The Corsair

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Best of The Corsair

The Fitty Cent Tour Rider

Joan Didion Dishes

In which, Steve Brill Attempts to Eat Jim Cramer

Keisha Knight Pulliam: Cosby Show's "Rudy" All Grown Up

Calvin Klein in His Fruit of the Loom Underwear and Knee socks!

Remote Control Tour Diary, 2.0

Sean Penn on Iraq

Karrine Steffans: "Superhead"

Hitchcock Had no Bellybutton

On the Former Secretary of Treasury, Bill Simon, Pushing Pat Buckley

Paris Hilton, The High School Years

My Trio: How The Corsair would program Trio TV (If the Powers That Be Gave us a shot)

Give Bill Murray the Oscar (Already)

Trump on Jacko (Eew)

Friday, August 12, 2005

No posts today. Be back Monday! Cheers, R

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Picture Pages, Picture Pages ...

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Acid wash cameltoe. Nice (Averted Gaze). (image via thecobrasnake)

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"Okay, Spike: Just smile into the camera real pleasant-like, and I won't have to use my rib busting ox-strength." (image via variety via startrackphoto)

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Somebody call Tracy Chapman -- fast! -- her test-tube baby has escaped! (image via thecobrasnake)

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An incendiary thigh-dea. (image via thecobrasnake)

A Little of the Old In and Out

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(image via linsdomain)

In: John Hurt. As the biggest fan in the world of I, Claudius (and the inspired sickness of John Hurt's Caligula), it was fun to see the master thespian, still up and about, albeit doing smaller, more sophisticated projects, interviewed by Moviehole:"'It's very strange, I'm always working. I mean I'm always doing something,' (Hurt) says, speaking with that quiet eloquence of his. 'I think certain films take on a kind of attraction, while certain films seem to slip by without people noticing.' In particular, he muses, is one of his favourite films of recent memory, Love and Death on Long Island. 'I'm a huge believer, for instance, in Richard Kwietniowski as a director, I think he's a wonderful director, though he had a very considerable profile in a way, got sort of disregarded and totally ignored by every single establishment, which I find intriguing.

"Further, on the former Caligula playing a Catholic priest:

"In comparing 'Shooting Dogs' to last year's 'Hotel Rwanda,' Hurt frankly says 'there's no comparison. It's a much better film. It's a completely different aspect of the war and doesn't have any escapism in that sense. I play a catholic priest whose school it is where the whole incident takes place. Also at the time of the beginning of the film he's sharing it with the United Nations, who have one of their bases there, and eventually of course, it's when the troubles really start firing up, and it becomes a refugee camp as well.'"

And, Finally:

"Hurt also spent some time in the Australian outback filming 'The Proposition,' written by musician Nick Cave and featuring Guy Pearce and Liam Neeson. 'Oh, I love that film, I must say. I've just saw that recently for the first time and I think it's terrific, a super film. It's a very, very good script and a western. It's only possible to make it in Australia because it wouldn't be suitable to the American myth. It seems to me that you can't make a western outside of that myth. But being Australia, it's such a different frontier there because they were pushing into an interior that was utterly impossible, certainly for a white man. I mean it was difficult beyond belief for the Aboriginals, but impossible for a white man. They hadn't even got it together at that time to understand that you had to drink water. I mean they were drinking whiskey not water, and you'd turn around and you're talking somebody and they'd drop dead on the floor."

Sounds positively Caligulesque; we're so there. The whole interview here.

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(image via movies.ying)

Out: Joe Simpson. Never hire family to manage your career (Ask Tom Cruise if you don't believe The Corsair). That Jessica Simpson is as dumb as a jar of pig's knuckles is a given. It is not common knowledge, however, that the cause of her phenomenal stupidity may be congential. (The Corsair sips some Appleton rum) According to those intrepid Page Sixxies:

"MAGAZINE insiders are snickering at the deal Jessica Simpson's manager/father, Joe Simpson, made with OK! magazine. Simpson graced the inaugural U.S. issue and got $200,000. But insiders say the $200,000 was a package deal in which Simpson will be on six more covers and host the magazine's Sept. 20 launch party on the roof of the Cornelia Day Spa on Fifth Avenue. 'The deal also precludes Jessica from giving any other magazines major features until all the covers are done, which will be in like two years. So basically, Joe sold his daughter out for $200,000,' the insider said."

She's in the number one movie in America, and she doesn't rate "Hasselhoff Money"? Que pasa, Joe? Even Dennis "I put the 'ho in HBO" Hoff could have pimped her out for more cheddar.

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(image via cku-gda.ids)

In: Immigration and Education. With Texas becoming the fourth state with a non-white majority population, immigration will be a major -- if not THE major -- issue in the 2008 election (link via drudgereport). Already Tancredo is positioning himself, and Southwestern border-state candidates like John McCain and Bill Richardson will, no doubt, have advantages on this so-very-close-to-home issue. As the AP writes, "Five other states - Maryland, Mississippi, Georgia, New York and Arizona - aren't far behind, with about 40 percent minorities."

