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
Friday, July 30, 2004
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?
Teresa Heinz-Kerry: What the Fuck?!
From this week's Time Magazine:
Teresa: When I was in Switzerland in college, my budget was $250 a month for everything, and I managed fine.
TIME: What did you have to do without?
Teresa: For instance, one day a week I would not eat protein because I needed to buy a flower in the middle of winter. I would have to buy a rose or something that would take me to the outdoors.
What the f@ck?!
From this week's Time Magazine:
Teresa: When I was in Switzerland in college, my budget was $250 a month for everything, and I managed fine.
TIME: What did you have to do without?
Teresa: For instance, one day a week I would not eat protein because I needed to buy a flower in the middle of winter. I would have to buy a rose or something that would take me to the outdoors.
What the f@ck?!
Monday, July 26, 2004
Ed Note: Defamer readers: The Christina Applegate and Ben Affleck story is right here
Ann (Coulter) in the Can; (Michael) Moore on the Floor
Drudgereport.com leaves us to contemplate today the positively hideous twin images of, "MOORE ON THE FLOOR, BUT ANN IN THE CAN," with all the caps out and the freak flag flying at full mast. (The Corsair shivers in horror) Let the record state, however, true believers, that The Corsair has neither interest in Coulter's "can," (averted gaze) nor "Moore on the floor," (exaggerated cough, feigned detatchment) to be quite frank. It's just all so hideous, people:
"... Leftwing controversialist and Bush hater Michael Moore has free reign on the floor of the Dem convention hall -- and has been hired to write for USA TODAY at the Republican convention! 'Coulter has been hired for Boston, Moore has been hired for NY,' a USA TODAY source explained, unaware of the fallout with Coulter in Boston.
You've got to love Drudge, even if he appears, on his site, to be in a constant state of anxiety and exasperation, with all those all caps invective flying. Now, Drudgie Poo takes the time out to defend his equally exasperated pal, Ann Coulter:
"USA Today editors have spiked a daily convention column they commissioned from conservative controversialist Ann Coulter, the DRUDGE REPORT has learned. Coulter filed her first report from Boston Sunday night, only to be told hours later that editors found it 'unusable' and 'not funny.'
"'Apparently no one at USA TODAY had ever read Ann Coulter before!' Coulter, who has sold nearly a million copies of her various works and his written a syndicated column for five years, said from Boston."
Drudge has a point: play fair USA Today people, equal time for all: If Moore is covering the Republicans, then you should allow Coulter to do the same for the Democrats, with, of course, the caveat that the opinions of neither not reflect the usual cheesy cookie-cutter editorial opinion of your national "paper."
Update: The column may, ultimately, be published (link via Romenesko).
Ann (Coulter) in the Can; (Michael) Moore on the Floor
Drudgereport.com leaves us to contemplate today the positively hideous twin images of, "MOORE ON THE FLOOR, BUT ANN IN THE CAN," with all the caps out and the freak flag flying at full mast. (The Corsair shivers in horror) Let the record state, however, true believers, that The Corsair has neither interest in Coulter's "can," (averted gaze) nor "Moore on the floor," (exaggerated cough, feigned detatchment) to be quite frank. It's just all so hideous, people:
"... Leftwing controversialist and Bush hater Michael Moore has free reign on the floor of the Dem convention hall -- and has been hired to write for USA TODAY at the Republican convention! 'Coulter has been hired for Boston, Moore has been hired for NY,' a USA TODAY source explained, unaware of the fallout with Coulter in Boston.
You've got to love Drudge, even if he appears, on his site, to be in a constant state of anxiety and exasperation, with all those all caps invective flying. Now, Drudgie Poo takes the time out to defend his equally exasperated pal, Ann Coulter:
"USA Today editors have spiked a daily convention column they commissioned from conservative controversialist Ann Coulter, the DRUDGE REPORT has learned. Coulter filed her first report from Boston Sunday night, only to be told hours later that editors found it 'unusable' and 'not funny.'
