to be as sick of his own ubiquity as everyone else, telling the always excellent Rush and Molloy at GQ editor Jim Nelson's party Tuesday night at Boston's Federalist restaurant (The Corsair comes up for air), "'It's too much ... Who wants that? If I saw me, I would turn the other way. I'm trying to diminish it so that someone might actually be interested in dating me."
Oh, look, readers, there he is, at the Fleet Arena, getting kissed by that "Nordic milkman's daughter, with her flaxen hair," Vanessa Kerry, apparently, kissed him "twice in a box at the convention Monday night and 'he didn't resist,' a witness tells (Rush and Molloy)." We might have offered some faint resistance, Affleck, if only as a show of virtue. But the Nordic milkman's daughter takes, plundering booty like it was The Dark Ages. Affleck booty, to be sure, but booty nonetheless.
Christy Lemire of the San Diego Union Tribune sums up our feelings, somewhat confliucted, of being, essentially, Afflecked:
"Here (Affleck) is making surprise breakfast visits to star-struck delegates from Arizona and Iowa, Missouri and his home state of Massachusetts. There he is joking with Boston Globe sports columnist and author Dan Shaughnessy on his way out the door of a 'Rock the Vote' party behind Fenway Park's fabled Green Monster. (And he was inside the park, too, watching his beloved Red Sox defeat the dreaded New York Yankees, 9-6, during a nationally televised game Sunday night.)
"Then there are the interviews on CNN's 'Larry King Live,' NBC's 'Today' show and Fox News Channel's 'The O'Reilly Factor.' He's even playing the role of interviewer himself for ABC News, asking Massachusetts Sen. Edward Kennedy questions about Boston and his longtime friendship with Kerry.
"But the star of the blockbusters 'Pearl Harbor' and 'Armageddon' and the bombs 'Gigli' and 'Jersey Girl' says he simply recognizes the power of his celebrity and wants to use it to help John Kerry get elected to the presidency. "
In: Marlon Brando. In this week's Time Out New York, filmmaker Gordon Parks says:
"Marlon was quite a character. I was in Hollywood going up to see him when on the radio they announced that Martin Luther King had been shot and killed. When I got to Marlon's, he was stretched out on the bed, Brando-style, and I told him that King had been killed. He said, 'King killed?!?' He called the Panther headquarters in California and told his maid to call his gunsmith and order 12 shotguns and 12 rifles and 10 pistols. But then he went back to bed and went to sleep, and so I told the maid not to order those guns. She said, 'I wasn't going to.'"
According to Ananova, Jack Nicholson, who penned Brando's Obit in Rolling Stone, said of the Master:
"'This man was a true sensation.'
"(Nicholson) explains (in the Obit) how sneaking in to watch his idol on the set of Teahouse of the August Moon in 1956 was quite a problem.
"'On that picture, the crew had these smocks and kimonos to identify them, so it took me a little work to sneak in there and watch him.
"But nothing could have stopped me from watching Marlon Brando up close.
Apparently Nicholson has little patience for the Brando weight-watching crowd:
"... What Mr Brando does for a living ain't done by the pound."
You can say that again.
Out: Clint Eastwood. Brother can't hang, according to legendary "burlesque dancer" Cece Walker, in the pages of something called Bizarre Magazine. And it goes a little something like this:
Cece: Clint Eastwood -- can you believe I left him?
Bizarre: At least you can say you dumped Clint.
Cece: My mother has never forgiven me .. we were together between 1966 and 1968, but he was suck a busy man and he wanted to make money. He kept saying, 'When I'm 70 years old I wanna be able to kick back and I wanna be able to direct and I wanna be able to do this and that ...' I was like, 'And in the meantime can you finish screwing me?' He'd be so tired. My ego couldn't stand it, I don't care who you are, if someone's falling asleep when I'm on top, riding them like a cowboy ... that's not right."
Thanks for sharing, ceece, really. On the subject of who are the best burlesque dancers right now, the outspoken Cece said, "For me, Dita Von Teese and Catherine D'Lish are probably the closest you'll get to the real thing."
Another interesting Clint Eastwood factoid: When he was dating actress Sandra Locke (2nd from left), he had her call him "Daddy." Ewwww.
In: Lads, the book, by Dave Itzkoff. According to Fashionweekdaily:
"Move over Toby Young: a new media memoirist is set to debut in September with a scathing book that?s sure to embarrass some major players almost as much as Young did Graydon Carter. 'Lads,' by Spin magazine editor, Dave Itzkoff, is sub-headed 'A Memoir of Manhood' and is a recounting of Itzkoff?s days toiling at Details and Maxim. While former Details editor, Mark Golin and Maxim?s Mike Soutar don?t get very flattering portrayals, it?s former Maxim staffers Keith Blanchard, who went on to edit Rolling Stone, and James Kaminsky, who went on to head up Playboy, that come out looking the worst. There's also the requisite gratuitous slap at tabloid queen Bonnie Fuller, with whom Itzkoff?whose nickname is 'Bitchkoff'?once interviewed at Glamour. 'Her (manhood) was bigger than mine,' the lad notes. The book?s being published by Villard."
Damn, another week, another suckerpunch to the liver delivered with lovingkindness from the media to Canada's gift to the US, Bonnie Fuller. Pow!
Out: Claudia Schiffer. According to British Vogue:
"ONLY the best for Claudia Schiffer. The German supermodel, who is expecting her second child in November, pays ($218) every two weeks to have her ($127,000) Range Rover thoroughly cleaned, inside and out. The Evening Standard revealed last night that Schiffer, who is thought to be worth in the region of ($72 million), pays Lellers Car Valet Service twice monthly to steam-clean the engine, treat the windows to 'restore optical quality', clean and soften the interior leather upholstery with a glycerine-based cleaner, vacuum and shampoo carpets and upholstery, repair scratches to the paintwork and remove tar, buff chrome fixtures, paint the tires black and use an air freshener."
The Corsair would gladly "buff" Claudia's "fixtures" for free.
In: According to Fashionweekdaily, "Charlotte Ronson is to begin designing a C. Ronson for Rocawear men?s line." We are so there. Big fan.
Out: If you thought Bill Cosby's musings on the state of African Americans was inappropriate, or, at least, ventured forth in the wrong forum, wait till you get a load of where the discussion has continued. Ready? Hold on to your keyboards, true believers: That significant cultural artifact, The National Enquirer, has taken up the cultural debate with high solemnity:
"'I think Bill Cosby is saying something he perfectly believes,' Niger Innis, national spokesman for the Congress of Racial Equality, told The ENQUIRER. 'These are legitimate critiques and criticisms that I'm sure he's experienced from examining black culture.
"'I don't consider his remarks racially insensitive at all.'"
I kid you not, The National Enquirer has taken on this cultural debate. I repeat: This is not a Fellini film. This is real life. No fooling.
In: According to Hello! Magazine, another royal is now legal, so, gentlemen, break out the Chateau D'yquem (The Corsair loves him his D'Yquem):
"Monaco's newest glamour girl, Charlotte Casiraghi, is set to ring in her 18th birthday in style this weekend with three days of lavish celebrations in Monte Carlo.
"Festivities kick off on Friday with a private party organised by Charlotte herself at the Stars 'N' Bars restaurant ... overlooking the Port de Monaco. Her closest pals, including best friend Valentine Pozzo di Borgo and equestrian trainer Thierry Rozier, are expected to attend.
"On Saturday, Charlotte's brothers, Andrea and Pierre, have reportedly planned a beachside brunch for the young beauty to continue the celebrations. But it is the night's spectacular gala which is the centrepiece of the weekend. The birthday soiree will be held at Prince Rainier's La Vigie, one of the most prestigious villas on the Riviera. The historic 40-room mansion, famed for its panoramic views of the sea, was apparently handpicked by Charlotte's mum, Princess Caroline, for the occasion.
"Sunday will see the whirlwind weekend wind down, with a private Grimaldi family breakfast at the royal palace. And August 6, three days after her 18th birthday, Charlotte will make her official society debut at the traditional Red Cross Ball."
Out: Renee Zellwegger in her High School Year Book Picture. Stereogum notes that although Zellwegger is a hottie now (link via stereogum via the Sun), she was not a hottie back then.
In: Sailing. Takes me away. La-la-la-la.
Piper Versus Snuka: I Thought That Looked Real
From In the Pit with Roddy Piper, by Roddy Piper:
"I remember one time when we were in Allentown, Pennsylvania, and Chief Jay Strongbow was in to tape a segment with me. I always looked forward to working with the Chief. He was a very smart man who was always full of great ideas when it came to our business ... on this particular day he asked me if I had ever picked up a coconut and knew how heavy they were. When I told him no, he went on to tell me that he thought it would make a great prop on (Piper's Pit). As soon as he said this, another wrestler, Jimmy "SuperFly" Snuka, came to mind.