Immigration and educaticompetitivenesss future competetiveness are all issues that are inextricably linked. Keeping this in mind, the utter failure of public education in the United States makes me pessimistic about the future in this new, and -- to borrow a concept from Thomas Friedman -- "Flat Earth." That having been said, and leaving aside the brain-dead institution known as the teachers' unions, who are all about pay raises and nothing about curricula: Could we, post haste, institute the Paideia Propsal into the nation's public schools? And not just "magnet" schools where only a tiny amount benefits. Allowing each district to plan their own curfallacym presupposes the falacy that different children need different qualities of schooling.

Let's do this if only just so that we could at lecompetitivenesslance of competetiveness in the global economy in the future. The education going on in American public schools at present is naught else but incoherent piffle, and if we are honest with ourselves, we all know that already. When was the last time a President allowed their children to attend a public school? I thought so. And since politicians don't have the intelligence to think out organic educational solutions, which, admittedly, requires a lifetime of considering, why not just leave it to the professionals and not the policy pimps.

Here are some of the principles of the Paideia Proposal, which was put together not by "educators" (Averted Gaze) -- whatever the fuck a graduate degree in education is supposed to mean -- but by "philosophers" (like the late, great Mortimer Adler, founder of Saint John's College), particularly philosophers who study the cognitive development of the mind, the Great Books, the Eastern classics -- now, doesn't that sound better than the K-12 curriculum of your local asbestos-ridden public schoPrinciplest:

"Paideia Princiles:

"1) That all children can learn;

"2) That, therefore, they all deserve the same quality of schooling, not just the same quantity;
That the quality of schooling to which they are entitled is what the wisest parents would wish for their own children, the best education for the best being the best education for all;

"3) That schooling at its best is preparation for becoming generally educated in the course of a whole lifetime, and that schools should be judged on how well they provide such preparation;

"4) That the three callings for which schooling should prepare all Americans are (a) to earn a decent livelihood, (b) to be a good citizen of the nation and the world, and (c) to make a good life for oneself;

More of The Paideia Principles here.

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(image via fajkowsky)

Out: The Trump Blog. Blog hard, Donald Trump! We cannot wait until Mark Cuban duly responds with an electronic blogosphere pimpslap. But until then, it's all about the Trumpiversity blog (The Corsair launches a falcon).

No doubt, we can expect some no nonsense straight shooting from The Trumper. That, and, ehr, he loves to pick up pennies off of expectorant-laden New York City streets. Eew. For his first blog (link via gawker), Trumpie takes on Dennis Kozlowsky, man-to-man:

"Recently former Tyco CEO Dennis Kozlowski was convicted for stealing hundreds of millions of dollars from the company. It was his second go-round in court--the first one ended in a mistrial. You may remember Mr. Kozlowski from the original trial. A video of his lavish party on an Italian island, allegedly paid for with company funds, was last year's scandal du jour.

" ... For a couple weeks it was all over the news, so most people saw at least a snippet of this cinematic atrocity, including a giddy, red-faced Kozlowski dancing amid ice sculptures and costumed models posing as ancient Roman courtiers."

As opposed to prancing amid icy assistants, eh? More Trumpie here.


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(image via segginger)

In: Jamie Lee Curtis. Agree or disagree, it takes a considerable amount of moxie to speak out -- in Hollywood, no less -- against the institution of plastic surgery. Half the breasts, chins, calves and cheeks in that town have been surgically-altered in some way or other (The Corsair assumes the Vajrasana Yogamudra position). Ah, well, they can't all be as perfect as our blog wife, Miu Von Furstenberg. Kudos to Jamie Lee Curtis, Lady Haden-Guest, who told ThisisLondon:

"Saying she did not want 'the unsuspecting 40-year-old women of the world' to be deceived, the star who played a stunning aerobics instructor in the 1985 film Perfect and did a famous striptease in True Lies, said of the resulting images: 'I don't have great thighs. I have very big breasts and a soft, fatty little tummy. And I've got back fat.'

"... '(Plastic surgery and botoxing) is an epidemic which is out of control,' declared the 46-year-old. 'The way they are injecting things and freezing things. People are looking like aliens.'

"Miss Lee Curtis herself is no stranger to surgical enhancement - having in the past had Botox jabs and liposuction. But the star of A Fish Called Wanda, Trading Places and True Lies swears she would never do it again.

"'It didn't work when I tried it because it didn't work emotionally - it felt fraudulent,' she said. 'It felt like the act of doing it made me feel ashamed of myself that I would even try.'

"It was not just the psychological effects of plastic surgery that left her unimpressed. 'I tried the lipo and that comes back in other places. And I tried the Botox and that doesn't work because you have no expression. All these actresses now have foreheads like Madame Tussaud's wax museum."

Tell us how you really feel. The full story here.