"'Apparently no one at USA TODAY had ever read Ann Coulter before!' Coulter, who has sold nearly a million copies of her various works and his written a syndicated column for five years, said from Boston."
Drudge has a point: play fair USA Today people, equal time for all: If Moore is covering the Republicans, then you should allow Coulter to do the same for the Democrats, with, of course, the caveat that the opinions of neither not reflect the usual cheesy cookie-cutter editorial opinion of your national "paper."
Update: The column may, ultimately, be published (link via Romenesko).
Ed Note: Defamer readers: The Christina Applegate and Ben Affleck story is right here
Offer Nader the Attorney General Position
The Corsair would like to offer this free advice to The Democratic Party, now meeting in Boston, solemnly, to coalesce its scattered forces for the final November War: Offer Ralph Nader the Attorney General position.
You know that this crotchety old man covets this position, mouth watering, eyes agog with lust. He savors this tasty little morsel; one can almost imagine Nader praying lyrically to dark ancient gods -- intoning softly, rhythmically, intensely -- all this after being named the Attorney General of the United States, targeting multinationals at will. Nader has spent his entire life -- from his graduation from Harvard Law School to the authorship of Unsafe at Any Speed, to his creation of the "Nader's Raiders," to the endless Public Interest Research Groups (PIRG's) -- all this after a position of leverage in The Law. Nader translates his monastic disdain of romantic love into the single purpose of corporate scrutiny.
All of these inventions, all of this groping around in the ethical gray areas of the mechanisms of American capitalism, all this in the search of an Archimedian point on which to stand and remake the world into his image, a world where corporations are as hard on themselves as the conscientious Lord Ralph is, perhaps, on himself. That, true believr, at least in theory.
Nader is a threat to John Kerry, to be sure. He is a spoiler twice, a gadfly from the far flung left, and a harvester of radical youth discontent with roughly three percent of the electorate in his thrall. Nader is in the red-bronze twilight of a somewhat useful career as a consumer advocate. He knows this is his last hurrah, his last chance to the dance, and, secretly, I believe, he was tickled in a perverse way by his role as a spoiler in 2000. Nader was tickled, I believe, as an obscene poster in a chat room might be, or a graffiti artist having at a virginal, clean wall might be (uhm, or so I hear ...)
For the first time in his lonely and bitter struggle against Tha Man, the CEO's, the Masters of the Universe, he made a difference, he was a blip on the national radar, rather than some slightly unsavory B-Lister on the Georgetown social set. He was not irrelevant. History would remember him, if only as an asterisk. Ivy League political science theses would herald him as a legitimate force.
At the beginning of the 21st century, it should be noted, Attorney generals -- like urban mayors in the mid 90s, in the wake of Federalism -- are the new black. Eliot Spitzer has made the position hugely relevant. The CEO, as a sociological curiosity, is getting close scrutiny; they are no longer viewed as untouchable, invincible. Business journalism is all the rage. Public outcry is against the excesses of business -- think: Martha, Kenny Lay, and all the rest. An Attorney General of any state can make a difference -- how much greater the Attorney General of the United States?
How could Nader refuse this opportunity -- if presented reverently by, say, Howard Dean -- to be useful to the consumer on such a massive scale. Nader's psychology demands this validation. His ego, properly massaged, would allow him to step down gracefully, giving an extra convention bounce. As pollster Mark Mellman writes in The Hill:
"Going into the 1992 Democratic convention, Bill Clinton was running third and Ross Perot was in second place, garnering 30 percent of the vote. During the convention, Perot dropped out, temporarily increasing Clintons margin by 28 points. Clintons gain had less to do with the convention and lots to do with Perot"
So, what's the worst that could happen? The cantankerous Nader has as much a chance of surviving a Senate confirmation hearing for the AG position as Howard Stern has of getting inducted into the National Organization of Women. But if you won't say anything neither will I.
Offer Nader the Attorney General Position
The Corsair would like to offer this free advice to The Democratic Party, now meeting in Boston, solemnly, to coalesce its scattered forces for the final November War: Offer Ralph Nader the Attorney General position.
