A Little of the Old In and Out



(image via Stategov.org)

In: Paul Wolfowitz, Philosopher King. Flush with noshing with Lady Tina and Sir Harold Brown, Paul "Call Me Wolfie" Wolfowitz will be Dubya's pick for the World Bank. Pity Colin Powell in all this, who, when Condi's done at State, will have no legacy to speak after him. Condi's all up in that bitch, uhm, so to speak.

Dour historians will ultimately rank Powell and his rogue doctrine as impotent as, oh, say, Cyrus Vance. Or, worse, the robustly virile, Warren Christopher (Averted Gaze). Why would The General turn down this opportunity for posterity when, according to the rumors, it was his job to turn down?! Ponderous, indeed. Even Angelina Jolie backed him. Crazy.

Anyhow, Straussian world domination continues apace, quoth the Guardian:

"Wolfensohn, in a statement, said he has known Wolfowitz personally and professionally for a long time. 'He is a person of high intellect and broad experience in and out of the government and has many of the qualifications that would be critical to leading the bank,' Wolfensohn said. 'I look forward to ... doing everything that I possibly can to ensure a successful transition.''

"For now, it is expected that Wolfowitz would take over the World Bank post when Wolfensohn's term ends on June 1."

Out: Val Kilmer. He may have fooled the 3AM Girls (link via Drudge) into thinking he was a swell guy, but we know the man's a silly little freak in the quiet of his soul. Even Cindy Crawford called him "intense" on the Howard Stern Show a while back. A considerable pause. Okay, then again, a well informed preschooler is intense to Cindy. Say the 3AM Girls:

"(Kilmer) came up trumps at The Ivy in London on Monday night - where he was dining with Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Spacey - when a stranger spoke to him at the men's urinals.

"'This guy quoted Top Gun and said to him: You can be my wing man anytime, says our spy.

"He was expecting Val to get arsey. But Val said: 'No man - you can be mine.'

"They had a good laugh, and then the guy asked Val if he could greet him at the bar like he's an old friend, to wind his pal up. Val agreed.

"Minutes later, Val came to the bar and said: 'Dave, so good to see you. How you doing?' 'The guy's pal was stunned.' So are we."

That "Iceman" he's ... well, kind of creepy.

In: The Jovovich-Hawk Boutique. According to Fashionweek Daily, singer-model-sctress Milla Jovovich is about to join the ownership society:

"I�m opening my boutique in New York this September ... It�ll be in Greenwich Village and be by appointment only. It�s called the Jovovich-Hawk boutique.�

The Corsair will be the guy standing outside, thwarted by the buzzer, steaming up the windows just before the cops haul him away. -- Call me, Milla!

Out: Justin Timberlake. Justin's just doing an Elton John film, and he plans to "keep it real." Yo, did you hear, The Ojay's just dissed Justin, but were they (air quotes, eyes darting back and forth) "Justified"? Justin just wants his own record label, why can't they just leave him alone.

Oh, Cry me a river.

In: Women Memoirists. The two best memoirs The Corsair has read in the past year are my friend Sue Shapiro's Lighting Up, and Jeanette Walls' fucking hearbreaking Glass Castle.

Are women better memoirists than men? Who can tell. Women are certainly more emotionally honest than we are. But both of these books made us a little ... misty. Some hot tears may have been expended. So, we recommend them.



Out: Rara avis Tinsley Mortimer (Above, Cochair Young Friends of Save Venice). Tinsley "I'd attend the opening of an envelope" Mortimer exhibits bright breeding plumage, which is, quite frankly, exceptional so early in the social season.

In: UES Pubis. The Upper East Side of Manhattan got a, ehr, "snatch" of life among the barbarians who reside below 14th Street. According to the, uh, salmon-colored weekly:

"It�s just a drunk hipster belting out lines from 'Like a Prayer' and tearing off her clothes.

"Life is a mystery, she sang, and we thought: If only. For it quickly dawned on the 50 people now choking down twice-baked potatoes that the dancer wasn�t wearing anything under her skirt.

"'What�s that?' asked one horrified attendee. 'Dear God, it�s pubic hair.'"

How ghastley! How dreadful! Someone cover up the cucumber sandwiches! The peasant!

"'Maybe I could see this happening in Chelsea,' murmured A.C. Hudgins, an art collector, as he looked on, nearly speechless. 'Usually, you�d expect to see something like that downtown. But not on the Upper East Side. It�s typically so tony up here.'"

Only a man who operates under the name "Hudgins" could be such a prude.