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(image via wow)

Out: Porn Candy. Shame on the London Theater mentioned here! Shame! In a post entitled "Suck on This," the gang at WorldofWonder write:

"Stephanie Calman, the muse behind The Bad Mothers Club was being a good mother indeed when she took her children to the cinema to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in London. But during the show, the projection got all wonkie and the film kept slipping and stopping and having to be restarted. Eventually, red lollipops were handed to the cranky kids as they left the theater. But Calman's little daughter had hers whisked out of her hand and the sticker on it torn off before she got it back. Seems the theater was off-loading its overstock of Inside Deep Throat promotional suckers. It was only afterward that Calman noticed the lollies were slightly longer than usual."

Freaks.

Kate and Pete: Together Again

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Pete Doherty borne aloft by love ... not cracksmoke. (image via hello!Magazine)

When he's not brawling, hooking, or sucking on the glass dick, or generally causing a ruckus, Pete Doherty is, evidently, a nice guy. At least that's what Kate Moss seems to think. The woman who Johnny Depp described as having a "highwater booty" is back again with her former crack addict. According to Hello!Magazine:

"Strolling along the streets of Primrose Hill in the summer sunshine, Kate Moss and her on-off beau Pete Doherty looked like any other young couple in love. Despite the apparent unity of the photos, however, in reality the cosy lunch was the latest episode in the model's roller-coaster relationship with the troubled Babyshambles frontman.

" .... The most recent split came just two weeks ago when Kate threw the singer out of her home after a reportedly inebriated Pete got into a fight with a group of teenagers. Kate has apparently been trying to help the rocker, who is a self-confessed drug addict, to escape his demons. But friends of the model say the stress of doing so is taking its toll. The Daily Mail quotes one chum as saying, 'This relationship is destroying Kate. Everyone is worried about what this is doing to her� It is like an extreme version of the Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton romance � they can't live without each other but the relationship is totally destructive.'"

The full story here.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Picture Pages, Picture Pages ...

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"Screen test for 'The Untitled Quentin Tarrantino Project,' take 2 ... Action!" (image via thecobrasnake)

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True, he does have A weak knee and an unfortunate allergy to shellfish, but when it comes to Jewfro's ... nobody does it better than Ari. (image via thecobrasnake)

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"Listen to them--the children of the night! What music they make!" (image via thecobrasnake)

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Hey there, earnest hipsterboy: Jackson Brown called. He wants his look back. (image via thecobrasnake)

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"You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe .." (image via thecobrasnake)

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Through the delicious irony of filthy cardboard cutouts, Tabitha and Selene were able to express themselves entirely to each other. (image via thecobrasnake)

A Little of the Old In and Out

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(Cezannes "Les joueurs de cartes" via impressionistartprints)

In: Pioneering Modern Painting: The MoMa Exhibition. Being an frisky Gemini with a Libra Moon, The Corsair loves life's little binary equations, especially when they concern Venusian aesthetics (Venus being ruler of Libra). Much has been said of the friendship-competition between Picasso and Matisse, those 20th century art world colossi bestriding the globe. The artistic friendship between Cezanne and Pissaro another, though less volcanic and competetive. According to Hilton Kramer, who himself is not entirely without detractors in the art world, in the salmon colored weekly:

"There�s nothing like sharing a public humiliation to create a powerful bond between the most independent minds, and Cezanne and Pissarro were nothing if not independent. Yet such bonds also have a way of stimulating anxiety and doubt, especially self-doubt. As soon as we come upon the passage in the exhibition catalog in which Cezanne declares, 'As for the old Pissarro, he was a father to me. He was a man you could turn to for advice; he was something like God,' we sense that this is a bond destined to be frayed.

"In the halcyon days of their association, however, Cezanne and Pissarro drew a good deal of strength and inspiration from each other�s work, and in organizing this exhibition Joachim Pissarro has done a wonderful job of matching (so to speak) the paintings that underscore shared affinities.

"... Despite the close affinities, they were, after all, painters of quite different sensibilities. There is in Pissarro�s oeuvre a softness, a delicacy, a radiant shimmer that�s not to be found in Cezanne, whose touch is so much more emphatic. In the end, as Joachim Pissarro observes, 'Pissarro is about to jump from the Cezannian boat and catch the Neo-Impressionist boat, while Cezanne is about to launch his solitary experiment that will lead him to develop and expose his new �truth in painting��which, from our perspective, can be seen as a prophecy of Cubism."
The full article here. Press info on the MoMa here.

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(image via ardenwebsales)

Out: The Aging of the Evening Network News. As the audience of the network news ages not unlike a fine cheese, the commercials aired during said broadcast follow the decline with a sublime ghoulishness. Seriously, though: Even the older viewer cannot enjoy these all too sober reminders of one's own mortality, can they? According to the Old Gray Lady (link via wonkette):

"With the illness and death of Peter Jennings, the longtime anchor of 'World News Tonight' on ABC, the faces that front all three TV newscasts have changed in less than a year. With so many viewers deciding who will deliver their daily 22-minute dose of news, agency executives say, the almost $500 million spent each year on 'World News Tonight,' 'CBS Evening News' and 'NBC Nightly News' could be up for grabs.