I always used to get on Jimmy's case about being Polynesian ... while that sounds rather heavy and personal, I knew what I could get away with when it came to Snuka. That was the "craft" of the interview. When I mentioned this to Chief Jay, without question, he told me that I should hit the Polynesian guy on the head with the coconut. I forgot about it until about an hour later, when the Chief had someone go to the supermarket and buy some bananas and coconuts. The Chief was really hell-bent on seeing me doing some noggin knocking on Snuka that day. So, with fruit in hand, Strongbow came to find me so we could talk about what should happen on the segment.
"As we were talking I picked up one of the coconuts and realized just how heavy it really was. I thought to myself, 'Wow, this could really hurt,' but then I also realized how great the interview could be if I whopped him on the head with this hard piece of tropical fruit.
"About half an hour later Jimmy came out onto 'Piper's Pit.' Whenever he was on he didn't have to say anything, he just had to look at you with his eerie stare to make good TV. SuperFly was one of those very scary individuals who didn't have to utter a word to be intimidating. I remember starting the interview, but I wasn't doing such a great job because all I was doing was thinking about how heavy and hard this fucking coconut really was and that I had to hit him with all my might so that it would break on his head.
"Well, here came the moment of truth, and I hit Jimmy Snuka as hard as I could, and that coconut burst like a bomb! The instant it hit I heard Jimmy give a moan that came from the depths of his soul, and he started falling back and tried to take the set with him. I'm not positive, but I am pretty sure he was unconscious upon impact. When he was on the ground, I started whipping him with the belt that went around my kilt. When he came to he crawled on his hands and knees and then he finally got up. The Polynesian grappler immediately went bananas and came after me, but I slipped into the locker room, shut the door, and locked it. On TV all you saw Jimmy doing was hitting this big industrial door, then they took him away and escorted him to the other dressing room. I was told that Jimmy just stared at the floor for about ten minutes and didn't move. They say to this day that Jimmy Snuka feels the repercussions of that coconut hit."
From In the Pit with Roddy Piper, by Roddy Piper:
"I remember one time when we were in Allentown, Pennsylvania, and Chief Jay Strongbow was in to tape a segment with me. I always looked forward to working with the Chief. He was a very smart man who was always full of great ideas when it came to our business ... on this particular day he asked me if I had ever picked up a coconut and knew how heavy they were. When I told him no, he went on to tell me that he thought it would make a great prop on (Piper's Pit). As soon as he said this, another wrestler, Jimmy "SuperFly" Snuka, came to mind.
I always used to get on Jimmy's case about being Polynesian ... while that sounds rather heavy and personal, I knew what I could get away with when it came to Snuka. That was the "craft" of the interview. When I mentioned this to Chief Jay, without question, he told me that I should hit the Polynesian guy on the head with the coconut. I forgot about it until about an hour later, when the Chief had someone go to the supermarket and buy some bananas and coconuts. The Chief was really hell-bent on seeing me doing some noggin knocking on Snuka that day. So, with fruit in hand, Strongbow came to find me so we could talk about what should happen on the segment.
"As we were talking I picked up one of the coconuts and realized just how heavy it really was. I thought to myself, 'Wow, this could really hurt,' but then I also realized how great the interview could be if I whopped him on the head with this hard piece of tropical fruit.
"About half an hour later Jimmy came out onto 'Piper's Pit.' Whenever he was on he didn't have to say anything, he just had to look at you with his eerie stare to make good TV. SuperFly was one of those very scary individuals who didn't have to utter a word to be intimidating. I remember starting the interview, but I wasn't doing such a great job because all I was doing was thinking about how heavy and hard this fucking coconut really was and that I had to hit him with all my might so that it would break on his head.
"Well, here came the moment of truth, and I hit Jimmy Snuka as hard as I could, and that coconut burst like a bomb! The instant it hit I heard Jimmy give a moan that came from the depths of his soul, and he started falling back and tried to take the set with him. I'm not positive, but I am pretty sure he was unconscious upon impact. When he was on the ground, I started whipping him with the belt that went around my kilt. When he came to he crawled on his hands and knees and then he finally got up. The Polynesian grappler immediately went bananas and came after me, but I slipped into the locker room, shut the door, and locked it. On TV all you saw Jimmy doing was hitting this big industrial door, then they took him away and escorted him to the other dressing room. I was told that Jimmy just stared at the floor for about ten minutes and didn't move. They say to this day that Jimmy Snuka feels the repercussions of that coconut hit."
The Zeta Jones Stalker
African-Americans generally don't stalk. It's not what we do. Too much planning involved. We are a spontaneous, improvisational people, taking life as it comes along, and having to stalk an ex-lover or a star is just too goddam complicated. We like Prince, but I'll be damned if I'm going to follow them around the country. We can't be bothered. We're easy like Sunday morning.
So, imagine my surprise to learn that Catherine Zeta Jones' stalker, one Dawnette Knight, threatened the Welsh Academy-Award winning actress, claiming she would "'slice her up like meat on a bone."
Gee, does that mean that Catherine is the gristle? Ahem. Sorry. Bad taste. Stalking is no laughing matter, especially when a crazy person is threatening to make Welsh rabbit out of one of our national treasures. And, before she gets all Julia Child with the ginsu, just why -- I ask -- is Zeta Jones worthy of such ire?
David K Li of the NY Post gets to the, uhm, marrow of it:
"Testifying in a preliminary hearing against Dawnette Knight, whom police said mailed violent death threats, Zeta-Jones remained composed even when instructed by the prosecutor to read the letters into the record.
"'We will kill Catherine Zeta-Jones soon!' read one letter, dated Feb. 11, that Zeta-Jones recited.
"The 35-year-old Welsh actress likened the letters to terrorism."
But how can she be a terrorist when she's not even the bomb? (drum roll)
"'This has affected my whole family, my 87-year- old father-in-law, my children, my nannies, my staff,' she said. 'It will affect me for the rest of my life.'"
As usual, Mrs. Zeta is playing The Contessa, a role to which she is distinctly ill suited to play, despite the Oscar on her mantle. The fucking nannies -- plural?! What the fuck, Zeta, what-the-fuck.
If you will remember, true believer, Zeta made the preposterous claim that Hello! Magazine caused "stress, loss of income and damage to their professional careers because of the poor quality wedding photos." In typical Hollywood-surreal fashion, with roccoco excess, the Douglases sued for $3.6 million. And won. Livin' la Vida Loca.
"(Zeta Jones) read parts of all 22 letters. The note to (Barbara) Walters was the most graphic:
"'When we finish with this bitch/whore, she will not be this pretty face actress. You won't be able to recognize her in her cassket! [sic]'"
Well, whatever one can say about Dawnette, she is an inventive speller, no? And in the end, isn't it all about how imaginatively you played this game of Life? .... no? No, I suppose not. And what's up with sending a letter to Babs Walters? Like what is Barbara Walters going to do about it, do a View segment on pretty faced actresses who marry up socially? I mean isn't that the thrice married Barbara Walter's modus operandi to a tee? She invented that game, honey (1st Husband: Robert Henry Katz, business executive; marriage annulled; 2nd Husband: Lee Guber, theatrical producer; married December 8, 1963; divorced 1976; 3rd Husband: Merv Adelson, CEO of Lorimar Television; married 1986; divorced 1992) Barbara Walters is O.G. in that game.
"Another letter was disguised as a simulated funeral program.
"'The bitch never did a good deed,' it said. 'Thanks for nothing, you Welsh bitch . . . whore gold-digger.'" (link via TMFTML)
Aww. Why'd she have to bring up the Welsh? Don't be that way, Dawnette. Welsh is good people.
"Another letter added, 'She will be dead before she'll be able to blink an eye. Michael can finally be happy with his kids when the bitch is dead.'"
Inside, outside ... livin' la vida loca ....
"One letter, dated Oct. 2, 2003, mailed to Kirk Douglas, read:
"'You need to let Catherine know that if she hurts Michael, I will hire people to kill her whore ass. If she loves life, [tell her to] treat Mike right.'"
Livin La vida loca ...
African-Americans generally don't stalk. It's not what we do. Too much planning involved. We are a spontaneous, improvisational people, taking life as it comes along, and having to stalk an ex-lover or a star is just too goddam complicated. We like Prince, but I'll be damned if I'm going to follow them around the country. We can't be bothered. We're easy like Sunday morning.
So, imagine my surprise to learn that Catherine Zeta Jones' stalker, one Dawnette Knight, threatened the Welsh Academy-Award winning actress, claiming she would "'slice her up like meat on a bone."
Gee, does that mean that Catherine is the gristle? Ahem. Sorry. Bad taste. Stalking is no laughing matter, especially when a crazy person is threatening to make Welsh rabbit out of one of our national treasures. And, before she gets all Julia Child with the ginsu, just why -- I ask -- is Zeta Jones worthy of such ire?