You know that this crotchety old man covets this position, mouth watering, eyes agog with lust. He savors this tasty little morsel; one can almost imagine Nader praying lyrically to dark ancient gods -- intoning softly, rhythmically, intensely -- all this after being named the Attorney General of the United States, targeting multinationals at will. Nader has spent his entire life -- from his graduation from Harvard Law School to the authorship of Unsafe at Any Speed, to his creation of the "Nader's Raiders," to the endless Public Interest Research Groups (PIRG's) -- all this after a position of leverage in The Law. Nader translates his monastic disdain of romantic love into the single purpose of corporate scrutiny.
All of these inventions, all of this groping around in the ethical gray areas of the mechanisms of American capitalism, all this in the search of an Archimedian point on which to stand and remake the world into his image, a world where corporations are as hard on themselves as the conscientious Lord Ralph is, perhaps, on himself. That, true believr, at least in theory.
Nader is a threat to John Kerry, to be sure. He is a spoiler twice, a gadfly from the far flung left, and a harvester of radical youth discontent with roughly three percent of the electorate in his thrall. Nader is in the red-bronze twilight of a somewhat useful career as a consumer advocate. He knows this is his last hurrah, his last chance to the dance, and, secretly, I believe, he was tickled in a perverse way by his role as a spoiler in 2000. Nader was tickled, I believe, as an obscene poster in a chat room might be, or a graffiti artist having at a virginal, clean wall might be (uhm, or so I hear ...)
For the first time in his lonely and bitter struggle against Tha Man, the CEO's, the Masters of the Universe, he made a difference, he was a blip on the national radar, rather than some slightly unsavory B-Lister on the Georgetown social set. He was not irrelevant. History would remember him, if only as an asterisk. Ivy League political science theses would herald him as a legitimate force.
At the beginning of the 21st century, it should be noted, Attorney generals -- like urban mayors in the mid 90s, in the wake of Federalism -- are the new black. Eliot Spitzer has made the position hugely relevant. The CEO, as a sociological curiosity, is getting close scrutiny; they are no longer viewed as untouchable, invincible. Business journalism is all the rage. Public outcry is against the excesses of business -- think: Martha, Kenny Lay, and all the rest. An Attorney General of any state can make a difference -- how much greater the Attorney General of the United States?
How could Nader refuse this opportunity -- if presented reverently by, say, Howard Dean -- to be useful to the consumer on such a massive scale. Nader's psychology demands this validation. His ego, properly massaged, would allow him to step down gracefully, giving an extra convention bounce. As pollster Mark Mellman writes in The Hill:
"Going into the 1992 Democratic convention, Bill Clinton was running third and Ross Perot was in second place, garnering 30 percent of the vote. During the convention, Perot dropped out, temporarily increasing Clintons margin by 28 points. Clintons gain had less to do with the convention and lots to do with Perot"
So, what's the worst that could happen? The cantankerous Nader has as much a chance of surviving a Senate confirmation hearing for the AG position as Howard Stern has of getting inducted into the National Organization of Women. But if you won't say anything neither will I.