"'As far as advertisers are concerned, it's always going to be about the ratings,' said Michael D. Drexler, chief executive at Optimedia International U.S. in New York, part of the ZenithOptimedia media agency unit of the Publicis Groupe. 'And who watches network news now is as much about the personalities reporting the stories as it is about the stories.'

"But ad dollars are unlikely to leave ABC for CBS or NBC - or any other permutation or combination of choices among the three, for that matter. Instead, the trend that has lasted for decades of declining - and aging - viewerships for the newscasts is expected to continue.

"... 'There is still a generation served their news nightly with their cocktails, and they like it,' said Bill McOwen, executive vice president and managing director for national broadcast at MPG in New York, a media agency owned by Havas. 'And till that generation moves on, there will be clients who want to reach them.'"

Depressing, to be sure. Decompressing with the evening news is tough enough work to slough through, what with all the stories on the War on Terror, the famine in Niger, Iran's nuclear ambitions, the stalemate over the 6-party multilateral North Korean nuclear talks, the rise of China and the political instability surrounding the impending Gaza pullout without having to face the incessant appeals to Viagra, and all those other assorted advertisements for the thwarting the skeletal embrace of The Grim Reaper.

Thanks, but no thatks Gods of the Evening News; we'll pass on the nightly dose of mortality and get our news online, thank you very much!

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(image via lenny-kravitz)

In: Nicole Kidman ... is Black. And no, we don't mean Kidman is "the new black"; rather, quite literally, we mean she is "in the heezy" black. And we're not just talking about the whole loving Anthony Hopkins as a DL Black man in "The Human Stain." Nicole likes her men like she likes her coffee black, nah mean? That alabaster hue notwithstanding, consider this: the romances with Q-Tip and Lenny Kravitz, and now, according to those intrepid Page Sixxies and their wonderful Sightings, lemmegetawitness:

"NICOLE Kidman jumping out of her front-row seat at the Garden, grabbing her crotch and dancing 'hip-hop style' to Eminem."

Deniroesque, to be sure. Stay tuned, dear readers, for our next installment of The New "Urban" KidmanWatch (tm), in which Nicole Kidman carries her own personal bottle of tabasco sauce to Koi's.

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(image via usweekly)

Out: Sloppy Seconds. It's all so "meta." Yesterday, the great Michael Musto blasted the tabloids for running cover stories on the scoop of another magazine. Now, Radar gets in on the act, saying:

"Magazine insiders say Vanity Fair is cracking down on staff security after its latest issue fell into the hands of notorious paparazzo Phil Ramey, allowing the sleazy lensman to shop around unreleased copies of its Jennifer Aniston cover to the highest bidder.

"'Someone at Vanity Fair must have slipped an advance copy to Ramey, because he had the whole magazine and sent scans of all the Aniston pages to anyone who would pay,' says our source.

"While most tabs passed on the Leslie Bennetts exclusive, we hear other rags, like Life & Style and the British tabloid the Sun, couldn't wait to get their hands on Aniston's first words about her awkward, very public split from Brad Pitt and paid thousands of dollars for the story just days before the mag's official Monday, Aug. 1 press release date.

"'It's a nightmare in the office,' says one VF staffer. 'No one knows how this man got a copy of the magazine or how this all leaked so fast. We had a harder time keeping this under wraps than Deep Throat!'"

In which, dear readers, Vanity Fair scooped the Washington Post on their own proprietary exclusive. The full story here.

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(image via teachpol)

In: American Ingenuity. You have to see this to believe it. American puritanical ingenuity and old fashioned gumption here has gone horribly, horribly awry: "The Smoking Gun is proud to present this sampling of kooky, classic, and bizarre patent filings--all of which have been granted by federal officials."

There is a continuous unbroken thread that goes from Ben Franklin to Ron Popeil to, well, to the thrify inventor of lightweight sexual assault deterrents. The Corsair's favorite examples of good ole American ingenuity (or is it American wierdness) include: The Crack-Cocaine Board game; Doggy Diapers; Ergonomic underwear which, Cindy Michaels of Altamont Springs, Florida, insists, "fits snugly about a man's body with leg openings of such size as to provide comfort to the wearer; and something so Medieval ... we'd rather forget that we even read about it. Really and truly.

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(image via Thisislondon)

Out: Pete Doherty, Freak. He's been gnawing on the glass dick for far too long to be saved. Still, Kate Moss thinks she is just the person. Message to Kate Moss: Get out of that relationship, fast! The door is just past the pungent cracksmoke! Oh no: Too late. They're on again; According to Ireland Online:

"Babyshambles frontman Doherty most recently split with Moss after last month's Live 8 concert in London, during which he gave a widely criticised, shambolic performance.

"And, following a week in which he was arrested for allegedly punching a British newspaper journalist, Doherty is said to have made a desperate cry for help by smashing up his guitar and setting a bed alight.

"An insider tells British newspaper The Sun: 'It's been a tough few weeks for Pete. He split with Kate, sacked his manager and got arrested for fighting a reporter.'