David K Li of the NY Post gets to the, uhm, marrow of it:
"Testifying in a preliminary hearing against Dawnette Knight, whom police said mailed violent death threats, Zeta-Jones remained composed even when instructed by the prosecutor to read the letters into the record.
"'We will kill Catherine Zeta-Jones soon!' read one letter, dated Feb. 11, that Zeta-Jones recited.
"The 35-year-old Welsh actress likened the letters to terrorism."
But how can she be a terrorist when she's not even the bomb? (drum roll)
"'This has affected my whole family, my 87-year- old father-in-law, my children, my nannies, my staff,' she said. 'It will affect me for the rest of my life.'"
As usual, Mrs. Zeta is playing The Contessa, a role to which she is distinctly ill suited to play, despite the Oscar on her mantle. The fucking nannies -- plural?! What the fuck, Zeta, what-the-fuck.
If you will remember, true believer, Zeta made the preposterous claim that Hello! Magazine caused "stress, loss of income and damage to their professional careers because of the poor quality wedding photos." In typical Hollywood-surreal fashion, with roccoco excess, the Douglases sued for $3.6 million. And won. Livin' la Vida Loca.
"(Zeta Jones) read parts of all 22 letters. The note to (Barbara) Walters was the most graphic:
"'When we finish with this bitch/whore, she will not be this pretty face actress. You won't be able to recognize her in her cassket! [sic]'"
Well, whatever one can say about Dawnette, she is an inventive speller, no? And in the end, isn't it all about how imaginatively you played this game of Life? .... no? No, I suppose not. And what's up with sending a letter to Babs Walters? Like what is Barbara Walters going to do about it, do a View segment on pretty faced actresses who marry up socially? I mean isn't that the thrice married Barbara Walter's modus operandi to a tee? She invented that game, honey (1st Husband: Robert Henry Katz, business executive; marriage annulled; 2nd Husband: Lee Guber, theatrical producer; married December 8, 1963; divorced 1976; 3rd Husband: Merv Adelson, CEO of Lorimar Television; married 1986; divorced 1992) Barbara Walters is O.G. in that game.
"Another letter was disguised as a simulated funeral program.
"'The bitch never did a good deed,' it said. 'Thanks for nothing, you Welsh bitch . . . whore gold-digger.'" (link via TMFTML)
Aww. Why'd she have to bring up the Welsh? Don't be that way, Dawnette. Welsh is good people.
"Another letter added, 'She will be dead before she'll be able to blink an eye. Michael can finally be happy with his kids when the bitch is dead.'"
Inside, outside ... livin' la vida loca ....
"One letter, dated Oct. 2, 2003, mailed to Kirk Douglas, read:
"'You need to let Catherine know that if she hurts Michael, I will hire people to kill her whore ass. If she loves life, [tell her to] treat Mike right.'"
Livin La vida loca ...
Kimora Mugshot
The brilliant KillTheBird Blog has the Kimora mugshot right here. Ask and ye shall receive. Thanks, Evil from Kill the Bird.
The brilliant KillTheBird Blog has the Kimora mugshot right here. Ask and ye shall receive. Thanks, Evil from Kill the Bird.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Kimora, Interrupted
On the footsteps of the most recent high profile cases involving the Belgian beauty Ingrid Parewijk busted at JFK with --ahem -- "Bolivian Marching Powder", Rush and Molloy inform us now, mirabile dictu, that our favorite whipping post-- that would be Kimora Lee Simmons, that fly bitch -- was arrested for possession of -- how does one put this gently so as not to offend? -- she was arrested for possession of "the stickey ickey":
"Kimora, the fashion powerhouse whose gorgeous nude form can be seen on a Times Square billboard for her Baby Phat line, was handcuffed and booked Sunday night by cops in Saddle River, N.J., where the couple lives."
Well, she is sort of built like a brick house. Her ickey must be the stickiest, considering that she's worth untold millions, no?
The Corsair grabs some unsalted popcorn and his icy pimp goblet and moves closer to the screen, contemplating Kimora's nude form, dry heaving, then mouthing the words, solemnly, as if to some ancient God, "It's on ...".
"According to Saddle River Police Lt. Robert Breese, she was charged with eluding a police officer, possessing marijuana (under 50 grams), careless driving, operating a vehicle while possessing a controlled substance, tail-gating and having a taillight out."
The Corsair could have told you that Kimora's lights are out, he could have demonstrated it mathematically for you free of charge on a flow chart with a PowerPoint presentation. The Corsair has chronicled Her Dimness for quite some time now, and is rather an expert on the subject. As to her "tail," The Corsair would rather not touch on matters concerning her booty.
"The 29-year-old trendsetter, who was fingerprinted and posed for a mug shot, 'made no attempt to stop' when officers demanded she pull over, Breese said. 'They arrived in front of her residence, where she was finally confronted.' "
Oh dear sweet Lord, could someone email me that mug shot and those fingerprints at papermag@yahoo.com.
"Russell Simmons said, 'My wife is an excellent driver, and she's not guilty of any crime. You don't have to grab my wife and put handcuffs on her. Her wrists are all bruised up.'
"The Def Jam founder, whose fortune has been estimated at over $1 billion, said: 'I may be the biggest taxpayer in Bergen County, but I'm not looking for anything special. I just want to be treated fairly.'"
Translation: Next time, civil servant, make sure you use the "iciest" cuffs, with only the most ghetto fabulous sable lining on my precious, she who pays your (averted gaze) little salary. Let them eat vegetarian cakes and drink my power drink.
On the footsteps of the most recent high profile cases involving the Belgian beauty Ingrid Parewijk busted at JFK with --ahem -- "Bolivian Marching Powder", Rush and Molloy inform us now, mirabile dictu, that our favorite whipping post-- that would be Kimora Lee Simmons, that fly bitch -- was arrested for possession of -- how does one put this gently so as not to offend? -- she was arrested for possession of "the stickey ickey":
"Kimora, the fashion powerhouse whose gorgeous nude form can be seen on a Times Square billboard for her Baby Phat line, was handcuffed and booked Sunday night by cops in Saddle River, N.J., where the couple lives."
Well, she is sort of built like a brick house. Her ickey must be the stickiest, considering that she's worth untold millions, no?
The Corsair grabs some unsalted popcorn and his icy pimp goblet and moves closer to the screen, contemplating Kimora's nude form, dry heaving, then mouthing the words, solemnly, as if to some ancient God, "It's on ...".
"According to Saddle River Police Lt. Robert Breese, she was charged with eluding a police officer, possessing marijuana (under 50 grams), careless driving, operating a vehicle while possessing a controlled substance, tail-gating and having a taillight out."
The Corsair could have told you that Kimora's lights are out, he could have demonstrated it mathematically for you free of charge on a flow chart with a PowerPoint presentation. The Corsair has chronicled Her Dimness for quite some time now, and is rather an expert on the subject. As to her "tail," The Corsair would rather not touch on matters concerning her booty.
"The 29-year-old trendsetter, who was fingerprinted and posed for a mug shot, 'made no attempt to stop' when officers demanded she pull over, Breese said. 'They arrived in front of her residence, where she was finally confronted.' "
Oh dear sweet Lord, could someone email me that mug shot and those fingerprints at papermag@yahoo.com.
"Russell Simmons said, 'My wife is an excellent driver, and she's not guilty of any crime. You don't have to grab my wife and put handcuffs on her. Her wrists are all bruised up.'
"The Def Jam founder, whose fortune has been estimated at over $1 billion, said: 'I may be the biggest taxpayer in Bergen County, but I'm not looking for anything special. I just want to be treated fairly.'"
Translation: Next time, civil servant, make sure you use the "iciest" cuffs, with only the most ghetto fabulous sable lining on my precious, she who pays your (averted gaze) little salary. Let them eat vegetarian cakes and drink my power drink.
A Little of the Old In and Out
In: The Mediterranean, baby. The jet set have always frequented the Mediterranean, but this year it appears to have extra-special cachet among the celebrity class. Yesterday's Page Six reported that Lionel Ritchie is in Sardinia, and:
"THE St.-Tropez social season kicked into high gear on Saturday when Sean ("P. Diddy") Combs hosted an all-nighter at Pappagallo. His guests included Denzel and Pauletta Washington (who have chartered Greg Norman's yacht, Aussie Rules), Ivana Trump and Rossano Rubicondi (she owns a small villa in the Riviera resort), P.M.'s Unik, and Food Network star Sandra Lee, who graced the cover of last week's TV Guide. Staying with Combs aboard his own chartered yacht are Lee and her husband, L.A. builder Bruce Karatz; billionaire supermarket mogul Ron Burkle, Bill Clinton's buddy who is said to be an investor in the Sean John clothing company; and Combs' sons, Justin and Christian; and Christian's mother Kim Porter."
