Andy Dick's Best Friend is Dead
"She's a superfreak/ superfreak ... he's superfreaky ... yoww!"
Page Six let us into the vida loca of Andy Dick:
" TV comic Andy Dick went on a randy rampage at Suede early yesterday that ended after he burst into tears over the death of his friend Rick James and was thrown out of the Chelsea club by 'Little Shop of Horrors' star Joey Fatone. Dick ... tried to kiss any man or woman he bumped into, including 'Austin Powers' actor Seth Green, rolled around on the men's room floor, and asked clubgoers if they had cocaine."
"She's all right, she's all rightThat girl's all right with me, yeah"
"The vodka and cranberry-swilling comic then barricaded himself in Suede's dishwashing room and began sobbing uncontrollably about James, who died last week, reports an eyewitness who witnessed the meltdown. 'My best friend is dead!' Dick wailed. 'He's gone! He's dead! You don't understand! All my best friends die!'"
That girl is pretty wild now/ The girl's a super freak/ The kind of girl you read about/ In new-wave magazines ..."
"Dick then handed a dishwasher a stack of $100 bills so he could 'live in the room.'"
"When I make my move to her room it's the right time/ She's never hard to please ..."
"When Fatone � whom Dick taunted as 'Fat One' � and Suede owner Eytan Sugarman tried to coax him to leave, Dick said, 'You don't want to push me around, because I'm perfectly capable of doing this' � and punched an unidentified friend standing next to him in the face."
"That girl is pretty kinky/ The girl's a super freak I really love to taste her/ Every time we meet"
"Finally, Fatone, the former *NSYNC member who co-hosts a Tuesday night party at Suede with promoter Brandon Marcel, dragged the blubbering Dick outside with the help of Sugarman and loaded him into a cab in front of a crowd that included Green, Mets outfielder Cliff Floyd and MTV veejay Vanessa Minnillo. Green was overheard sputtering, 'That guy tried to kiss me,' as Dick was hauled past him."
"She likes the boys in the band/ She says that I'm her all-time favorite ..."
"But Dick's rowdy romp wasn't over yet."
"The former 'News Radio' star, who has battled drug and alcohol abuse in the past, headed downtown to Plan B on Avenue B and promptly commenced smooching and slapping the people inside."
"He will never let your spirits down/ Once you get her off the street, ow girl ..."
"'He was obviously obliterated,' Plan B co-owner Josh Boyd told us. 'He jumped on the back of Jason Battle, my co-owner, and kept trying to kiss him. Then he started getting violent and bitch-slapping people."
"Temptations sing!"
"'We finally quarantined him and put him in a separate room. But then he slipped outside and skipped out on his $300 bar tab. The last anyone saw of him, he was rolling around the street on Avenue B.'"
"And she'll wait for me at backstage with her girlfriends /In a limousineGoing back in Chinatown"
Goodbye Courtney, you're yesterday's news, the new freak of the week is Andy Dick. God bless him.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
A Little of the Old In and Out
In: The James St. James-Michael Alig Jail Dialogues. The drama. Gawker turns our attention to some of the most surreal conversation ever recorded, on Steven Saban's WorldofWonder.net. This shit just cannot even be made up. When last we left these two chaps, they were discussing (air quotes) "high energy dance music in prison." Now, lamentably, the conversation takes a slightly more sinister turn:
"James: . . .Wait wait. Jimmy didn�t stab Esau?
"Michael: No, Jimmy had his. . . his. . . 'dawg' stab him.
"James: That�s hot. Jimmy has dogs. So he had him stabbed because he asked him to have sex with you?
"Michael: Well that�s the whole thing. We don�t know. Nobody knows exactly what happened. All I know is that I sent him in on a mission and he comes out on a stretcher.
"James: (Laughing) Isn�t that always the case with you?
"Michael: The path is paved in skulls. So the Five-Percenters had a meeting with me, and they were like, What was this all about? And you know, gayness to them is really bad. But because it was a 'business transaction' of sorts, they can sort of look the other way and it�s not quite as bad, you know. So I�m kind of like trying to pull my schtick with them, hoping that I could soften up the situation with a bit of levity � and you know they have absolutely no sense of humor, James."
I can't say that I've ever seen a Five Percenter having a belly laugh, no. I'd strongly recommend long term exposure to this blog to remedy that situation.
Out: Prince Hans-Adam of Liechtenstein. From jailhouse punking to the monarchy of Litchenstein, The Corsair is truly a democratic institution devoted, above all, to being the most interesting blog in the world. Kierkegaard's Don Giovanni couldn't go to bed soundly without the knowledge that he had seduced every woman in the realm, and, similarly, The Corsair cannot be content unless he makes you -- the reader -- laugh, or, at least, say "whoa," at one of our postings, daily. Anyhoo: According to Hello! Magazine:
"Prince Hans-Adam of Liechtenstein has announced that he will abdicate this weekend. As of Sunday morning all the sovereign's powers will pass to his son, Prince Alois. There will be no public ceremony to mark the transferral of power, but the new leader is expected to give a public address once he has acceded to the throne.
"Hans-Adam's decision comes after a controversial 15-year reign. He first took control of the country back in 1989 when his father, Franz Josef, passed away. Since then he has worked hard to modernise Liechtenstein's economy and win admission to the United Nations. More recently the monarch sparked a furious political row by threatening to abdicate if the nation's 33,000 residents did not support a referendum giving him sweeping constitutional powers. He even joked that he would sell the royal palace to Microsoft billionaire Bill Gates if the vote did not go his way.