"Things came to a head at the weekend. He was so frustrated he smashed up a guitar and set fire to his bed.' Kate got to hear about it and let him come and stay. She still thinks she can sort out Pete and all his problems.'"

The Corsair prefers to "set fire to his bed" only on the occasion that a cute chick is 'neath the sheets. Rrrow. But we digress.

Something tells me that that product is damaged beyond repair, Kate.

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(image via dxmichael)

In: HBO to the Cellphone? Sopranos via Cingular? "The Wire" via the wireless? According to Newsweek (link via iwantmedia):

"In a broad undertaking that would launch one of the premium show-business brands on to the mobile Internet, HBO and Cingular Wireless are holding talks to create a wireless-content distribution arrangement, according to sources close to the negotiations. A deal would mark one of the most extensive agreements to date between a content producer and a wireless telecom giant.

"Under terms now being negotiated, Cingular would, among other things, offer access to HBO programming that has been customized for wireless devices, say these sources. HBO, which is owned by Time Warner, may also create new entertainment channels for the Cingular Wireless media service. There might be channels, for instance, devoted to comedy or designed to appeal to specific groups of customers. HBO might even supply video games for the Cingular service."


Johnny Knoxville: Chic?

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(image via fashionweekdaily)

The first thing that comes to mind when confronted with the concept of Johnny Knoxville is defnitiely not chic. Penicillin, perhaps: but not hardly chic.

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(image via adirtyshamemovie)

Still, that hasn't stopped the editorial boards of the fashionista elite to give him lift. Fashionweekdaily informs us:

"It seems that Knoxville has emerged as quite the leading man, thanks in no small part to Ralph Lauren, who has dressed the erstwhile jeans-and-flannel-shirt actor for his premieres, the Costume Institute Gala, and even on the cover of September GQ.

" ... Today�s WWD certainly seemed to think so. They named The Dukes of Hazzard star, who wore a Ralph Lauren Black Label suit and tie to the film�s Los Angeles premiere, their 'Chic of the Week' ..."

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

African Dictator Chic

As an immigrant from Uganda (a refugee from Idi Amin Dada's surreal Uganda-in-the-1970s), The Corsair has a particular white-hot disdain for African dictators, the soi-disant "Big Men of Africa." It's personal. They have cost the continent untold lives. And, worst of all, African dictators have no "chic." If power corrupts, then absolute power negates taste absolutely.

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(image via timeinc)

The wonderful David Patrick Columbia and The Corsair had lunch at Michael's yesterday (Isaac Mizrahi, in a hurry, waved hello; as did Joan Parker of DeBeers), and the conversation touched on his inspired "Best Dressed List," which, apparently, has prompted a lot of email -- both pro and con -- to NySocialDiary.

So, The Corsair thought, what about these dictators? How does one acquire "African Dictator chic"? And, is there such a thing, if it even exists, desirable? Well, no, it's not; but we'll tell you about it anyway.

So ... you wanna be an African tyrant. here's what you'll need:

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Perspiring Dictator Charles Taylor appeals to the tender cooling mercies of a moist towelette. (image via worldpress)

1) The African Dictator is in a perpetual state of sweat. Although Sophocles never included flopsweat in his stage directions, you can be pretty sure Oedipus Tyrannus carried with him a washcloth. And no -- not just because it is "Africa hott," but also because, quite frankly, the commonweal is looking, always, for an opportunity to go all (ironic finger quotes) "Caucescu" on your corrupt tyrannical ass. A little paranoia, the dictator knows, will wreak havoc on the sweat glands.

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A scowling Daniel Arap Moi of Kenya, and his trusty cane/scepter. (image via nationalmedia)

2) You must have a cane/scepter. That's crucial. It ought to have silver; all the better if the silver is mined from the natural resources of the dictators own impoverished country, and fashioned by a silversmith in Europe. Canes as symbols of African power and oppression of the uppity citizenry are hot. The Corsair does not quite know why, though. It may have something to do with a "colonial complex." African dictators tend to dress -- oddly -- after the manner of the Edwardian dandy, circa 1898.

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(image via ccinemur.be)

3) The Belgian Chateaux. The Swiss (1970s) and Russian hookers (late 1990s-2000s) are a given, as is the Mercedes Benzes and the cases of Johnny Walker Blue delivered to friends of the regime, but an African dictator is not entirely complete without the requisite Belgian chateaux (Averted Gaze). The Belgian chateaux being, of course, only a shade more ostentatiously "classy" than the Portuguese Golf resort (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment).

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(image via nndb)

4) Martial-style. It is never entirely inappropriate to let the hoi polloi, those unwashed uneducated masses, know just who is the Commander in Chief (Or, in the lamentable case of Idi Amin, "His Excellency, President for Life Field Marshall Al Hadj Doctor Idi Amin Dada, VC, DSO, MC. Lord of all the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular"). Adopting an ostentatiously martial style projects an adolescent idealization of "strength" in the same way that the "over-teased hair" sported by Eastern European bureaucrats in the 1970s and Korean dictators of today do (Russell Crowe would understand the motivation).