And, according to Hello! Magazine:
"In June, (Tom Hanks) and his actress wife Rita Wilson stopped by the tiny Greek isle of Antiparo population 800 located about 240 miles southeast of Athens, and reachable only by ferry or private boat. The pair, who cruised into the harbour of the Aegean Sea hideaway on a luxury yacht, joins a growing roster of celebrities, including Madonna and Angelina Jolie, who have visited the Greek islands on their own getaways.
"And summer isn't over yet. More recently Tom and Rita took to the high seas again, cruising the Turkish coastline on board an opulent yacht, the four-masted, $250,000-a-week charter Phocea.
"The Mediterranean country is growing in popularity among the jet-set, with Uma Thurman and her hotel tycoon beau, Andrea Balazs, recently taking a romantic break in the charming port town of Bodrum."
Out: Kentucky born Johnny Depp crashed his brand new Mercedes in the electric gates of his home in Plan de La Tour on the Cote DAzur, according to the Sun:
"He knocked the gates electric motor straight off the wall and left an almighty dent in the back of the car. Judging by the look on his face he got quite a fright. Once he got out of the Merc he started cursing himself for being so stupid."
Very 21 Jump Street, that. Comment here on on the VH1 Best Week Ever Blog.
In: Teresa Heinz-Kerry. Sure, she used some verbal kung fu to turn around the fact that she is actually an eccentric, thereby turning it into a feminist issue, quite groovy, really, but, to change the subject: is Teresa Heinz-Kerry Edina Monsoon? (link via Wonkette).
Ben Affleck, on the other hand, is all over DC, and thinks Teresa is sweel, he tells the Boston Globe, "'You're not going to get platitudes,' he said, 'and you're not going to get a Stepford wife.'"
Out: Pierce Brosnan. It wasn't a very good week for the Remington Steele, now, was it? According to that significant cultural artifact, The Star, his son was admitted to rehab. On the heels of that bad news, James Bond is a distant memory. And, to cap off your own irrelevance, Orlando Bloom is set to play a "younger," "sexier" James Bond. To borrow from Nancy Reagan's response to George Bush the Elder's inaugural Address, The Corsair bets Remington is asking himself, "younger and sexier than whom." Not a good week.
In: Alexandra Richards, according to fashionweekdaily:
"Alexandra Richards, daughter of Rolling Stone Keith Richards and Patti Hansen is now the face of Versus for fall/winter 2004. Richards, who turns 18 today, most recently starred as the face of Guerlains Shalimar fragrance, along with her mother, Hansen, and sister, Theodora. 'Shes just a smart, dedicated, and focused individual,' said Ivan Bart, a vice president and Richards representative at the models division of IMG (which also owns The Daily), 'And shes got a star quality to her.'
"Steven Meisel photographed Richards for the Italian line geared towards a younger fashion crowd producing a total of six images for the global campaign, which will debut in select September books around the world. In this particular Bill Mullen-styled image, Richards accompanied by models Dovile, Christoffer Fagerli, and Boyd wears a viscose jersey ruched front turtleneck dress. 'Were excited to represent Alexandra and the Versace house apparently saw the same thing we did that shes painfully beautiful,' Bart added. "
Out: Me. How embarrassed am I right about now ? I got into this deep, convoluted argument about the nature of art (bad idea to do on a blog) and the differences between the Ancient and the Modern style of painting, with whom I believed to be Interview Magazine's editor Ingrid Sischy at TMFTML, and -- of course -- it wasn't. God, I'm so embarrassed.
In: The Mediterranean, baby. The jet set have always frequented the Mediterranean, but this year it appears to have extra-special cachet among the celebrity class. Yesterday's Page Six reported that Lionel Ritchie is in Sardinia, and:
"THE St.-Tropez social season kicked into high gear on Saturday when Sean ("P. Diddy") Combs hosted an all-nighter at Pappagallo. His guests included Denzel and Pauletta Washington (who have chartered Greg Norman's yacht, Aussie Rules), Ivana Trump and Rossano Rubicondi (she owns a small villa in the Riviera resort), P.M.'s Unik, and Food Network star Sandra Lee, who graced the cover of last week's TV Guide. Staying with Combs aboard his own chartered yacht are Lee and her husband, L.A. builder Bruce Karatz; billionaire supermarket mogul Ron Burkle, Bill Clinton's buddy who is said to be an investor in the Sean John clothing company; and Combs' sons, Justin and Christian; and Christian's mother Kim Porter."
And, according to Hello! Magazine:
"In June, (Tom Hanks) and his actress wife Rita Wilson stopped by the tiny Greek isle of Antiparo population 800 located about 240 miles southeast of Athens, and reachable only by ferry or private boat. The pair, who cruised into the harbour of the Aegean Sea hideaway on a luxury yacht, joins a growing roster of celebrities, including Madonna and Angelina Jolie, who have visited the Greek islands on their own getaways.
"And summer isn't over yet. More recently Tom and Rita took to the high seas again, cruising the Turkish coastline on board an opulent yacht, the four-masted, $250,000-a-week charter Phocea.
"The Mediterranean country is growing in popularity among the jet-set, with Uma Thurman and her hotel tycoon beau, Andrea Balazs, recently taking a romantic break in the charming port town of Bodrum."
Out: Kentucky born Johnny Depp crashed his brand new Mercedes in the electric gates of his home in Plan de La Tour on the Cote DAzur, according to the Sun:
"He knocked the gates electric motor straight off the wall and left an almighty dent in the back of the car. Judging by the look on his face he got quite a fright. Once he got out of the Merc he started cursing himself for being so stupid."
Very 21 Jump Street, that. Comment here on on the VH1 Best Week Ever Blog.
In: Teresa Heinz-Kerry. Sure, she used some verbal kung fu to turn around the fact that she is actually an eccentric, thereby turning it into a feminist issue, quite groovy, really, but, to change the subject: is Teresa Heinz-Kerry Edina Monsoon? (link via Wonkette).
Ben Affleck, on the other hand, is all over DC, and thinks Teresa is sweel, he tells the Boston Globe, "'You're not going to get platitudes,' he said, 'and you're not going to get a Stepford wife.'"
Out: Pierce Brosnan. It wasn't a very good week for the Remington Steele, now, was it? According to that significant cultural artifact, The Star, his son was admitted to rehab. On the heels of that bad news, James Bond is a distant memory. And, to cap off your own irrelevance, Orlando Bloom is set to play a "younger," "sexier" James Bond. To borrow from Nancy Reagan's response to George Bush the Elder's inaugural Address, The Corsair bets Remington is asking himself, "younger and sexier than whom." Not a good week.
In: Alexandra Richards, according to fashionweekdaily:
"Alexandra Richards, daughter of Rolling Stone Keith Richards and Patti Hansen is now the face of Versus for fall/winter 2004. Richards, who turns 18 today, most recently starred as the face of Guerlains Shalimar fragrance, along with her mother, Hansen, and sister, Theodora. 'Shes just a smart, dedicated, and focused individual,' said Ivan Bart, a vice president and Richards representative at the models division of IMG (which also owns The Daily), 'And shes got a star quality to her.'
"Steven Meisel photographed Richards for the Italian line geared towards a younger fashion crowd producing a total of six images for the global campaign, which will debut in select September books around the world. In this particular Bill Mullen-styled image, Richards accompanied by models Dovile, Christoffer Fagerli, and Boyd wears a viscose jersey ruched front turtleneck dress. 'Were excited to represent Alexandra and the Versace house apparently saw the same thing we did that shes painfully beautiful,' Bart added. "
Out: Me. How embarrassed am I right about now ? I got into this deep, convoluted argument about the nature of art (bad idea to do on a blog) and the differences between the Ancient and the Modern style of painting, with whom I believed to be Interview Magazine's editor Ingrid Sischy at TMFTML, and -- of course -- it wasn't. God, I'm so embarrassed.
Christian Slater's "English Rose"
I don't know what's more sleazy, the fact that Christian Slater publicly cheats on a jealous and volatile "spitfire" wife, Ryan Haddon, or the fact that he calls his mistress an "English Rose." Yuck! That's like a demotion from being called "a hot tomato" by a low grade piece of ass like Geraldo Rivera.
Anyhoo: The 3AM Girls blow up Slater's spot, big time:
"HE'S a familiar face in London's lapdancing clubs, but it seems Hollywood heartthrob Christian Slater is also partial to a lady who keeps her clothes on.
"The True Romance star, who last week was seen sheepishly exiting Stringfellows at 3am, spent Sunday evening wooing a young blonde.
"The 34-year-old father-of-two, who is in rehearsals for the West End play One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, was all over the mystery babe he'd invited to dinner at posh restaurant Nobu.