"But despite criticisms from other European leaders, Hans-Adam emerged victorious in the referendum. For the past 18 months he has been slowly devolving executive powers on his 36-year-old son. And Prince Alois seems to share his father's headstrong character. Last year he suggested that Liechtenstein should leave the Council of Europe if it carried out its threat to monitor the country's democratic processes."
In: This "Good Times" site has all sorts of cool quotes from that hit 70s tv show, like the episode when JJ's friend Loretta is going to have a baby:
"J.J is frantic: Hello? Doc? Look here! I got one of your patients here about to have a baby! See you at the clinic. Check? ... Just do what? Are you sure you a baby Doctor? Oh! (J.J hangs up). I dialed the wrong number! I got the pet hospital!
"Michael: J.J, are you sure? It musta' been! He told me to put Loretta in a cardboard box and let nature take it's course!
"J.J dials again: Hello? Yellow Cab Company? Look here man! We need one of your vehicles right away! ...Yeah! ...Oh no, we just right over here in the projects and... (Operator hangs up). Hello? Hello? They afraid to come in to this neighborhood! No wonder they call their cabs yellow!"
That's hot.
Out: Mischa Barton and Brandon Davis. According to my favorite socialite, Miu Von Furstenberg, and her spy:
"While viewing the film the Notebook (at the Grove Theater), Mischa Barton and her boyfriend (Brandon Davis) were seated next to us. They could not keep their hands off of each other and at one point his fly went down (we heard the zipper) and her hand disappeared. Ah, to be young and eighteen.
"Maybe she was just buttering his popcorn."
Hmm, I'm pretty sure that if there was any "buttering" involved, it was ... never mind.
In: Halle Berry's Hair. That significant cultural artifact, Star, writes:
"Halle BerryHalle Berry, 38, loves her new long hair so much she is said to keep her stylist's numbers programmed into her cell and home phones under 911!
Last week, one of the star's long, luxurious extensions came undone and, as a result, so did Halle, says a source close to the star. The actress was nearly in tears when she couldn't reach her stylist, whom she calls "one of the most important people in my life these days."
Out: Mike Wallace's Arrest. Free Mike Wallace. 60 Minutes' 86-year old Correspondent Mike Wallace was handcuffed and arrested on Tuesday night for "disorderly conduct." Apparently, things took a bad turn when Wallace argued with Taxi and Limousine Commission inspectors who were interviewing his driver because he wanted to get home and eat his mashed potatoes and gravy while it was still hot.
Can you just see Mike Wallace in the back of the limo, agitated, the 60 Minutes clock is ticking -- ticktickticktick; his temperature rising, he's sweating a cold sweat right now, adjusting his tie, his bad dye job glistening, he's emitting grandfatherly smells, and the officers are chatting away with his driver, probably althewhile eating doughnuts, causing Wallace's mouth to water ...
Now look at Mike ... it is a few minutes later ... the gravy is now coagulating in his doggie bag, oiling the paper, seeping through to his neatly pressed slacks, perhaps even soiling his Depends undergarment. And he thinks of how he used to be. The holy terror of the 1970s. The Dean of Guerilla journalism. CEO's guilty of financial improprieties broke into a brisk sprint when our man Mike Wallace chased them with a cameraman in tow, shouting, "Can I ask you a question, sir,". THE Mike Wallace ... reduced to THIS?
The poor guy just snapped. There are few joys, few comforts of senectitude, and mashed taters and meatloaf slathered with heart valve clogging bone gravy are that aplenty. Thems good eats. You know that that and, maybe a steaming cup of java from his official 60 Minutes (TM) mug is what keeps him (air quotes) "regular" in the mornings. And you won't like Mike when he's not regular.
Let the 86-year old man have his hott meatloaf. guys.
Comment here or on the VH1 BWE Blog
In: Another Bitchslapping. Maude Newton has an email from ZZ Packer, Stanley Crouch's guest that fateful day, and she gives her account of the slap heard round the literary establishment:
"Stanley went over to Peck�s table and said, �Are you Dale Peck?�
"Now, Yablonsky [Peck�s lunch companion] says Dale Peck said, 'So what?' but I thought I heard him say, 'Yes, I�m Dale Peck.'
"And Stanley said, 'Stanley Crouch. I just wanted to meet you . . . '(I didn�t hear the rest.)
"Then Stanley, who was still holding Peck�s hand in a frozen handshake, slapped Peck with his other hand, TWICE, on both cheeks, and said, 'Don�t you ever do that again. If you do you�ll get much worse.' Stanley let loose Peck�s hand and pointed at him, 'I should spit on you. Now, we can settle this outside . . .'
"Dale Peck said, 'I don�t want anything to do with that.'�
The pimphand is mightier than the sword.
Out: That's Hott.
In: The James St. James-Michael Alig Jail Dialogues. The drama. Gawker turns our attention to some of the most surreal conversation ever recorded, on Steven Saban's WorldofWonder.net. This shit just cannot even be made up. When last we left these two chaps, they were discussing (air quotes) "high energy dance music in prison." Now, lamentably, the conversation takes a slightly more sinister turn:
"James: . . .Wait wait. Jimmy didn�t stab Esau?
"Michael: No, Jimmy had his. . . his. . . 'dawg' stab him.