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(image via mabus)

5) Be Big. Megalomania is next to Godliness in the Dictator mindset. The effective African tyrant wears big colors -- Ghadaffi fears the color green, loves vermillion and pink. Everyone knows that dictators had ruinous, broken childhoods, like porn-stars. No psychologically healthy and well integrated adult personality would decide, on a whim, to take control of an emerging country's GDP and declare it to be, henceforth, his own checking account. Okay, aside from fucking Kissinger.

But The Corsair digresses. As a result of that early brokenness, the future autocrat -- whether in a destitute orphanage, or in some war-ravaged bush -- learned that "power" is achieved through throwing the biggest tantrum, stealing the most food, bullying the most boys and organizing them into his subordinates. This is essentially a regression into animal and not human behavior. And, if the future dictator is successful as a child in this endeavor, he will continue, through military channels, eventually taking over his jhost country -- or dying in the process -- and, ultimately, imploding in some megalomaniacal scheme to rule the region (Sadaam), or the world (Hitler). That's what the diplomatic strategy of containment was all about: containing the diseased regime, hastening its own collapse from internal contradiction.

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Shady military general confers with thugocrat Mugabe. (image via worldpress)

6) Always Bring Things Back to Colonialism. Zimbabwe is like Sophocles' Thebes. The monsterous Robert Mugabe, currently a goddamned Sinophile (China is now, for all intents and purposes, the Anti-America, capitalizing on every diplomatic misstep of the Bush administration), he is expert at diverting attention from his horrific management of Zimbabwe by bringing up European colonialism and the post-colonial white farmers -- who, by The Corsair's reckoning are by no means squeaky-clean in all this (despite what the Tory British press says).

So, if you ask Mugabe, sweetly, what he is doing about that Oedipal plague, AIDS, which infects 1/3 of the country, he will talk of British colonialism (The Corsair sips his Campari and soda); if you ask why half of his country is impoverished, he brings up the white farmers (The Corsair sparks a Sobranie). It is a brilliantly evil game, played with serpentine precision, and if one's attention span is short, or if one is given to emotion, Mugabe will seduce you, making you forget that he is running Zimbabwe into the ground, and that he operates in the interests of his own wealth and continued power.

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Fortuitous displays of Nigerian power. (image via gov.ru )

7) Pimp Hard. Dictators -- like the Nigerian junta -- convert the natural resources of a country into quick cash by selling the rights to corrupt corporations (and, in the process, cutting themselves a sweet slice of the action). The corporation gets, in turn, cheap labor, and the military of the country -- like the Nigerian junta -- as bodyguards. The corporation leaves, in due time, environmental havoc and unmarked mass graves. The gameplan is very simple, very "Oceans-11" -- hit it, then quit it; hopefully, make a cool billion, then move on to Monte Carlo before the next military junta take over and it all ends in the tragedy of Shakespearean succession. Cool de la?

Picture Pages, Picture Pages ...

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"Jennifer Aniston was right! This is for Brad Pitt. Billy Idol's calling. He really does want his look back." (image via thecobrasnake)

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"sniff-sniff, giggle-giggle ... rusty pipes ... sniff-sniff" (image via thecobrasnake)

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More municipal fuckwittage at work: The garbage goes on the inside of the truck, assholes. (image via thecobrasnake)

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Floats like a butterfly, stings like a papercut. (image via thecobrasnake)

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Post-coitus, the members of the band finally allowed Madame "Everyone-Gets-A-Ride" the opportunity to remove her sweaty pillowcase. (image via thecobrasnake)

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"Willem Da-faux" unzips, gingerly, allowing "Nosferatu" to come "peeping" for some night air and exotic Southeast Asian cuisine. (image via thecobrasnake)

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The insistent gentleman's Gallic charm notwithstanding, Tess Truehart only had eyes for the bass player. (image via thecobrasnake)

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As the clock struck twelve in Williamsburg, the bidding on the last can of domestic-ironic beer became quite heated. (image via thecobrasnake)

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Though the particulars of "African dictator chic" change in the fullness of time -- i.e. the leopard skin Mobutu cap gives way to lighter materials -- the rifle as fashion accesory, that never changes. (image via AP)

A Little of the Old In and Out

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(image via gotriad)

In: Peter Jennings, The Last of the Anchors. The era of the anchor is over with the death of the singular Peter Jennings. Howard Kurtz said it best today when he said (link via Romenesko):

"I remember hanging out in the ABC skybox at the Democratic convention in Boston last year as Jennings, in shirtsleeves, anchored a two-hour digital cable broadcast also available to America Online and cell phone users. He reveled in the spontaneity of it, without knowing whether the audience would be hundreds or hundreds of thousands, and boasted that the program would kick off with music by Jimi Hendrix.

"Jennings sent me a personal e-mail only once, and it wasn't about him. It was to thank me for an article about a colleague of his who he felt was being unfairly pilloried by some commentators.