"Our informant reveals, 'Christian and a friend arrived at around 8.45pm.
"'As soon as they sat down the conversation turned to the young lady Christian was expecting to join them. His friend said, I can't believe you like this girl. And Christian replied, She's a total English rose and she really turns me on."
The Corsair sips from his icy pimp goblet, making a disenchated face at the "English rose" remark.
"'Every time he saw the restaurant doors open he looked up. He was quite jittery.' After 15 minutes of nervous clock-watching, his date arrived.
"'She was dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans,' adds our spy. 'She was stunning. Everyone in the restaurant turned to look at her when she swept in. Christian motioned for her to sit next to him and ordered more sake. Within seconds his hands were wandering."
"'She was very well-spoken and was talking about castings and the theatre industry,' says our source.
"'Christian was really turning on the charm, telling her she should meet some of his director friends and paying her endless cheesy compliments. He must have told her she was incredible and amazing at least a dozen times.
"'He was sliding his hand up her thigh and stroking her back - to any onlooker it looked as though they were together."
The Corsair munches unsalted popcorn, intrigued at what fools these mortals be.
"... We can only hope Christian's wife of four years, Ryan Haddon, is in an understanding mood when she hears about his latest exploits.
"The pair reportedly had a violent bust-up last year, which left Christian - who has battled booze and drugs - needing nine stitches to the head."
If gossip be the food of life, go on ...
I don't know what's more sleazy, the fact that Christian Slater publicly cheats on a jealous and volatile "spitfire" wife, Ryan Haddon, or the fact that he calls his mistress an "English Rose." Yuck! That's like a demotion from being called "a hot tomato" by a low grade piece of ass like Geraldo Rivera.
Anyhoo: The 3AM Girls blow up Slater's spot, big time:
"HE'S a familiar face in London's lapdancing clubs, but it seems Hollywood heartthrob Christian Slater is also partial to a lady who keeps her clothes on.
"The True Romance star, who last week was seen sheepishly exiting Stringfellows at 3am, spent Sunday evening wooing a young blonde.
"The 34-year-old father-of-two, who is in rehearsals for the West End play One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, was all over the mystery babe he'd invited to dinner at posh restaurant Nobu.
"Our informant reveals, 'Christian and a friend arrived at around 8.45pm.
"'As soon as they sat down the conversation turned to the young lady Christian was expecting to join them. His friend said, I can't believe you like this girl. And Christian replied, She's a total English rose and she really turns me on."
The Corsair sips from his icy pimp goblet, making a disenchated face at the "English rose" remark.
"'Every time he saw the restaurant doors open he looked up. He was quite jittery.' After 15 minutes of nervous clock-watching, his date arrived.
"'She was dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans,' adds our spy. 'She was stunning. Everyone in the restaurant turned to look at her when she swept in. Christian motioned for her to sit next to him and ordered more sake. Within seconds his hands were wandering."
"'She was very well-spoken and was talking about castings and the theatre industry,' says our source.
"'Christian was really turning on the charm, telling her she should meet some of his director friends and paying her endless cheesy compliments. He must have told her she was incredible and amazing at least a dozen times.
"'He was sliding his hand up her thigh and stroking her back - to any onlooker it looked as though they were together."
The Corsair munches unsalted popcorn, intrigued at what fools these mortals be.
"... We can only hope Christian's wife of four years, Ryan Haddon, is in an understanding mood when she hears about his latest exploits.
"The pair reportedly had a violent bust-up last year, which left Christian - who has battled booze and drugs - needing nine stitches to the head."
If gossip be the food of life, go on ...
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
The Beasty Boys Mercilessly Tease Russell Simmons
In the August 2004 Interview Magazine, the new "urban" Tom Cruise (whom, incidentally, we like) interviews Jada Pinkett-Smith, of all people, saying things like, oh, "that's my girl," and, "I don't know what a Virgo is, man." Very street, this new Tom; he's put aside his ego and showing us a more vulnerable Tom, which is cool. But, by far, the most interesting interview is the one between Russell Simmons and his old label mates, the Beasty Boys, who, arguably, made Def Jam, along with LL Cool J, back in the day.
The interview in Interview begins with a friendly banter, mixed with a game of "the dozens," circa 1984, but then, when Beasty Boy MCA strikes out at Russell's weak spot -- his vanity for clothing -- things get ... tender.
Actually, things go horribly awry. The Beasties can't stop busting. Simmons has many, many vanities, but when you bust on his clothes, I've noticed, he turns into a real pussy boy. The conversation begins harmlessly, as Russell brings up his favorite material possession and favored status item, namely, kids:
Russell Simmons: So how about the fact that we're all getting old? How many kids you got Adrock?
Adrock: I don't have any kids.
Mike D: I have kids. I got one that's 20 months old and another one on the way (both by his wife, director Tamra Davis)
Russell Simmons: Really? You aint even got a woman, though, do you MCA?
MCA: Why you gotta be like that, Russell?
RS: I'm just saying, do you have one?
MCA: Don't even start ...
RS: I don't see y'all. I just want to know.
MD: C'mon Russell, the man's a father.
RS: Oh, he's got a kid! (laughs) So, how old is your kid, MCA?
MCA: I have a daughter (with wife Dechan Dangdu). She's gonna be 6.
RS: Six. That's old enough to date.
MCA: See, why you gotta be like that?
RS: What? I aint gonna date your daughter.
MCA: So, who made those clothes, Russell? (Simmons is wearing a bright pink shirt, pink pants, and a pink baseball cap)
RS: You don't like my clothes? Does my shirt not match?
MCA: It's scary how well they match.
RS: Well, I got a pink seersucker suit, a pink silk suit, and a pink corduroy suit.
MCA: You got a pink hummer?
RS: Pink is a big color this season! Just like lavender will be next year. For Phat Farm, we have projections about what the next big color will be, and sometimes we add our own.
Adrock: You have heat seekers who hang out at 7 Eleven and tell you what the kids are up to?
MCA: Here's an inside tip: the people on the street are talking about beige
The Corsair softly chuckles, then sips Cutty Sark from his pimp goblet, whispering to himself, "It's on like Gray Poupon."
Russell quickly changes the subject, but, like a pit bull, Adrock goes right after Simmons' weak spot -- clothes, with a grim tenacity, and the rest of the Beasties gang pile on.
RS: You're a practicing Buddhist, Adam -- do you meditate (MCA nods yes) What about you Adrock? What are you?
Adrock: I'm a New Yorker, Russell. So, we don't get any free Phat Farm clothes?
RS: Y'all don't want no clothes man. Y'all wear smallboy shit. (points to Mike D) look at his shoes. Maybe we make some sneakers that you would wear.
Adrock: Yeah, I'm hip with the kids.
MD: Why don't you get us some suits? Adam (Adrock) wants his in pink, though.
RS: Pink is over.
(The phone rings. Simmons picks up)
Speakerphone: Russell, you need to wrap it up. The kids are here.
RS: The kids are here! Tell the kids to come in right now.
MCA: What kids?
RS: From Junior Achievement.
Adrock: I wish we had those suits. We could have worn them.
The corsair is three-fifths sure that Russell's happiness at the arrival of the Junior Achievement kids has more to do with their saving his clothes line Phat Farm from further humiliation at the hands of the merciless Beasty Boys than anything else.
In the August 2004 Interview Magazine, the new "urban" Tom Cruise (whom, incidentally, we like) interviews Jada Pinkett-Smith, of all people, saying things like, oh, "that's my girl," and, "I don't know what a Virgo is, man." Very street, this new Tom; he's put aside his ego and showing us a more vulnerable Tom, which is cool. But, by far, the most interesting interview is the one between Russell Simmons and his old label mates, the Beasty Boys, who, arguably, made Def Jam, along with LL Cool J, back in the day.
The interview in Interview begins with a friendly banter, mixed with a game of "the dozens," circa 1984, but then, when Beasty Boy MCA strikes out at Russell's weak spot -- his vanity for clothing -- things get ... tender.
Actually, things go horribly awry. The Beasties can't stop busting. Simmons has many, many vanities, but when you bust on his clothes, I've noticed, he turns into a real pussy boy. The conversation begins harmlessly, as Russell brings up his favorite material possession and favored status item, namely, kids:
Russell Simmons: So how about the fact that we're all getting old? How many kids you got Adrock?
Adrock: I don't have any kids.
Mike D: I have kids. I got one that's 20 months old and another one on the way (both by his wife, director Tamra Davis)
Russell Simmons: Really? You aint even got a woman, though, do you MCA?
MCA: Why you gotta be like that, Russell?
RS: I'm just saying, do you have one?
MCA: Don't even start ...
RS: I don't see y'all. I just want to know.
MD: C'mon Russell, the man's a father.