"James: That�s hot. Jimmy has dogs. So he had him stabbed because he asked him to have sex with you?
"Michael: Well that�s the whole thing. We don�t know. Nobody knows exactly what happened. All I know is that I sent him in on a mission and he comes out on a stretcher.
"James: (Laughing) Isn�t that always the case with you?
"Michael: The path is paved in skulls. So the Five-Percenters had a meeting with me, and they were like, What was this all about? And you know, gayness to them is really bad. But because it was a 'business transaction' of sorts, they can sort of look the other way and it�s not quite as bad, you know. So I�m kind of like trying to pull my schtick with them, hoping that I could soften up the situation with a bit of levity � and you know they have absolutely no sense of humor, James."
I can't say that I've ever seen a Five Percenter having a belly laugh, no. I'd strongly recommend long term exposure to this blog to remedy that situation.
Out: Prince Hans-Adam of Liechtenstein. From jailhouse punking to the monarchy of Litchenstein, The Corsair is truly a democratic institution devoted, above all, to being the most interesting blog in the world. Kierkegaard's Don Giovanni couldn't go to bed soundly without the knowledge that he had seduced every woman in the realm, and, similarly, The Corsair cannot be content unless he makes you -- the reader -- laugh, or, at least, say "whoa," at one of our postings, daily. Anyhoo: According to Hello! Magazine:
"Prince Hans-Adam of Liechtenstein has announced that he will abdicate this weekend. As of Sunday morning all the sovereign's powers will pass to his son, Prince Alois. There will be no public ceremony to mark the transferral of power, but the new leader is expected to give a public address once he has acceded to the throne.
"Hans-Adam's decision comes after a controversial 15-year reign. He first took control of the country back in 1989 when his father, Franz Josef, passed away. Since then he has worked hard to modernise Liechtenstein's economy and win admission to the United Nations. More recently the monarch sparked a furious political row by threatening to abdicate if the nation's 33,000 residents did not support a referendum giving him sweeping constitutional powers. He even joked that he would sell the royal palace to Microsoft billionaire Bill Gates if the vote did not go his way.
"But despite criticisms from other European leaders, Hans-Adam emerged victorious in the referendum. For the past 18 months he has been slowly devolving executive powers on his 36-year-old son. And Prince Alois seems to share his father's headstrong character. Last year he suggested that Liechtenstein should leave the Council of Europe if it carried out its threat to monitor the country's democratic processes."
In: This "Good Times" site has all sorts of cool quotes from that hit 70s tv show, like the episode when JJ's friend Loretta is going to have a baby:
"J.J is frantic: Hello? Doc? Look here! I got one of your patients here about to have a baby! See you at the clinic. Check? ... Just do what? Are you sure you a baby Doctor? Oh! (J.J hangs up). I dialed the wrong number! I got the pet hospital!
"Michael: J.J, are you sure? It musta' been! He told me to put Loretta in a cardboard box and let nature take it's course!
"J.J dials again: Hello? Yellow Cab Company? Look here man! We need one of your vehicles right away! ...Yeah! ...Oh no, we just right over here in the projects and... (Operator hangs up). Hello? Hello? They afraid to come in to this neighborhood! No wonder they call their cabs yellow!"
That's hot.
Out: Mischa Barton and Brandon Davis. According to my favorite socialite, Miu Von Furstenberg, and her spy:
"While viewing the film the Notebook (at the Grove Theater), Mischa Barton and her boyfriend (Brandon Davis) were seated next to us. They could not keep their hands off of each other and at one point his fly went down (we heard the zipper) and her hand disappeared. Ah, to be young and eighteen.
"Maybe she was just buttering his popcorn."
Hmm, I'm pretty sure that if there was any "buttering" involved, it was ... never mind.
In: Halle Berry's Hair. That significant cultural artifact, Star, writes:
"Halle BerryHalle Berry, 38, loves her new long hair so much she is said to keep her stylist's numbers programmed into her cell and home phones under 911!
Last week, one of the star's long, luxurious extensions came undone and, as a result, so did Halle, says a source close to the star. The actress was nearly in tears when she couldn't reach her stylist, whom she calls "one of the most important people in my life these days."
Out: Mike Wallace's Arrest. Free Mike Wallace. 60 Minutes' 86-year old Correspondent Mike Wallace was handcuffed and arrested on Tuesday night for "disorderly conduct." Apparently, things took a bad turn when Wallace argued with Taxi and Limousine Commission inspectors who were interviewing his driver because he wanted to get home and eat his mashed potatoes and gravy while it was still hot.
Can you just see Mike Wallace in the back of the limo, agitated, the 60 Minutes clock is ticking -- ticktickticktick; his temperature rising, he's sweating a cold sweat right now, adjusting his tie, his bad dye job glistening, he's emitting grandfatherly smells, and the officers are chatting away with his driver, probably althewhile eating doughnuts, causing Wallace's mouth to water ...
Now look at Mike ... it is a few minutes later ... the gravy is now coagulating in his doggie bag, oiling the paper, seeping through to his neatly pressed slacks, perhaps even soiling his Depends undergarment. And he thinks of how he used to be. The holy terror of the 1970s. The Dean of Guerilla journalism. CEO's guilty of financial improprieties broke into a brisk sprint when our man Mike Wallace chased them with a cameraman in tow, shouting, "Can I ask you a question, sir,". THE Mike Wallace ... reduced to THIS?