"While Brokaw radiated midwestern earnestness and Rather a Texas tenaciousness, Jennings was smooth, witty, urbane -- too detached for some people's tastes, but to others a welcome antidote to the cacophony of network hype. In less than a year, the Big Three have all departed -- Brokaw by retirement, Rather by stepping down under pressure after a botched story about President Bush, and Jennings by the tragic illness that we all heard in his raspy voice when he announced the diagnosis, with typical grace and humor, last April."

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(image via usweekly)

Out: Sloppy Seconds. After discoursing on the classy swellegance of Peter Jennings, it seems a geometrically balanced contrast to post what the great Michael Musto has to say on the downright surreality of the well staffed and funded celebrity glossies doing cover stories on ... the scoop of ... another magazine -- oh, jesus, WTF?!:

"There are so many desperate gossip rags decorating your local newsstand that the second JENNIFER ANISTON spilled her guts to Vanity Fair, they all lined up up with tongues out to mooch their own second-hand covers off the VF exclusive. 'Jen Speaks Out!' blared In Touch magazine. Yeah, but not to them. 'Jen Breaks Her Silence!' screeched People magazine. Yeah, to someone else. 'Jen Tells All,' crowed Us Weekly. Yep, to a much better magazine."

Oh no he didn't!

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(image via subcin)

In: The Berlin Alexanderplatz Restoration. Just hearing the name Berlin Alexanderplatz takes me to a warm and special place. It reminds me of the first time that The Corsair heard about that artsy-profane film of Weimar decadence on the well-guarded (in case of a political kidnapping) campus of the UN School during a lunch break. Two gorgeous and sophisticated older diplobrats -- German? -- were discussing Fassbinder, spellbound, rapt.

The Corsair would have been all of seven years old at the time, already girl-crazy, and all we could make out, while ogling their sublime leginess and all that 70s hair, were the astonished whispers: 'Berlin Alexanderplatz.'

And so, all in all, we became a foreign film buff of sorts all because hot chicks were involved. Isn't that always the case? Now, this from cinematical:

"Rainer Werner Fassbinder's miniseries Berlin Alexanderplatz is currently undergoing a $500,000 restoration. David at GreenCine linked to a German article on the whole shebang, and I diligently went ahead and Babel Fish-ed it (thanks, Nick) for your enjoyment.

" ... From what I can tell from the shoddy automatic translation, there is one remaining print of Alexanderplatz, Fassbinder's 15 hour miniseries based on the novel by Alfred Doblin, and its condition is so poor that it can't really be shown. A restoration, spearheaded by the Rainer Werner Fassbinder Foundation (RWFF), at the cost of 450,000 Euros (about $555,000), is underway."

More.

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Fashion accessory Mr. Jessica Simpson and his wife, who brings home the bacon despite a deficit of ass. (image via something called xinhuanet)

Out: Jessica Simpson. At Moviehole, this is some real Heideggerian ground-of-being philosophy up in this bitch, yo:

"Moviehole: You looked like you had fun playing up the sex appeal of this character. Is there a line you won�t cross?

"Jessica Simpson: Oh, there�s a lot of lines I won�t cross. I did have fun playing up the sex appeal of Daisy Duke because she�s a woman, she�s a smart woman and she definitely knows how to use her body! [giggles]

"Moviehole: Did you learn anything from her? I took a lot away from the set. I took a lot from Baton Rouge and just being in the Daisy Duke shorts. How would you say she�s smart?

"Jessica Simpson: Um, she was the brains behind getting everybody out of trouble all the time. She would always undo everything that was all wound up."

Buxom; but dumb as a bag of pigsknuckles. More. (giggles)

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(image via hmfus)

In: Brandon Holly. Brandon Holly and not -- as we hoped -- the bosomy Atoosa Rubenstein is the new editrix at Jane. Congrats to Brandon. As Keith J. Kelly writes in the Post:

"Brandon Holley, the founding editor of 31/2-year-old teen magazine Elle Girl, has been tapped to succeed Jane Pratt as the editor in chief of Jane, the Fairchild title aimed at twentysomething women.

"Holley, a Conde Nast veteran, was a prot�g� of Art Cooper at GQ before getting tapped as the chief editor for Elle Girl at Hachette Filipacchi.

" ... Fashion advertisers such as Donna Karan and Marc Jacobs are already said to be getting skittish on a Jane without Jane the person, and that can't be good news for a magazine that has been flat this year � with ad pages up less than one percent to 399.86 pages through July.

" ... Pratt is said to be heading to a new career with Sirius Satellite Radio, but neither she nor Sirius are divulging any details. Howard Stern, who is also heading to Sirius, said on air that Pratt was going to be getting a 24-hour channel."

Curious.