A Little of the Old In and Out
In: LA.com's blog. Let's break for a second to consider Hollywood and not Washington for a second (And, incidentally, of Tinseltown, mirabile dictu, Fashionweekdaily reports: "Soho House is scouting spots for their L.A. outpost and calling in the opinions of fashion insiders to see if they should actually make the move out west," which means, of course, that leaky air conditioners can now leak on you on both coasts). Anyhoo: The LA.com blog gives us this deliciously nasty blind item:
"Dolly wonders how long that fresh, funky movie star will get away free and clear before someone busts her Winona-style for her light-fingered ways. All her friends know that she has such a mania for keeping her sensitive skin looking great that she seeks out the best spas and salons for facials and treatments wherever she goes. But though she makes plenty of moolah, she just loves to snake expensive skin care products when the busy facialists and salon owners aren?t looking. Recently at a Santa Monica spa, she got caught red-handed with a bagful of pricey product and, being famed for her skill at improv, she quickly spun a tale to the beautician about how she only put the goodies in the bag so that she could remember exactly which items had been used on her so she could buy them before checking out. They didn?t buy it any more than we do, but they let her slip that one time. "
Out: Bonnie Fuller. Can she get more out after the public excoriation by Vanity Fair? Possibly. But she has the cunning of Machiavelli with regard to damage control in the wake of Star Magazine's tough gossip, and the fostering of future goodwill among those A-Listers. According to Fashionweekdaily's Daily Spy:
"It looks like Bonnie Fuller has found a novel way to ensure she has at least a friend or two in Hollywood, in her continual efforts to win over celebrity flacks despite the damaging stories Star magazine does on their clients. Fuller has apparently hired top PR firm PMK /HBH, which reps everyone from Jennifer Aniston to Gwyneth Paltrow, to handle PR for next month's Star-sponsored premiere of 'Growing Up Gotti,' A&E?s new reality show vehicle for Star writer and mob daughter Victoria Gotti . Considering the often antagonistic relationship between PMK/HBH and Fuller?Gwyneth Paltrow once referred to her as 'the devil' and Paltrow?s rep Stephen Huvane seems to support that view?it's surprising that the company took the job at all. 'It must be costing Bonnie?or should we say David Pecker?a bundle,' says one insider."
In: Terry McAuliffe. Despite the fact that, in many ways, the Clinton loyalist is DNC Chair in name only, todays Washington Post hails him, thusly:
"(McAuliffe) forced a controversial change in the primary campaign schedule and pressed state chairmen to give up exclusive control of their voter lists. He also invested millions in a new headquarters, and gambled that the party could mount a challenge to the GOP's three decades of dominating fundraising.
"Every one of these high-risk tactics paid off. The schedule change gave Kerry time to raise more than $200 million; the DNC now has a voter list with information on more than 170 million people, which allows the party to develop its own direct-mail donor list. The new headquarters, in turn, is wired to run an operation increasingly dependent on the Internet and the facilities to produce all forms of telecommunications and traditional media."
But don't expect Terry to cut impromptu checks, true believer, according to a June 4th Page Six item, "No checks are written until (general election chairman of the DNC John) Sasso signs off. No decisions are made until Sasso says so," said one Democrat. "Terry McAuliffe was told to take it, or take a hike. And he's taking it."
And Teresa's shoving it ....
Out: Teresa Heinz Kerry, Liability? Teresa is, by all accounts, a bright, sexy and sophisticated woman of 65. Teresa speaks five languages, and, those who know her say, she speaks all of them with a charming sass. The Corsair is not averse to a saucy woman of the Heinz variety (no pun intended). But Heinz-Kerry is an eccentric billionaire, used to speaking her mind, on anything, and -- we won't say we told you so -- she is having difficulties sticking to the Kerry-Edwards script, staying, as it were, on point, according to the Washington Post:
"Teresa Heinz Kerry urged home-state delegates to the Democratic National Convention to restore a more civil tone to politics, then minutes later told a journalist to 'shove it.'
"'We need to turn back some of the creeping, un-Pennsylvanian and sometimes un-American traits that are coming into some of our politics,' the wife of Democratic candidate Sen. John F. Kerry (Mass.) told fellow Pennsylvanians on Sunday night at a Massachusetts Statehouse reception.
"Minutes later, Colin McNickle, editorial page editor of the conservative Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, questioned her on what she meant by the term 'un-American,' according to a tape of the encounter recorded by Pittsburgh station WTAE-TV.
"Heinz Kerry said, 'I didn't say that' several times to McNickle. She turned to confer with Pennsylvania Gov. Ed Rendell and others.
"When she faced McNickle again a short time later, he continued to question her, and she replied, 'You said something I didn't say. Now shove it.'"
And, of course, this will be discussed hotly in Teresa's home state (and, ironically, the important swing state) Pennsylvania.