The poor guy just snapped. There are few joys, few comforts of senectitude, and mashed taters and meatloaf slathered with heart valve clogging bone gravy are that aplenty. Thems good eats. You know that that and, maybe a steaming cup of java from his official 60 Minutes (TM) mug is what keeps him (air quotes) "regular" in the mornings. And you won't like Mike when he's not regular.
Let the 86-year old man have his hott meatloaf. guys.
Comment here or on the VH1 BWE Blog
In: Another Bitchslapping. Maude Newton has an email from ZZ Packer, Stanley Crouch's guest that fateful day, and she gives her account of the slap heard round the literary establishment:
"Stanley went over to Peck�s table and said, �Are you Dale Peck?�
"Now, Yablonsky [Peck�s lunch companion] says Dale Peck said, 'So what?' but I thought I heard him say, 'Yes, I�m Dale Peck.'
"And Stanley said, 'Stanley Crouch. I just wanted to meet you . . . '(I didn�t hear the rest.)
"Then Stanley, who was still holding Peck�s hand in a frozen handshake, slapped Peck with his other hand, TWICE, on both cheeks, and said, 'Don�t you ever do that again. If you do you�ll get much worse.' Stanley let loose Peck�s hand and pointed at him, 'I should spit on you. Now, we can settle this outside . . .'
"Dale Peck said, 'I don�t want anything to do with that.'�
The pimphand is mightier than the sword.
Out: That's Hott.
Angelina and Val?! What the Fuck?!
That significant cultural artifact, The National Enquirer, delivered a sucker punch to my solar plexus today when I read, stunned:
"Angelina Jolie has found love again -- with a superhero! After burning through two marriages and a stack of boyfriends, Angelina Jolie has finally found Mr. Right -- hunky 'Batman Forever' star Val Kilmer, say pals."
The Corsair does a double take. Then The Corsair does a triple take. These are two of the most intense (read: crazy), and eccentric (read: crazy) and volatile (read: crazy) people in the world. Oh Oh chongo (The Corsair whistles). You just know this one is going to end up with someone going to intensive care in traction. You can almost guarantee that in the end a police report will be filed over this. (The Corsair whistles again) Don't they have laws against this sort of thing? People like that can commiserate with one another? Should they be aloowed freedom of assembly?
This is a monumentally bad idea, but, as Woody Allen said, the heart wants what the heart wants ...
"The 29-year-old 'Tomb Raider' beauty is spending almost all her free time with 44-year-old Val, her co-star in the upcoming film 'Alexander.'"
"'Val thinks she's one of the most beautiful women in the world,' reveals a Hollywood insider. 'And he admires her role as a single mom and her work for the United Nations.'"
So do I, she's stunning, a magnificent woman, but Jolie is also a creature of the night, a spitfire, a crazy girl, no, not Brittany Murphy crazy; Angelina is in a league of her own. She's soul kiss her brother on internatioanl tv crazy; she's demanding that her lovers wear viles of her blood crazy. She's dangerous, crazy, Val, even the Batman has never seen her likes. Val, baby you gotta listen ... who am I kidding. Fuck. Val is as much of a freak of the week as Angelina Jolie.
"The two hit it off so well,"
No fucking kidding, Shopenhauer, that and the freaks come out at night.
"... they began discussing purchasing property and moving in together."
"They both admire the relationship of Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell and Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins -- committed couples without the 'M (marriage) word,' revealed the insider."
M word ... hmmm? Would that, pray tell, be the word: mental?
"The two stars were introduced at early meetings for the movie last summer.
"'Almost immediately, they both clicked with one another,' said the insider."
Clicked, or snapped?
This is the standard Jolie MO, by the way: she trusts her creature-of-the-night instincts to lead her to prey. This usually occurs on a movie set. She must emit pheromones of some kind. The suckers never have a chance.
"'Val and Angelina started spending time together but kept it very quiet.'
"'They were both staying at the L'Ermitage hotel in Beverly Hills and keeping company together but neither one was ready to go public with their relationship.'
"When the cast flew to the set in Morocco, the romance got more intense -- and continued to flourish even after filming ended."
Oh, oh, the I-word. Something tells me that a Kilmer-Jolie relationship will not lack for intensity.
"'Angelina and Val went to London for postproduction work on the film. When they weren't working on the movie, they spent all their free time together -- including romantic dinners at her place,' revealed the insider."
".'.. Besides romantic dinners, Angelina and Val took long walks through London's beautiful parks. While walking through Hyde Park, they stopped at the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain."
"'Angelina and Val sat on a bench in the garden talking and holding hands. The roses and other flowers were in full bloom and a fabulous scent filled the air,' said the insider. 'For Val and Angelina, it was a sweet and tender time that brought them closer together.'"
And so, it begins ...
That significant cultural artifact, The National Enquirer, delivered a sucker punch to my solar plexus today when I read, stunned:
"Angelina Jolie has found love again -- with a superhero! After burning through two marriages and a stack of boyfriends, Angelina Jolie has finally found Mr. Right -- hunky 'Batman Forever' star Val Kilmer, say pals."
The Corsair does a double take. Then The Corsair does a triple take. These are two of the most intense (read: crazy), and eccentric (read: crazy) and volatile (read: crazy) people in the world. Oh Oh chongo (The Corsair whistles). You just know this one is going to end up with someone going to intensive care in traction. You can almost guarantee that in the end a police report will be filed over this. (The Corsair whistles again) Don't they have laws against this sort of thing? People like that can commiserate with one another? Should they be aloowed freedom of assembly?