RS: Oh, he's got a kid! (laughs) So, how old is your kid, MCA?
MCA: I have a daughter (with wife Dechan Dangdu). She's gonna be 6.
RS: Six. That's old enough to date.
MCA: See, why you gotta be like that?
RS: What? I aint gonna date your daughter.
MCA: So, who made those clothes, Russell? (Simmons is wearing a bright pink shirt, pink pants, and a pink baseball cap)
RS: You don't like my clothes? Does my shirt not match?
MCA: It's scary how well they match.
RS: Well, I got a pink seersucker suit, a pink silk suit, and a pink corduroy suit.
MCA: You got a pink hummer?
RS: Pink is a big color this season! Just like lavender will be next year. For Phat Farm, we have projections about what the next big color will be, and sometimes we add our own.
Adrock: You have heat seekers who hang out at 7 Eleven and tell you what the kids are up to?
MCA: Here's an inside tip: the people on the street are talking about beige
The Corsair softly chuckles, then sips Cutty Sark from his pimp goblet, whispering to himself, "It's on like Gray Poupon."
Russell quickly changes the subject, but, like a pit bull, Adrock goes right after Simmons' weak spot -- clothes, with a grim tenacity, and the rest of the Beasties gang pile on.
RS: You're a practicing Buddhist, Adam -- do you meditate (MCA nods yes) What about you Adrock? What are you?
Adrock: I'm a New Yorker, Russell. So, we don't get any free Phat Farm clothes?
RS: Y'all don't want no clothes man. Y'all wear smallboy shit. (points to Mike D) look at his shoes. Maybe we make some sneakers that you would wear.
Adrock: Yeah, I'm hip with the kids.
MD: Why don't you get us some suits? Adam (Adrock) wants his in pink, though.
RS: Pink is over.
(The phone rings. Simmons picks up)
Speakerphone: Russell, you need to wrap it up. The kids are here.
RS: The kids are here! Tell the kids to come in right now.
MCA: What kids?
RS: From Junior Achievement.
Adrock: I wish we had those suits. We could have worn them.
The corsair is three-fifths sure that Russell's happiness at the arrival of the Junior Achievement kids has more to do with their saving his clothes line Phat Farm from further humiliation at the hands of the merciless Beasty Boys than anything else.
Adrien Brody: "I would love to brag, but I can't incriminate myself"
That crazy jet set: too much money, too much ennui. From the August 2004 Details:
"A few weeks before (this interview), in a brief period where (Adrien Brody) was not under contract (after filming The Jacket with Kiera Knightley and before starting King Kong with Naomi Watts), he took part in what he calls a major, major, major mission -- the Gumball 3000, an annual six-day road rally, which this year ran from Paris to Madrid to Marbella to Casablanca to Barcelona to Cannes.
"The field of 330 entrants included 60 Ferrari's; nine members of the Saudi Royal family; the skateboarder Tony Hawk; a Citroen 2CV painted like the General Lee; a contingent from the Asian equivalent of Jackass, driving a Winnebago equipped with a Jacuzzi filled with Cup O Noodle soup; and a London Taxi whose meter recorded ($16,553) fare by the finish line. Officially the Gumball 3000 is not a race, but the King of Morocco, who entered participants at his palace when the rally arrived on his shores, graciously announced that during their stay he would suspend all speed limits. The aftereffects of such unusual driving license were felt the next day, when Spanish policia enforced the law of their land by levying more than 50,000 euros in fines and tickets.
"Brody started the Gumball poorly, getting lost in his loaner Porsche 911 turbo and arrived in Madrid 14 and a half hours behind everyone else. But on the last day, he left Barcelona in the middle of the night to avoid the Spanish authorities and crossed the finish line five hours before anyone else, a circumstance that caused uninitiated journalists to report that he had won the race.
"'Technically it's not a race,' Brody says, 'but people do drive fast." I ask if people go, I don't know, 120. 'Oh, people exceed that,' he says, 'way over that. Hell, yeah.' My tape recorder registers a long silence. 'I would love to brag, but I can't incriminate myself."
That crazy jet set: too much money, too much ennui. From the August 2004 Details:
"A few weeks before (this interview), in a brief period where (Adrien Brody) was not under contract (after filming The Jacket with Kiera Knightley and before starting King Kong with Naomi Watts), he took part in what he calls a major, major, major mission -- the Gumball 3000, an annual six-day road rally, which this year ran from Paris to Madrid to Marbella to Casablanca to Barcelona to Cannes.
"The field of 330 entrants included 60 Ferrari's; nine members of the Saudi Royal family; the skateboarder Tony Hawk; a Citroen 2CV painted like the General Lee; a contingent from the Asian equivalent of Jackass, driving a Winnebago equipped with a Jacuzzi filled with Cup O Noodle soup; and a London Taxi whose meter recorded ($16,553) fare by the finish line. Officially the Gumball 3000 is not a race, but the King of Morocco, who entered participants at his palace when the rally arrived on his shores, graciously announced that during their stay he would suspend all speed limits. The aftereffects of such unusual driving license were felt the next day, when Spanish policia enforced the law of their land by levying more than 50,000 euros in fines and tickets.
"Brody started the Gumball poorly, getting lost in his loaner Porsche 911 turbo and arrived in Madrid 14 and a half hours behind everyone else. But on the last day, he left Barcelona in the middle of the night to avoid the Spanish authorities and crossed the finish line five hours before anyone else, a circumstance that caused uninitiated journalists to report that he had won the race.
"'Technically it's not a race,' Brody says, 'but people do drive fast." I ask if people go, I don't know, 120. 'Oh, people exceed that,' he says, 'way over that. Hell, yeah.' My tape recorder registers a long silence. 'I would love to brag, but I can't incriminate myself."
A Little of the Old In and Out
In: A Positive Democratic Convention. As always, Dick Morris has some wise thoughts on the Democrat convention (and, quite possibly, some acute positions for the hookers in Boston):
"The enraged left has to see this weeks gathering in Boston as its opportunity to respond to Bushs pre-emotion of the national stage in the wake of Sept. 11. At last, its paranoid suspicions and reasonable doubts alike can be aired before a national prime-time audience. No longer confined to venues like Michael Moore movies, Democratic orators can give their version of recent history and attack what they see as the seminal mistakes of the Bush response to terror.
"So the impetus for a negative convention will be strong and widely felt. Like water that has accumulated behind a dam, Bushs partisan opponents will want to lash out and bring the president down.
"But this blood lust can only destroy Kerrys chances of making this convention the springboard he needs. Negatives dont work at conventions. The most negative in recent memory was the 1992 Republican conclave where speaker after speaker thrashed both Clintons usually aiming at the wrong one and failed to produce any gain for their candidate as he sought re-election."
Out: Poor Dennis "The Kooce" Kucinich. The Corsair hears that the Kerry Camp offered nothing for his delegates, not even a return trip to Mars, where, ostensibly The Kooce lives (Department of Peace? Get real, monkey waif-boy); the AP says:
"Kucinich, who formally endorsed presumed nominee John Kerry last week, met with his roughly 64 delegates twice this week, with many saying they would still cast a vote for the four-term Ohio congressman at the roll call Wednesday night, according to an e-mail Tuesday from his campaign.
"'I'm releasing you to vote your consciences. You will be the ones making your own decision,' Kucinich said. "
Later, Kucey.
In: Open Water. When does this flick open? I've got the fever for the flavor of this film. Can someone in the film's PR department hook me up with some screening passes? Hook me up with a taste, baby pop. I am so fucking down to see this independent sleeper. AFlyonthewall breaks it down:
"The flick has a simple but chilling concept: husband-and-wife scuba divers are accidentally stranded in shark-infested open water. And it's based on a true story.
"The movie was made for something like $400,000, but it far outshines conventional Hollywood thrillers with $40 million budgets. (And, yes, it has real sharks.) The pic has played at several film festivals, including Sundance, to standing-room-only audiences. The film succeeds because of a fantastic, tightly crafted script, shrewd directing, and phenomenal performances by two relatively unknown actors. The female lead, Blanchard Ryan, is a particular standout. She has the intensity of Sigourney Weaver combined with the stunning looks of a young Michelle Pfeiffer. I can't wait to see more of her work.
"Written and directed by Chris Kentis, the movie opens in limited release August 6 and goes wider on August 20."