In: Tina Brown's Painful to Watch Larry Flynt Interview. Not that Tina Brown is a prude or anything, but how uncomfortable did it seem when Tina, "Lady Evans" (2nd item) if you're nasty, interviewed porcine pornographer Larry Flynt, the man with the pink jet, a man not known for elegant and sophisticated discussion. Gawker's Henry the Intern captures the tone:
"Tina then cornered pornographer Larry Flynt for publishing photos of Jackie Onassis naked. 'I would publish photographs of Queen Elizabeth,' he said. 'You're not selling sex in those photographs, you're selling the icon status of the individuals involved.' Good thing Tina interrupted him from nearly equating the rise of religion and increased porn sales to Bush and Kerry voters, respectively, but she couldn't stop him from describing 70 naked women: 'their pubes were all gone. . . they think men want to see these big, [implanted] watermelons.' Flynt said he doesn't know the current version of Courtney Love. 'The book is provocative,' closed Tina. 'And so are you.'"
Thanks for sharing, Larry. Like school on Saturday, Mr. Flynt has -- altogether now, gang, "no class"!
Out: Former Governor John Rowlands. (The Corsair's favorite political punching bag). According to Page Six, Rowlands is going from the State House to the Big House:
"JOHN Rowland ? who stepped down in disgrace as governor of Connecticut before the state legislature could impeach him ? will soon cop a plea to tax evasion, sources say. Rowland has been under investigation for months by the office of U.S. Attorney Kevin O'Connor, who has recused himself from working on the case personally because of his friendship with Rowland. The Republican has yet to be formally charged. 'A deal has been made,' said one insider. 'The feds originally insisted he do 11 months in jail, but have agreed to five.' When the five-month figure was run past another well-connected insider, the power-broker said, 'Even less.'"
In: Public Restrooms at the Democrat Convention. So funny, from the AP (A pee-pee?):
"Media members, already perturbed by long security lines, may find themselves waiting in line for something nearly as important. As the majority of the print reporters arrived Saturday at the FleetCenter for the Democratic National Convention, tongues clucked when they saw the restroom facilities that they will be using for the next week.
"Twenty portable restrooms, like those used on construction sites, are lined up in front of the media pavilion to service nearly 1,200 members of the print media who will be working around the clock. That's about 60 serious coffee-drinkers per toilet.
"'That's absurd,' said Jim Drinkard, a political reporter for USA Today, when he heard of the ratio of toilets per media member."
All the news that's fit to ...
In: LA.com's blog. Let's break for a second to consider Hollywood and not Washington for a second (And, incidentally, of Tinseltown, mirabile dictu, Fashionweekdaily reports: "Soho House is scouting spots for their L.A. outpost and calling in the opinions of fashion insiders to see if they should actually make the move out west," which means, of course, that leaky air conditioners can now leak on you on both coasts). Anyhoo: The LA.com blog gives us this deliciously nasty blind item:
"Dolly wonders how long that fresh, funky movie star will get away free and clear before someone busts her Winona-style for her light-fingered ways. All her friends know that she has such a mania for keeping her sensitive skin looking great that she seeks out the best spas and salons for facials and treatments wherever she goes. But though she makes plenty of moolah, she just loves to snake expensive skin care products when the busy facialists and salon owners aren?t looking. Recently at a Santa Monica spa, she got caught red-handed with a bagful of pricey product and, being famed for her skill at improv, she quickly spun a tale to the beautician about how she only put the goodies in the bag so that she could remember exactly which items had been used on her so she could buy them before checking out. They didn?t buy it any more than we do, but they let her slip that one time. "
Out: Bonnie Fuller. Can she get more out after the public excoriation by Vanity Fair? Possibly. But she has the cunning of Machiavelli with regard to damage control in the wake of Star Magazine's tough gossip, and the fostering of future goodwill among those A-Listers. According to Fashionweekdaily's Daily Spy:
"It looks like Bonnie Fuller has found a novel way to ensure she has at least a friend or two in Hollywood, in her continual efforts to win over celebrity flacks despite the damaging stories Star magazine does on their clients. Fuller has apparently hired top PR firm PMK /HBH, which reps everyone from Jennifer Aniston to Gwyneth Paltrow, to handle PR for next month's Star-sponsored premiere of 'Growing Up Gotti,' A&E?s new reality show vehicle for Star writer and mob daughter Victoria Gotti . Considering the often antagonistic relationship between PMK/HBH and Fuller?Gwyneth Paltrow once referred to her as 'the devil' and Paltrow?s rep Stephen Huvane seems to support that view?it's surprising that the company took the job at all. 'It must be costing Bonnie?or should we say David Pecker?a bundle,' says one insider."