This is a monumentally bad idea, but, as Woody Allen said, the heart wants what the heart wants ...
"The 29-year-old 'Tomb Raider' beauty is spending almost all her free time with 44-year-old Val, her co-star in the upcoming film 'Alexander.'"
"'Val thinks she's one of the most beautiful women in the world,' reveals a Hollywood insider. 'And he admires her role as a single mom and her work for the United Nations.'"
So do I, she's stunning, a magnificent woman, but Jolie is also a creature of the night, a spitfire, a crazy girl, no, not Brittany Murphy crazy; Angelina is in a league of her own. She's soul kiss her brother on internatioanl tv crazy; she's demanding that her lovers wear viles of her blood crazy. She's dangerous, crazy, Val, even the Batman has never seen her likes. Val, baby you gotta listen ... who am I kidding. Fuck. Val is as much of a freak of the week as Angelina Jolie.
"The two hit it off so well,"
No fucking kidding, Shopenhauer, that and the freaks come out at night.
"... they began discussing purchasing property and moving in together."
"They both admire the relationship of Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell and Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins -- committed couples without the 'M (marriage) word,' revealed the insider."
M word ... hmmm? Would that, pray tell, be the word: mental?
"The two stars were introduced at early meetings for the movie last summer.
"'Almost immediately, they both clicked with one another,' said the insider."
Clicked, or snapped?
This is the standard Jolie MO, by the way: she trusts her creature-of-the-night instincts to lead her to prey. This usually occurs on a movie set. She must emit pheromones of some kind. The suckers never have a chance.
"'Val and Angelina started spending time together but kept it very quiet.'
"'They were both staying at the L'Ermitage hotel in Beverly Hills and keeping company together but neither one was ready to go public with their relationship.'
"When the cast flew to the set in Morocco, the romance got more intense -- and continued to flourish even after filming ended."
Oh, oh, the I-word. Something tells me that a Kilmer-Jolie relationship will not lack for intensity.
"'Angelina and Val went to London for postproduction work on the film. When they weren't working on the movie, they spent all their free time together -- including romantic dinners at her place,' revealed the insider."
".'.. Besides romantic dinners, Angelina and Val took long walks through London's beautiful parks. While walking through Hyde Park, they stopped at the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain."
"'Angelina and Val sat on a bench in the garden talking and holding hands. The roses and other flowers were in full bloom and a fabulous scent filled the air,' said the insider. 'For Val and Angelina, it was a sweet and tender time that brought them closer together.'"
And so, it begins ...
LA.com Blind Item
Another juicy morsel from the LA.com blog. So hot:
"That studly actor who is exploding to fame on that red-hot TV series may need to hire private security to protect himself--even when he�s behind the guarded gates of the studio. No, he�s not getting death threats or being stalked. The fact is the guy is being hounded by all kinds of women (and more than a few men) who seriously want to sample his wares. He�s accustomed to getting women throwing themselves at him from his last series, but this time, women who actually have better things to do are hanging around the set, trailing him flirtatiously in the commissary, passing notes and phone numbers to him and, when all that fails, even trying to bond with the nearby producers and writers. Too bad that at the height of his fame, he�s suddenly having so much trouble, um, keeping up his end of things without lots of nasty toys and more than a whiff of rough stuff. "
Guesses?
Another juicy morsel from the LA.com blog. So hot:
"That studly actor who is exploding to fame on that red-hot TV series may need to hire private security to protect himself--even when he�s behind the guarded gates of the studio. No, he�s not getting death threats or being stalked. The fact is the guy is being hounded by all kinds of women (and more than a few men) who seriously want to sample his wares. He�s accustomed to getting women throwing themselves at him from his last series, but this time, women who actually have better things to do are hanging around the set, trailing him flirtatiously in the commissary, passing notes and phone numbers to him and, when all that fails, even trying to bond with the nearby producers and writers. Too bad that at the height of his fame, he�s suddenly having so much trouble, um, keeping up his end of things without lots of nasty toys and more than a whiff of rough stuff. "
Guesses?
Demi Moore's Saggy Knees
The Daily Mail (link via Ananova) reports today that Demi Moore is about to go under the knife, again:
"She spent more than ($ 365,000) remodelling her body in a move which rejuvenated her career and brought her romance with a handsome toyboy.
"But despite her now enviable figure, Demi Moore has been visiting the plastic surgeon again.
The reason, say friends of the 41-year-old actress, is a growing unhappiness with her knees."
The Corsair nods, knowingly, feigning Beverly Hills worldliness, noting that in the latest US Weekly, Kelly Ripa notes, "I used to wave with abandon, but then I noticed I had bat wings." (on how her arms are untoned). That arm business, and, now, that knee business. Knees are a dead giveaway as to one's age.
"While every other part of (Demi's) figure is toned to perfection, her knees are distinctly saggy.
And after her flaw was pointed out to her, the mother of three - who is very conscious that actor boyfriend Ashton Kutcher is 15 years younger than her - has asked her plastic surgeon to see what he can do.
"'Demi went to Brian Novack, who has already done work on her,' a source close to the actress
told an American magazine."
The Corsair munches on an Asparagus Tuna Hand Roll, appreciates, then moves in closer to the screen.