Out: Bonnie Fuller. According to WWD (link via Romenesko):
"Consider it the next step in Bonnie Fullers evolution from celebrity journalist to just plain celebrity. A Canadian television crew recently descended on American Medias Park Avenue offices to shoot a documentary about the love-her-or-loathe-her editor of Star. The show, which will air in late fall or early winter, is part of the CBC series 'Life and Times,' which profiles prominent Canadians, including past subjects Wayne Gretzky, Joni Mitchell and former Prime Minister Jean Chr�tien. Renowned as Fuller may be in Manhattan media circles, one has to wonder: Does the average Canadian have any idea who she is? "
Ah, to be mentioned in the same breath as Jean Chr�tien; that, as Canadian superstar Graydon Carter might say, leaving a trail of Winston Light smoke in his wake, is so very First Room. But somewhere in Manitoba -- and you know this to be true, true believer -- a big boned employee at a local fishery is kissing his well-worn Bonnie Fuller poster full on the lips, before leaving for a long, hard day of processing halibut.
In: Late in Life Circumcisions. Seriously folks, I like to eat fruit salad, creme and granola for breakfast in the summer. It is cool, it is light, it is filled with vitamins; as the kids say: it's all good. But as I was reading this story in Page Six, I was dry heaving cantelope. Violently:
"MORE on Marlon Brando's circumcision at age 60, which we reported on last week. 'It's 100 percent true,' a reader e-mailed us. 'My mother worked in surgery at St. John's Hospital at the time and was there for it.' St. John's in Santa Monica was the hospital to the stars for decades until it was eclipsed by Cedars Sinai. 'My mother worked there for 40 years, and boy, did she have some scary stories to tell about the terrible acne scars on Richard Burton's back!!' As for Brando? Our correspondent denies the star converted to Judaism it is inconceivable he could have learned Hebrew since he had so much trouble remembering his lines in English. Our tipster divulges: 'It seems the surgery was necessary for medical reasons an infected gunky mess.'"
I still have that woozy feeling like my legs might buckle under me at any moment, and I am at the mercy of careening waves of Sartrean nausea.
Out: Marc Jacobs! Why that saucy little bigot! According to British Vogue, you won't believe what he said:
"SEEMS that a political calling is the latest must-have for the most cutting edge designers. Last week Sean Combs launched his Citizen Change campaign and, this week, Marc Jacobs has filled his Bleecker Street Marc boutique window with knickers ..."
Knickers?! What the fuck?! This is 2004, people, there is no need to be racist! You can't put black people in your window. We are not for sale! They continue:
"'We work in a creative industry, and we're being creative about it. There is sign language on some of the pieces and actually a lot of people came in to say thank you.' Knickers are selling for $15, while Ts are $25 and sweatshirt hoodies are $35. "
What the fuck?! $15!! Altogether people: we shall overcome ...
In: My old Paper Magazine pal Carlo McCormick, easily one of the most interesting long haired New York writer-characters, has his ear to the street (Carlo's definitive essay on the subject of scratchitti in BlackBook several years ago deserved, I thought, an instant MacArthur Genius Grant), does the profile on that phantom urban menace, NeckFace:
"On the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn, NeckFace throws up fast and gets away quickly, like a hit and run shadow. But the New Image show has allowed him to branch out betond lightening fast tagging. 'I have more time to do it in the gallery now,' NeckFace explains. 'It's crazy stuff like I've never seen before. You've seen what I can do on the streets; just imagine what I can do with time on my hands.'"
Ed Note: Stereogum has been charting the slow and steady rise of another urban blight/phantom menace ... Bob Saget has a posse.
Out: Linda Stassi got slipped a Mickey Finn. I've always been for hidden overhead cameras in bars and lounges. It sucks that our privacy has got to be compromised, the 'getting of our freak on' may be hampered by recording devices, but there are just too many fucking assholes putting drugs into people's drinks in New York after hours. Too many. And no one is getting caught. If the Villard Bar in the Helmsley Palace Hotel had had a camera, the creep who drugged Linda Stassi would be behind bars, getting punked out by a large convict at Rikers, instead of out on the prowl mickey finning other women, perhaps even as I write this. Says Linda:
"I don't remember going to the emergency room, but I do remember being hooked up to the IV and then passing out. They said my alcohol level was low but that I had all the classic symptoms of a drugging or poisoning.
"I'm still having horrible nightmares. I missed too much work in the first few weeks after the drugging, and when I did show up, I had to leave early. The dizziness kept recurring. And the headaches.
"That mickey I was slipped stole a month of my life, and I'm not happy. I'm told that I'm lucky the perp didn't steal more. Like my bag. Like my clothes. Like my life. I'd be happy just to get the month back."
In: Fashionweekdaily chronicles the opening of The Village, where boldfaces Tina Fey frolickled with the likes of Regis Philbin, Sigorney Weaver and Simon Rex in, of all places, Prospect Park:
"Adrien Brody and director film director M. Night Shyamalan wore Ermenegildo Zenga to the premiere of 'The Village' last night in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. The film is a chilling tale of a remote village confronting the stupefying truth that lies just outside its borders. Night, who is known for his distinctive artistry as well as for bucking mainstream Hollywood, selected a look from the not-yet-available spring 2005 Z Zegna collection, ensuring an independent look for the evening. He arrived on the red carpet wearing a black jacquard slim-fitting suit with a crisp, white open collar shirt from new and fashion-forward Z Zegna. Brody also appeared in Zegna in a pr�cis black suit and gray button-down, choosing to top off his look with a red silk tie ? a nod to Night?s use of the color in his film as the symbol of evil. In fact, the outdoor premiere scrapped the traditional (and evil) red carpet in favor of a yellow one. 'The Village' was recreated in the park while people dined and had cocktails under the moonlight. The film was shown in the 'forest' portion of the Prospect Park lawn, which lent itself well to the film?s eerie mood."
Out: Does Everyone Love Raymond? Apparently not, as that significant cultural artifact The National Enquirer says:
"Ray Romano's holdout for a huge raise is behind the recent firing of two popular "CSI" stars, charges an insider.
"George Eads and Jorja Fox (Ed Note: Eads was rehired; claimed he "overslept" the contract deadline; yeah ... riiight) poked the CBS eye too hard when they tried Romano's stunt of squeezing the network for a fat raise shortly before the new season -- but the execs had decided not to tolerate a rerun of Romano's game plan."
"'CBS was furious last year when Romano held out for more money before agreeing to another season,' revealed an insider.
"'By the time Ray came to an agreement for his ninth and final season, he was making nearly $2 million per episode.'"
"The network moved swiftly to stop its other performers from holding out for more money before their contracts were up, disclosed the insider."
In: The always excellent Michael Musto gives us the scoop on Cameron Diaz:
"As you know, CAMERON DIAZ wasn't happy with the Us Weekly cover on JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE's bad behavior and gave them a follow-up interview, which the mag cleverly fashioned into a dis of the British press. But I hear Cameron actually told an Us editor, 'You're going to get cancer writing this way about Justin.' That's not even original�ROSIE O'DONNELL, anyone?�but at least it's gritty and rock-and-roll. It's who she is!"
Editors Note: I've really got to apologize to USA Today for attacking them for not running Ann Coulter's piece yesterday. They were right. Here's some of her "convention reporting":
"Here at the Spawn of Satan convention in Boston, conservatives are deploying a series of covert signals to identify one another, much like gay men do. My allies are the ones wearing crosses or American flags. The people sporting shirts emblazoned with the 'F-word' are my opponents. Also, as always, the pretty girls and cops are on my side, most of them barely able to conceal their eye-rolling."
I was trying to be fair, arguing for equal time, but Ann Coulter really doesn't deserve it. She actually passed the Bar?
In: A Positive Democratic Convention. As always, Dick Morris has some wise thoughts on the Democrat convention (and, quite possibly, some acute positions for the hookers in Boston):
"The enraged left has to see this weeks gathering in Boston as its opportunity to respond to Bushs pre-emotion of the national stage in the wake of Sept. 11. At last, its paranoid suspicions and reasonable doubts alike can be aired before a national prime-time audience. No longer confined to venues like Michael Moore movies, Democratic orators can give their version of recent history and attack what they see as the seminal mistakes of the Bush response to terror.
"So the impetus for a negative convention will be strong and widely felt. Like water that has accumulated behind a dam, Bushs partisan opponents will want to lash out and bring the president down.
"But this blood lust can only destroy Kerrys chances of making this convention the springboard he needs. Negatives dont work at conventions. The most negative in recent memory was the 1992 Republican conclave where speaker after speaker thrashed both Clintons usually aiming at the wrong one and failed to produce any gain for their candidate as he sought re-election."
Out: Poor Dennis "The Kooce" Kucinich. The Corsair hears that the Kerry Camp offered nothing for his delegates, not even a return trip to Mars, where, ostensibly The Kooce lives (Department of Peace? Get real, monkey waif-boy); the AP says:
"Kucinich, who formally endorsed presumed nominee John Kerry last week, met with his roughly 64 delegates twice this week, with many saying they would still cast a vote for the four-term Ohio congressman at the roll call Wednesday night, according to an e-mail Tuesday from his campaign.