In: Terry McAuliffe. Despite the fact that, in many ways, the Clinton loyalist is DNC Chair in name only, todays Washington Post hails him, thusly:
"(McAuliffe) forced a controversial change in the primary campaign schedule and pressed state chairmen to give up exclusive control of their voter lists. He also invested millions in a new headquarters, and gambled that the party could mount a challenge to the GOP's three decades of dominating fundraising.
"Every one of these high-risk tactics paid off. The schedule change gave Kerry time to raise more than $200 million; the DNC now has a voter list with information on more than 170 million people, which allows the party to develop its own direct-mail donor list. The new headquarters, in turn, is wired to run an operation increasingly dependent on the Internet and the facilities to produce all forms of telecommunications and traditional media."
But don't expect Terry to cut impromptu checks, true believer, according to a June 4th Page Six item, "No checks are written until (general election chairman of the DNC John) Sasso signs off. No decisions are made until Sasso says so," said one Democrat. "Terry McAuliffe was told to take it, or take a hike. And he's taking it."
And Teresa's shoving it ....
Out: Teresa Heinz Kerry, Liability? Teresa is, by all accounts, a bright, sexy and sophisticated woman of 65. Teresa speaks five languages, and, those who know her say, she speaks all of them with a charming sass. The Corsair is not averse to a saucy woman of the Heinz variety (no pun intended). But Heinz-Kerry is an eccentric billionaire, used to speaking her mind, on anything, and -- we won't say we told you so -- she is having difficulties sticking to the Kerry-Edwards script, staying, as it were, on point, according to the Washington Post:
"Teresa Heinz Kerry urged home-state delegates to the Democratic National Convention to restore a more civil tone to politics, then minutes later told a journalist to 'shove it.'
"'We need to turn back some of the creeping, un-Pennsylvanian and sometimes un-American traits that are coming into some of our politics,' the wife of Democratic candidate Sen. John F. Kerry (Mass.) told fellow Pennsylvanians on Sunday night at a Massachusetts Statehouse reception.
"Minutes later, Colin McNickle, editorial page editor of the conservative Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, questioned her on what she meant by the term 'un-American,' according to a tape of the encounter recorded by Pittsburgh station WTAE-TV.
"Heinz Kerry said, 'I didn't say that' several times to McNickle. She turned to confer with Pennsylvania Gov. Ed Rendell and others.
"When she faced McNickle again a short time later, he continued to question her, and she replied, 'You said something I didn't say. Now shove it.'"
And, of course, this will be discussed hotly in Teresa's home state (and, ironically, the important swing state) Pennsylvania.
In: Tina Brown's Painful to Watch Larry Flynt Interview. Not that Tina Brown is a prude or anything, but how uncomfortable did it seem when Tina, "Lady Evans" (2nd item) if you're nasty, interviewed porcine pornographer Larry Flynt, the man with the pink jet, a man not known for elegant and sophisticated discussion. Gawker's Henry the Intern captures the tone:
"Tina then cornered pornographer Larry Flynt for publishing photos of Jackie Onassis naked. 'I would publish photographs of Queen Elizabeth,' he said. 'You're not selling sex in those photographs, you're selling the icon status of the individuals involved.' Good thing Tina interrupted him from nearly equating the rise of religion and increased porn sales to Bush and Kerry voters, respectively, but she couldn't stop him from describing 70 naked women: 'their pubes were all gone. . . they think men want to see these big, [implanted] watermelons.' Flynt said he doesn't know the current version of Courtney Love. 'The book is provocative,' closed Tina. 'And so are you.'"