Revenge of the Jedi

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(image via telia.com)

The failure of "The Island" and its role in the possible (though not likely) death of Hollywood has gotten, it seems, all involved a little tense. And by "The Island," we mean, of course, Michael Bay's Island, not "The Brando Island." Even the patience of a jedi is not enough to fend off a Hollywood-Fuck-You-Very-Much. According to the 3AM Girls:

"Our spy at the Leicester Square event on Sunday tells us: 'Ewan was all smiles when he arrived and although he's not fond of being interviewed he quite happily answered all the easy questions about the film which also stars Scarlett Johansson.'

"The Scotsman's mood changed, however, when one reporter dared to ask him about jibes in the US over his accent in the film, which was described as leaving the viewer feeling 'pummelled rather than exhilarated.'

"Our mole goes on: 'A blonde girl asked him if he'd be sticking to his Scottish accent in future.

"Ewan was taken aback, but answered that he had 'no plans' to abandon the US accent. He seemed to be carrying on with his red-carpet duties as normal.'

And then, as they say, things got interesting (The Corsair pours himself a Campari and soda):

"We're told: 'A few minutes later he marched back to the girl and snarled: 'Thank you for bringing that up - you've ruined my evening!" before storming off.

"'Not long after this one of the event's organisers told the girl she had to leave,' says our mole.
And while the reporter was packing up to go, a US toady got in on the act.

"'The guy was incandescent with rage and called the girl a f***ing a***hole and said she was banned from all future premieres, which seemed an incredible over-reaction.'

"A spokeswoman for McGregor later gave a rambling explanation for the actor's behaviour.

"'There had been an unfounded criticism made to Ewan by an agency reporter, to which Ewan politely replied that he was sorry she'd asked that question as it had taken the shine off his night.

"'To our knowledge no one was asked to leave and it has been resolved amicably.'"

Monday, August 08, 2005

A Little of the Old In and Out

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(image via columbia)

In: George Stephanopoulos, Accidental Powerbroker? Did George Stephanopoulos inadvertently get Madeline Albright her gig at Foggy Bottom? That's our muddled Monday morning guess anyway. At the Chicago Tribune Printer's Row book fair in June 11th (Televised on C-Span), author John Harris told an interesting tale. Apparently, while giving a blind quote to the Washington Post, a Clinton official in letting slip that Madeline Albright was considered a "second tier" candidate for the State Department job (George Mitchell and Richard Holbrooke were also up for the position), incurred the wraith of feminists.

As a result, protesters barraged the White House, carrying signs saying, in effect, that Madeline Albright was not "Second Tier." At the time it was widely noted that Clinton could not have beaten Dole by handy margs without the help of the soi-disant "soccer moms." As a result, Albright shot to the head of the pack and duly became the first woman Secretary of State.

But who was the anonymous Clinton staffer? Harris told James Warren of the Chicago Tribune that the mysterious Clintonista refused to go on record of having made the "second tier remark," but disclosed, wryly, that our man was, at present, a "former political advisor" with "his own television show."

Hmmm: Stephanopoulos?

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" ... But his friends call him 'Bubbles'" (image via knesset.gov)

Out: Bibi Netanyahu. What, pray tell, was Benjamin "Bibi" Netanyahu (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment) thinking when he resigned his cushy Finance post in the inclusive Israeli Government over the humane and -- IMHO -- goddamned noble Gaza pullout that Ariel Sharon has been attempting, against the growing forces of darkness, to bring into the light of day? Curiously, the opportunistic troublemaker made his "move" the day after Robin Cook, Baron of Thorndon, that principled and highly acclaimed British statesman shuffled off the mortal coil, and was gathering posthumous praise by the chattering classes on both sides of the Atlantic for resigning from the Blair government over the Iraq WMD issue.

And so, like clockwork, the settlers who resist evacuation and who have yet -- at this late date -- to ask for reimbursement from the Israeli government for their property throw their lot behind the ever-positioning, ever-divisive Netanyahu. Swell.

We won't entertain the possibility that the Machiavellian "Bibi" was exhibiting his naked ambition?

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(image via cmukgb)

In: "Avids." It looks as if we are smack-dab in the midst of a "revenge of the nerds" moment that has reached, we believe, critical mass. With Microsoftian billionaire chic-geeks like Paul Allen rocking the most massive American yacht named -- ironically -- "Octopus (Averted Gaze)," as he squires high-calibre women like Mick Jagger's ex Jerry Hall (The dream-girl of every Baby Boomer heterosexual male, BTW), and superhottie euro-socialite Laura Harring around, this is clearly a nerd moment that we must address.

Hollywood insiders Uberguber and Peter Bart took AMC's "Sunday Morning Shootout" to the OK corral known to the cool-challenged everywhere as "Comicon," which is billed, unfortunately, as "The World's Largest Comic Book Convention (Averted Gaze)," to see what these early-adopters are melting their pocket protectors over.

To The Corsair's surprise, A-List director Brian Singer took time out from shooting "Superman Returns (Where, we hear, geek-pranksters are causing a ruckus)," to make an appearance at Comicon, as did Oscar winner Aeon Flux's Charlize Theron.

Charmed, I'm sure; and the geek shall inherit the earth.


 
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