A Little of the Old In and Out

In: Holly Dunlap, Hollywould. Holly tells our Fashion Week online bible, Fashionweekdaily:
"'[My collection] is inspired by all the Russians who come to Florence, [where I keep a flat]. Its all 6.5-inch heels and wraparound furs to go shopping at 9 a.m. And thats just the men.'

Brilliant.

Out: The News Anchors. According to TheDrudgereport, upstart Wise Man Brian Williams' numbers are trumping those of seasoned anchor, the oft-married (last count 4 times) Peter Jennings, "NBCNIGHTLY TOPS IN NEWS RACE[WEEK OF JAN 31 - FEB 4] NBC WILLIAMS 10.396 MILLION VIEWERS; ABC JENNINGS 10.030; CBS RATHER 7.531"

The dinosaurs -- Liberalus Newsanchorii -- are dying. Or, as Michael Wolf writes on VanityFair.com, sounding not unlike a melancholy Charles Ryder in Brideshead Revisited:

"'Civil rights,' said Rather. 'Vietnam. Watergate. These were the stories we told. We're now being blamed for them.'

"That we were back in the 60s was certainly pathetic. That we were blaming all our troubles on the great right-wing conspiracy was equally weak. Recalling all this was another way of saying that Rather, at 73, was not just a screwup, but misty with age.

"And yet, I confess, I wasn't so clear-eyed myself, here in the faded mid-century ambiance of Black Rock. I was having to struggle against compelling nostalgia. Perhaps it was the thrill-still!-of the anchorman's notice. I was, or could be with just a little push, helplessly back in the cool and hegemonic and liberal network world. Our world. Our lost world. Our better world. When the news was the news. When we were young. When our side was winning. What had happened?"

Twilight?

In: Musto. Michael Musto today restores some sense of balance to the media's chaotic coverage of the Jacko case, forthwith-- Musto on Jacko:

"It's hard to turn one's lined eyes away from a star who wants to help the children --a lot -- to make up for his own lost childhood; a moonwalker who never seemed earthbound; a man-child who's currently best known for the figurines of him dangling his baby from that hotel balcony (yes, I have one, artfully perched on the cable box) ...

"... But let's please stop -- after this article -- mocking Jackson for the fact that he's not exactly the grimy-faced quarterback ideal of the American heartland. What gets lost in all the hoopla is that freakiness and fey looks have nothing whatsoever to do with deviance, even on the Vegas strip. I've never felt that Jackson's lovely outfits or loud makeup made him any guiltier of crimes than my favorite drag queens are. (Though the obsessiveness of Jackson's surgery redefines self-effacing; there's no face left. And some of the drag queens have been known to shoplift cosmetics.)"

The full, brilliant article here.

Out: Kimora Lee Simmons. Of she whose name shall ... never cross our lips. (Sotto voce) The fly bitch (Averted gaze). Her door policy is, as can be expected, fascist! Basta! Not that the Corsair would ever attend a "Kimora party." (Okay, okay, if pressed, maybe a Kimora "instant slumber Party" -- if you know, wink, wink, what we mean) According to Fashionweekdaily:

"Kimora Lee Simmons of Baby Phat must have hired some futuristic scientist to project a forcefield around AER Lounge Saturday since the after-party was as impenetrable as the show even the publicists throwing it couldnt squirm their way in ..."

In: National Enquirer. That significant cultural artifact kicked it up a notch. In a surprisingly vicious -- even for the Nattie Enq -- story:

"In the latest shocking incident marking her descent into Showbiz Hell, Ashlee Simpson ran sobbing from a Melrose Avenue boutique - devastated after a public hiss-and dis ambush by a howling gang of vicious teens!"

(The Corsair snaps, rolls neck, vogues, moisturizes his lips and, exquisitely hisses:) "vicious":

" ... Out shopping with two femme pals, she'd just entered Red Balls boutique when four late-teen girls spotted her, let out a whoop and ran inside! Ashlee grinned ear-to-ear, figuring they were fans wanting autographs, then recoiled like she'd been slapped when Mean Girl #1 shrieked, 'You're a FAKER!' Pale and speechless, she stood paralyzed as the leering gang howled insults - then turned and ran sobbing as Mean Girl #2 spit this mega-nasty in her face: 'You have NO talent, Ashlee . . . and you're not as pretty as your sister!'"

"The Witches of Melrose cackled as one of Ashlee's pals screamed, 'Look what you've done ... I hope you're happy now!' As they escorted the tear-streaked thrush back to her car, my earwitness heard Ashlee wail, 'I don't know if I can take much more of this ... it sucks ... it REALLY SUCKS!' Welcome to The Jungle, little girl."

Earwitness? Welcome to The Jungle, little girl? You just know Mike Walker wrote that.

Vicious (two snaps and a neckroll)! We like! (full story)

Out: GQ's Best Movie Breasts Poll. GQ is conducting a poll for the most unforgettable movie breasts. So what's makes that "out"? What's not to like about a red-blooded meditation on the subject of breasts, AKA the most beautifulest things in this world?

Well, they miss some of the most unforgettable breasts in film history, and -- worse -- they don't allow for write-in Breast nominees. How are we supposed to judge juggs with a fixed list compiled by GQ staffers? I mean, okay, they have Laura Harring's fun pillows in Mullholland Drive, she of the gravity-defying ta-ta's, defininte nominees -- and, who could forget "the random chick" in Airplane -- whose tremendous Golden Globes' equilibrium were so entertainingly disturbed by the turbulence of the aircraft's dodgy landing. A similarly quivering bowl of gelatin supplied to the side for comic effect.

Shallow, yes, but it is important to The Corsair. We cannot always discuss Representative Boehner's brilliantly choreographed maneuverings to become the next Speaker of the House after Hastert retires in the 109th Congress, now, can we? Or, my pet theory that Machiavelli's entire scarlet Florentine political philosophy -- the Realist School -- came out of his reading of that terribly beautiful exchange with Farinata in Dante's Inferno. This interpretation was then bolstered by Tacitus' dry laconic wit and Lucretius' pagan atomism. But, back to tits.

Sometimes, The Corsair just wants to ogle beautiful breasts. Sue us. And, what about the cast of the Eyes Wide Shut masquerade? Breast Supporting Actresses abound! GQ is slipping.