Thanks for sharing, Larry. Like school on Saturday, Mr. Flynt has -- altogether now, gang, "no class"!
Out: Former Governor John Rowlands. (The Corsair's favorite political punching bag). According to Page Six, Rowlands is going from the State House to the Big House:
"JOHN Rowland ? who stepped down in disgrace as governor of Connecticut before the state legislature could impeach him ? will soon cop a plea to tax evasion, sources say. Rowland has been under investigation for months by the office of U.S. Attorney Kevin O'Connor, who has recused himself from working on the case personally because of his friendship with Rowland. The Republican has yet to be formally charged. 'A deal has been made,' said one insider. 'The feds originally insisted he do 11 months in jail, but have agreed to five.' When the five-month figure was run past another well-connected insider, the power-broker said, 'Even less.'"
In: Public Restrooms at the Democrat Convention. So funny, from the AP (A pee-pee?):
"Media members, already perturbed by long security lines, may find themselves waiting in line for something nearly as important. As the majority of the print reporters arrived Saturday at the FleetCenter for the Democratic National Convention, tongues clucked when they saw the restroom facilities that they will be using for the next week.
"Twenty portable restrooms, like those used on construction sites, are lined up in front of the media pavilion to service nearly 1,200 members of the print media who will be working around the clock. That's about 60 serious coffee-drinkers per toilet.
"'That's absurd,' said Jim Drinkard, a political reporter for USA Today, when he heard of the ratio of toilets per media member."
All the news that's fit to ...
Brandy Never Married?
Today the always excellent Rush and Molloy (3rd item down) excavate the murky depths of formerly sqeaky-clean singer Brandy's life, and come up with a shocker:
"R&B star Brandy is laying low now that the man she said was her husband is claiming they never were married."
The Corsair's curiosity is piqued as he sips, slowly, from his "icy" pimp goblet.
"Two years ago, Brandy and music producer Robert Smith went on Oprah to announce they'd secretly wed in 2001. But Smith said on WBLS-FM last week that they'd made up the marriage story to protect Brandy's wholesome image, because she was pregnant with their daughter, Sy'rai, now 2.
"Brandy, who has said they were 'divorced' last year, doesn't deny Smith's tale, but she did say in a statement: 'I'm deeply hurt and shocked by the things that Robert has been saying. We had a spiritual union.
"'He is not thinking about [Sy'rai], me or what we had together. He is trying to destroy my reputation, while using me and our daughter to get publicity and radio airplay for his artists. I am stunned that he is being so dirty about it.'"
Fellow gossip archaeologists AZCentral.com also excavate and finds these chestnuts:
"Smith was a guest on the 'Moment of Truth,' a feature of 'The Wendy Williams Experience,' broadcast weekdays from 3 to 5 p.m. on Power 99, WUSL-FM, when he dropped the bombshell that he and Brandy were never married.
"... He said Brandy was his 'jump-off' chick and that he was still seeing another woman, who is now seven months pregnant. This other woman, a film producer, Smith says, will remain anonymous.
"Smith told Williams it was Sonia Norwood, Brandy's mom/manager, who cooked up the idea to play house to protect Brandy's then-wholesome image. Brandy was pregnant with Smith's child, and it just wouldn't do for the young songstress to be an unwed mother, Smith says, so they simply pretended to be married.
"He reportedly had Sy'rai with him at the station when he said all this, so we're guessing Brandy did not know he was going to discuss what he called the 'real version vs. the MTV version.' You must remember this: MTV did a huge splash on Brandy and Robert getting married and 'having their baby.'"
Say it aint so, Mo.
Today the always excellent Rush and Molloy (3rd item down) excavate the murky depths of formerly sqeaky-clean singer Brandy's life, and come up with a shocker:
"R&B star Brandy is laying low now that the man she said was her husband is claiming they never were married."
The Corsair's curiosity is piqued as he sips, slowly, from his "icy" pimp goblet.