"He is a fantastic surgeon and his clients don't look like they've had surgery.
"Demi can't stand it that there is part of her that is not perfect.
"She is also sensitive about her age, although Ashton has told her a million times he doesn't care about what she looks like because he loves her."
Which, I'd guess, stems from how brutally Bruce dumped her (rumors swirled at the time that the youthful Liv Tyler may have been the "other woman"). Those scars, like knee surgery scars, don't heal.
"'A lot of her friends are trying to talk her out of having more surgery. Worrying about her knees, of all things, is just silly. She's lucky that's the only part of her left to sag!'"
Okay, class, here's the point in today's blog where we all learn something new:
"Knees are one of the hardest areas of the body to have done because there is nowhere to conceal the scarring.
"'If you cut away skin there is going to be scarring,' said British plastic surgeon Alex Karidis.
"'If you have a neck lift you can hide the scarring behind the ear, but the knees are one of the most exposed areas of the body.
"'I would always advise my clients against having knee surgery because it is impossible to hide. And even though the scarring might not be as bad as the sagging, it will be a tell-tale sign that you have had surgery.'"
Okay, how many other people besides me are now going to start looking at knees in the papparazi shots? Just me? No one else. Oh. (The Corsair says dejectedly) Whatever.
"If the actress does decide to have the surgery, it will add another ($9,000) to the tally of improving her body.
"Among the work she has allegedly had is liposuction to her hips, thighs and stomach, estimated to have cost ($29,000), a ($17,000) breast implant operation and ($36,000) of work on her face.
"She has also paid an army of advisers including a nutritionist, personal trainer, yoga teacher and kick-boxing coach.
"There is also speculation that she is to marry Kutcher, voted the world's most eligible bachelor by People magazine last year. "
On bended knee? Okay, bed joke. Here's what I wrote of Demi in December, back when I was funny, when I gave her a prestigious Corsair Pirate Award:
"The Six Million Dollar Woman pirate goes to every young man's older woman fantasy, Demi Moore. Undergoing what can only be described in Pravda, of all places, as 'massive plastic surgery,' Demi went from being pretty, to some kind of wonderful. Demi gave new meaning to the Golden Globes. She is our bionic woman, a real life analog to the hyperadvancement in technology. She is bigger technology news than the blackberry pager. One imagines, with tongue in cheek and a heart full of mirth, the conversation at that historic moment when the plastic surgeons conducted their Wierd Science on her:'We can rebuild her. We have the technology.We have the capability to make the world's first Bionic woman. Demi Moore will be that woman. Better than she was before. Thinner . . . bustier . . . tighter.'"
The Daily Mail (link via Ananova) reports today that Demi Moore is about to go under the knife, again:
"She spent more than ($ 365,000) remodelling her body in a move which rejuvenated her career and brought her romance with a handsome toyboy.
"But despite her now enviable figure, Demi Moore has been visiting the plastic surgeon again.
The reason, say friends of the 41-year-old actress, is a growing unhappiness with her knees."
The Corsair nods, knowingly, feigning Beverly Hills worldliness, noting that in the latest US Weekly, Kelly Ripa notes, "I used to wave with abandon, but then I noticed I had bat wings." (on how her arms are untoned). That arm business, and, now, that knee business. Knees are a dead giveaway as to one's age.
"While every other part of (Demi's) figure is toned to perfection, her knees are distinctly saggy.
And after her flaw was pointed out to her, the mother of three - who is very conscious that actor boyfriend Ashton Kutcher is 15 years younger than her - has asked her plastic surgeon to see what he can do.
"'Demi went to Brian Novack, who has already done work on her,' a source close to the actress
told an American magazine."
The Corsair munches on an Asparagus Tuna Hand Roll, appreciates, then moves in closer to the screen.
"He is a fantastic surgeon and his clients don't look like they've had surgery.
"Demi can't stand it that there is part of her that is not perfect.
"She is also sensitive about her age, although Ashton has told her a million times he doesn't care about what she looks like because he loves her."
Which, I'd guess, stems from how brutally Bruce dumped her (rumors swirled at the time that the youthful Liv Tyler may have been the "other woman"). Those scars, like knee surgery scars, don't heal.
"'A lot of her friends are trying to talk her out of having more surgery. Worrying about her knees, of all things, is just silly. She's lucky that's the only part of her left to sag!'"
Okay, class, here's the point in today's blog where we all learn something new:
"Knees are one of the hardest areas of the body to have done because there is nowhere to conceal the scarring.
"'If you cut away skin there is going to be scarring,' said British plastic surgeon Alex Karidis.
"'If you have a neck lift you can hide the scarring behind the ear, but the knees are one of the most exposed areas of the body.
"'I would always advise my clients against having knee surgery because it is impossible to hide. And even though the scarring might not be as bad as the sagging, it will be a tell-tale sign that you have had surgery.'"
Okay, how many other people besides me are now going to start looking at knees in the papparazi shots? Just me? No one else. Oh. (The Corsair says dejectedly) Whatever.
"If the actress does decide to have the surgery, it will add another ($9,000) to the tally of improving her body.
"Among the work she has allegedly had is liposuction to her hips, thighs and stomach, estimated to have cost ($29,000), a ($17,000) breast implant operation and ($36,000) of work on her face.
"She has also paid an army of advisers including a nutritionist, personal trainer, yoga teacher and kick-boxing coach.