"'I'm releasing you to vote your consciences. You will be the ones making your own decision,' Kucinich said. "
Later, Kucey.
In: Open Water. When does this flick open? I've got the fever for the flavor of this film. Can someone in the film's PR department hook me up with some screening passes? Hook me up with a taste, baby pop. I am so fucking down to see this independent sleeper. AFlyonthewall breaks it down:
"The flick has a simple but chilling concept: husband-and-wife scuba divers are accidentally stranded in shark-infested open water. And it's based on a true story.
"The movie was made for something like $400,000, but it far outshines conventional Hollywood thrillers with $40 million budgets. (And, yes, it has real sharks.) The pic has played at several film festivals, including Sundance, to standing-room-only audiences. The film succeeds because of a fantastic, tightly crafted script, shrewd directing, and phenomenal performances by two relatively unknown actors. The female lead, Blanchard Ryan, is a particular standout. She has the intensity of Sigourney Weaver combined with the stunning looks of a young Michelle Pfeiffer. I can't wait to see more of her work.
"Written and directed by Chris Kentis, the movie opens in limited release August 6 and goes wider on August 20."
Out: Bonnie Fuller. According to WWD (link via Romenesko):
"Consider it the next step in Bonnie Fullers evolution from celebrity journalist to just plain celebrity. A Canadian television crew recently descended on American Medias Park Avenue offices to shoot a documentary about the love-her-or-loathe-her editor of Star. The show, which will air in late fall or early winter, is part of the CBC series 'Life and Times,' which profiles prominent Canadians, including past subjects Wayne Gretzky, Joni Mitchell and former Prime Minister Jean Chr�tien. Renowned as Fuller may be in Manhattan media circles, one has to wonder: Does the average Canadian have any idea who she is? "
Ah, to be mentioned in the same breath as Jean Chr�tien; that, as Canadian superstar Graydon Carter might say, leaving a trail of Winston Light smoke in his wake, is so very First Room. But somewhere in Manitoba -- and you know this to be true, true believer -- a big boned employee at a local fishery is kissing his well-worn Bonnie Fuller poster full on the lips, before leaving for a long, hard day of processing halibut.
In: Late in Life Circumcisions. Seriously folks, I like to eat fruit salad, creme and granola for breakfast in the summer. It is cool, it is light, it is filled with vitamins; as the kids say: it's all good. But as I was reading this story in Page Six, I was dry heaving cantelope. Violently:
"MORE on Marlon Brando's circumcision at age 60, which we reported on last week. 'It's 100 percent true,' a reader e-mailed us. 'My mother worked in surgery at St. John's Hospital at the time and was there for it.' St. John's in Santa Monica was the hospital to the stars for decades until it was eclipsed by Cedars Sinai. 'My mother worked there for 40 years, and boy, did she have some scary stories to tell about the terrible acne scars on Richard Burton's back!!' As for Brando? Our correspondent denies the star converted to Judaism it is inconceivable he could have learned Hebrew since he had so much trouble remembering his lines in English. Our tipster divulges: 'It seems the surgery was necessary for medical reasons an infected gunky mess.'"
I still have that woozy feeling like my legs might buckle under me at any moment, and I am at the mercy of careening waves of Sartrean nausea.
Out: Marc Jacobs! Why that saucy little bigot! According to British Vogue, you won't believe what he said:
"SEEMS that a political calling is the latest must-have for the most cutting edge designers. Last week Sean Combs launched his Citizen Change campaign and, this week, Marc Jacobs has filled his Bleecker Street Marc boutique window with knickers ..."
Knickers?! What the fuck?! This is 2004, people, there is no need to be racist! You can't put black people in your window. We are not for sale! They continue:
"'We work in a creative industry, and we're being creative about it. There is sign language on some of the pieces and actually a lot of people came in to say thank you.' Knickers are selling for $15, while Ts are $25 and sweatshirt hoodies are $35. "
What the fuck?! $15!! Altogether people: we shall overcome ...
In: My old Paper Magazine pal Carlo McCormick, easily one of the most interesting long haired New York writer-characters, has his ear to the street (Carlo's definitive essay on the subject of scratchitti in BlackBook several years ago deserved, I thought, an instant MacArthur Genius Grant), does the profile on that phantom urban menace, NeckFace:
"On the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn, NeckFace throws up fast and gets away quickly, like a hit and run shadow. But the New Image show has allowed him to branch out betond lightening fast tagging. 'I have more time to do it in the gallery now,' NeckFace explains. 'It's crazy stuff like I've never seen before. You've seen what I can do on the streets; just imagine what I can do with time on my hands.'"
Ed Note: Stereogum has been charting the slow and steady rise of another urban blight/phantom menace ... Bob Saget has a posse.
Out: Linda Stassi got slipped a Mickey Finn. I've always been for hidden overhead cameras in bars and lounges. It sucks that our privacy has got to be compromised, the 'getting of our freak on' may be hampered by recording devices, but there are just too many fucking assholes putting drugs into people's drinks in New York after hours. Too many. And no one is getting caught. If the Villard Bar in the Helmsley Palace Hotel had had a camera, the creep who drugged Linda Stassi would be behind bars, getting punked out by a large convict at Rikers, instead of out on the prowl mickey finning other women, perhaps even as I write this. Says Linda:
"I don't remember going to the emergency room, but I do remember being hooked up to the IV and then passing out. They said my alcohol level was low but that I had all the classic symptoms of a drugging or poisoning.
"I'm still having horrible nightmares. I missed too much work in the first few weeks after the drugging, and when I did show up, I had to leave early. The dizziness kept recurring. And the headaches.
"That mickey I was slipped stole a month of my life, and I'm not happy. I'm told that I'm lucky the perp didn't steal more. Like my bag. Like my clothes. Like my life. I'd be happy just to get the month back."
In: Fashionweekdaily chronicles the opening of The Village, where boldfaces Tina Fey frolickled with the likes of Regis Philbin, Sigorney Weaver and Simon Rex in, of all places, Prospect Park:
"Adrien Brody and director film director M. Night Shyamalan wore Ermenegildo Zenga to the premiere of 'The Village' last night in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. The film is a chilling tale of a remote village confronting the stupefying truth that lies just outside its borders. Night, who is known for his distinctive artistry as well as for bucking mainstream Hollywood, selected a look from the not-yet-available spring 2005 Z Zegna collection, ensuring an independent look for the evening. He arrived on the red carpet wearing a black jacquard slim-fitting suit with a crisp, white open collar shirt from new and fashion-forward Z Zegna. Brody also appeared in Zegna in a pr�cis black suit and gray button-down, choosing to top off his look with a red silk tie ? a nod to Night?s use of the color in his film as the symbol of evil. In fact, the outdoor premiere scrapped the traditional (and evil) red carpet in favor of a yellow one. 'The Village' was recreated in the park while people dined and had cocktails under the moonlight. The film was shown in the 'forest' portion of the Prospect Park lawn, which lent itself well to the film?s eerie mood."
Out: Does Everyone Love Raymond? Apparently not, as that significant cultural artifact The National Enquirer says:
"Ray Romano's holdout for a huge raise is behind the recent firing of two popular "CSI" stars, charges an insider.
"George Eads and Jorja Fox (Ed Note: Eads was rehired; claimed he "overslept" the contract deadline; yeah ... riiight) poked the CBS eye too hard when they tried Romano's stunt of squeezing the network for a fat raise shortly before the new season -- but the execs had decided not to tolerate a rerun of Romano's game plan."
"'CBS was furious last year when Romano held out for more money before agreeing to another season,' revealed an insider.
"'By the time Ray came to an agreement for his ninth and final season, he was making nearly $2 million per episode.'"
"The network moved swiftly to stop its other performers from holding out for more money before their contracts were up, disclosed the insider."
In: The always excellent Michael Musto gives us the scoop on Cameron Diaz:
"As you know, CAMERON DIAZ wasn't happy with the Us Weekly cover on JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE's bad behavior and gave them a follow-up interview, which the mag cleverly fashioned into a dis of the British press. But I hear Cameron actually told an Us editor, 'You're going to get cancer writing this way about Justin.' That's not even original�ROSIE O'DONNELL, anyone?�but at least it's gritty and rock-and-roll. It's who she is!"
Editors Note: I've really got to apologize to USA Today for attacking them for not running Ann Coulter's piece yesterday. They were right. Here's some of her "convention reporting":
"Here at the Spawn of Satan convention in Boston, conservatives are deploying a series of covert signals to identify one another, much like gay men do. My allies are the ones wearing crosses or American flags. The people sporting shirts emblazoned with the 'F-word' are my opponents. Also, as always, the pretty girls and cops are on my side, most of them barely able to conceal their eye-rolling."
I was trying to be fair, arguing for equal time, but Ann Coulter really doesn't deserve it. She actually passed the Bar?
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