"Two years ago, Brandy and music producer Robert Smith went on Oprah to announce they'd secretly wed in 2001. But Smith said on WBLS-FM last week that they'd made up the marriage story to protect Brandy's wholesome image, because she was pregnant with their daughter, Sy'rai, now 2.
"Brandy, who has said they were 'divorced' last year, doesn't deny Smith's tale, but she did say in a statement: 'I'm deeply hurt and shocked by the things that Robert has been saying. We had a spiritual union.
"'He is not thinking about [Sy'rai], me or what we had together. He is trying to destroy my reputation, while using me and our daughter to get publicity and radio airplay for his artists. I am stunned that he is being so dirty about it.'"
Fellow gossip archaeologists AZCentral.com also excavate and finds these chestnuts:
"Smith was a guest on the 'Moment of Truth,' a feature of 'The Wendy Williams Experience,' broadcast weekdays from 3 to 5 p.m. on Power 99, WUSL-FM, when he dropped the bombshell that he and Brandy were never married.
"... He said Brandy was his 'jump-off' chick and that he was still seeing another woman, who is now seven months pregnant. This other woman, a film producer, Smith says, will remain anonymous.
"Smith told Williams it was Sonia Norwood, Brandy's mom/manager, who cooked up the idea to play house to protect Brandy's then-wholesome image. Brandy was pregnant with Smith's child, and it just wouldn't do for the young songstress to be an unwed mother, Smith says, so they simply pretended to be married.
"He reportedly had Sy'rai with him at the station when he said all this, so we're guessing Brandy did not know he was going to discuss what he called the 'real version vs. the MTV version.' You must remember this: MTV did a huge splash on Brandy and Robert getting married and 'having their baby.'"
Say it aint so, Mo.
Saturday, July 24, 2004
Howard Stern's Clear Channel Documents
From today's Smokinggun.com:
"Howard Stern has more than 12 million good reasons to gripe about Clear Channel's decision to yank his radio show from six of its stations. According to contract documents, the King of All Media would have received at least $12 million in future payments from the conglomerate for the broadcast of his program in the half-dozen markets. In 2001 and 2002, Stern's company, One Twelve Incorporated, cut multiyear licensing deals with Clear Channel worth a minimum of $19.5 million, though that figure could have ballooned significantly based on bonus schedules tied to the King of All Media's Arbitron ratings. When Clear Channel cancelled Stern in late February, the unexpired terms of the radio deals called for the shock jock to receive future payouts of at least $12 million. Below you'll find the five-year, $4.5 million deal Stern signed in February 2002 to broadcast his show in San Diego. The other Stern/Clear Channel deals covered Pittsburgh ($3.91 million); Orlando ($3.87 million); Miami ($3.35 million); Louisville ($2.2 million); and Rochester ($1.68 million). Claiming breach of contract, Stern sued Clear Channel in June. The radio company countersued yesterday, accusing Stern of the same thing. "
From today's Smokinggun.com:
"Howard Stern has more than 12 million good reasons to gripe about Clear Channel's decision to yank his radio show from six of its stations. According to contract documents, the King of All Media would have received at least $12 million in future payments from the conglomerate for the broadcast of his program in the half-dozen markets. In 2001 and 2002, Stern's company, One Twelve Incorporated, cut multiyear licensing deals with Clear Channel worth a minimum of $19.5 million, though that figure could have ballooned significantly based on bonus schedules tied to the King of All Media's Arbitron ratings. When Clear Channel cancelled Stern in late February, the unexpired terms of the radio deals called for the shock jock to receive future payouts of at least $12 million. Below you'll find the five-year, $4.5 million deal Stern signed in February 2002 to broadcast his show in San Diego. The other Stern/Clear Channel deals covered Pittsburgh ($3.91 million); Orlando ($3.87 million); Miami ($3.35 million); Louisville ($2.2 million); and Rochester ($1.68 million). Claiming breach of contract, Stern sued Clear Channel in June. The radio company countersued yesterday, accusing Stern of the same thing. "
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