"There is also speculation that she is to marry Kutcher, voted the world's most eligible bachelor by People magazine last year. "
On bended knee? Okay, bed joke. Here's what I wrote of Demi in December, back when I was funny, when I gave her a prestigious Corsair Pirate Award:
"The Six Million Dollar Woman pirate goes to every young man's older woman fantasy, Demi Moore. Undergoing what can only be described in Pravda, of all places, as 'massive plastic surgery,' Demi went from being pretty, to some kind of wonderful. Demi gave new meaning to the Golden Globes. She is our bionic woman, a real life analog to the hyperadvancement in technology. She is bigger technology news than the blackberry pager. One imagines, with tongue in cheek and a heart full of mirth, the conversation at that historic moment when the plastic surgeons conducted their Wierd Science on her:'We can rebuild her. We have the technology.We have the capability to make the world's first Bionic woman. Demi Moore will be that woman. Better than she was before. Thinner . . . bustier . . . tighter.'"
Sam Donaldson: "As Long As You Cover Your Private Parts you can look any way you want to."
Time Out New York, August 12-19
TONY: How did (Ali G) get the interview? Was there some deception?
Sam Donaldson: To some extent. Let me be careful here. I have an assistant who handles all these requests. She's very good, but this one slipped through. She showed me the communication from Ali G -- I can't remember the exact wording, but it sertainly led me to believe that I'd be talking about American politics in a serious way. As for the interview itself, he shows up, he's dressed strange, but hey, I'm not a puritain. As long as you cover your private parts, you can look any way you want to. So he sits down and begins. I suppose I could have jumped up and run off, but, I thought, I don't know much about what's popular in Britain these days. Maybe this is one of those MTV-type programs that young people think is a scream. He asked all these foolish questions and I answered with respect. I've not seen the final product, but a lot of people have apparently. I'm getting mixed reviews."
Time Out New York, August 12-19
TONY: How did (Ali G) get the interview? Was there some deception?
Sam Donaldson: To some extent. Let me be careful here. I have an assistant who handles all these requests. She's very good, but this one slipped through. She showed me the communication from Ali G -- I can't remember the exact wording, but it sertainly led me to believe that I'd be talking about American politics in a serious way. As for the interview itself, he shows up, he's dressed strange, but hey, I'm not a puritain. As long as you cover your private parts, you can look any way you want to. So he sits down and begins. I suppose I could have jumped up and run off, but, I thought, I don't know much about what's popular in Britain these days. Maybe this is one of those MTV-type programs that young people think is a scream. He asked all these foolish questions and I answered with respect. I've not seen the final product, but a lot of people have apparently. I'm getting mixed reviews."
Message to Showtime: Return Drea de Matteo's Call!
From Esquire, September 2004, reason #3,566 that Showtime sucks:
Drea de Matteo: My boyfriend (Shooter Jennings, son of country star Waylon Jennings) and I were doing a tribute show to Waylon. Showtime agreed to do it. They wanted me to go out and get the talent so they'd just have to put it on the air. Shooter and I wrote letters to every musician: Neil Young, the White Stripes, Bob Dylan, Kid Rock, Norah Jones, Beck and pretty much everyone said yes. So we contacted Showtime and said we were ready to go. The. Never. Returned. My. Phone. Call. Just gimme one phone call back to say, 'Hey, honey, we're not going to do it. Something else has come up. All that work you did was in vain. So now you can go fuck yourself."
From Esquire, September 2004, reason #3,566 that Showtime sucks:
Drea de Matteo: My boyfriend (Shooter Jennings, son of country star Waylon Jennings) and I were doing a tribute show to Waylon. Showtime agreed to do it. They wanted me to go out and get the talent so they'd just have to put it on the air. Shooter and I wrote letters to every musician: Neil Young, the White Stripes, Bob Dylan, Kid Rock, Norah Jones, Beck and pretty much everyone said yes. So we contacted Showtime and said we were ready to go. The. Never. Returned. My. Phone. Call. Just gimme one phone call back to say, 'Hey, honey, we're not going to do it. Something else has come up. All that work you did was in vain. So now you can go fuck yourself."
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Jamie Foxx: "Did You Know You Could Start Slavery Right Now?"
It's no secret I like the new "urban" Tom Cruise. Fuck, I fairly predicted that he would make the premiere for Collateral in Harlem, player. I was the first to call it what it was, quite frankly, a radical renewal of self. Tom's getting down with his inner soul brother.
And it's so much better than playing lo ultimo, the best, in every film -- Tom Cruise was Brian Flanagan, the best damn drink slinger; we knew him as Cole Trickle, the best damn race car driver; he was fucking Maverick, and, as we all know, "Mav" was the best damn fighter pilot in the US Air Force; he was Ethan Hunt, the best damn covert agent; he was even Detective John Anderton in Minority Report, the best damn detective, with the help of those eerie Precog's; let's face it, throughout the 80s and 90s, Tom Cruise was the best damn everything.
People Magazine did an interview this week that bears Tom's new urban roots:
People: Jamie (Foxx), when you turned 36 in December, did you invite Tom to your party?
Foxx: It's like this: We're all thinking Tom's not coming. He comes in with all the Tom Cruise swagger. He's the messiah. I've never seen black people so shocked. My sister calls her friends. 'Oh my God, he's here! Oh my God, he looks so good! Girl, you should see him!' I say to him, 'Did you know you could start slavery right now?' The bodyguards were having to keep people away. The whole hip hop community got on their two-ways and said Tom Cruise is a thumbs up, because he came down here to kick it with us and he's cool.
The Corsair's crystal ball is so very, very clear.
It's no secret I like the new "urban" Tom Cruise. Fuck, I fairly predicted that he would make the premiere for Collateral in Harlem, player. I was the first to call it what it was, quite frankly, a radical renewal of self. Tom's getting down with his inner soul brother.
And it's so much better than playing lo ultimo, the best, in every film -- Tom Cruise was Brian Flanagan, the best damn drink slinger; we knew him as Cole Trickle, the best damn race car driver; he was fucking Maverick, and, as we all know, "Mav" was the best damn fighter pilot in the US Air Force; he was Ethan Hunt, the best damn covert agent; he was even Detective John Anderton in Minority Report, the best damn detective, with the help of those eerie Precog's; let's face it, throughout the 80s and 90s, Tom Cruise was the best damn everything.
People Magazine did an interview this week that bears Tom's new urban roots:
People: Jamie (Foxx), when you turned 36 in December, did you invite Tom to your party?
Foxx: It's like this: We're all thinking Tom's not coming. He comes in with all the Tom Cruise swagger. He's the messiah. I've never seen black people so shocked. My sister calls her friends. 'Oh my God, he's here! Oh my God, he looks so good! Girl, you should see him!' I say to him, 'Did you know you could start slavery right now?' The bodyguards were having to keep people away. The whole hip hop community got on their two-ways and said Tom Cruise is a thumbs up, because he came down here to kick it with us and he's cool.
The Corsair's crystal ball is so very, very clear.
A Little of the Old In and Out
In: Dying your hair. Tom Cruise's hair is dyed a meaningful slate grey for Collateral, and, conversely, Billy Crystal's hair is dyed an ordinary black, according to AFlyOnTheWall:
"I was in the back stall of the public mensroom the other evening at a prominent Beverly Hills hotel. Just as I was finishing up, two men came in, apparently thinking they were alone. One of them began discussing his battles with a receding hairline and how he massages some kind of pricey cream into his scalp to stop hair loss.
"He then went on to lament how his barber uses Just for Men to color his hair, and now he's worried that may be contributing to his hair loss. And I'm starting to think Mr. Hair Crisis sounds an awful lot like Billy Crystal. So I exit the stall to wash my hands and, lo and behold, it is Mr. Crystal, talking to a friend while poufing his hair in front of the mirror.
"He glances at me sort of sheepishly, and I pretend I haven't overheard a thing."
And the comments on the board are vicious (The Corsair snaps his fingers, does a neck roll, and looks straight into the camera, repeating, mysteriously) ... "vicious."
Out: The John Kerry Teresa Heinz shouting match. What could possibly be so important as to provide bad press for a Presidential run? Why would anyone argue when you are a heartbeat away from the most powerful office in the land? What is there to argue about? Can two partners be in a sexier, more romantic, deeper moment than in running to decide the fate of the world> I mean, shouldn't the sex be out. of. the. fucking. world? Apparently, not with John and Teresa (pronounced Te-reh-sa) Drudge gives us the poop:
"Democrat presidential hopeful John Kerry and his wife got into a heated argument after a campaign rally in Arizona Sunday night -- a heated argument so hot they spent the night in different rooms! A well-placed law enforcement source tells DRUDGE how Kerry and Teresa Heinz moved to separate suites at Flagstaff's Little America Hotel. 'It was a cooling off, nothing more,' says a top source. The stress of the campaign and the nonstop tour of battleground states is taking a toll on the Kerrys. Teresa Heinz Kerry has been confiding in staffers how the tour is just 'nonstop movement' and how there 'is no time just to 'be.'"
The Corsair understands, for he, too, has questions about how to 'be'.
In: The London Baroque Orchestra's Couperin Recording. These days when I drag myself to bed, after a night of monumental drinking and political debate, turn on the air conditioner, put on Beethoven, he of the silvery sadness, and drift off to my special place where, my last dream journal recorded, pristine alpine monastaries are guarded by red baboons and laughing hyenas.
Anyhoo: Last night I tried a different sleep aid, The London Baroque Orchestra's Couperin instead of Beethoven, and fuck if it wasn't the most incredible recording I've heard in years, the sound was crystal clear, the keyboards witty, brisk and brimming with Couperin's "intelligent emotionalism," and, as so often is the case with Couperin, he tests the outer limits of the harpsichords sonic capabilities. If you are really into intricate and mysterious plinkety-plonkety sounding harpsichord pieces, like spiderwebs in the wind, like something Conchis in John Fowles' Magus might play on his Playel Harpsichord to lure English schoolteachers to their doom on far flung Greek islands, you know Couperin is the man. Couperin rules the night, baby pop; if you play any music at your apartment after midnight, and you are hoping to get some nookie off your date, break off some Couperin, playa. Francois Couperin will get you laid! No joke.
And if you, like me, are a Couperin fan, then this is the CD that you need to have.
(Bonus Points: If you, while Couperin in playing, whisper, to your lover, "between you and me ... wasn't Sartre totally overrated as a philosopher"? They'll be putty in your hands)
Out: Andre 3000, the Best Dressed Man in the World? Well, that's what Esquire says:
"'He's a complete individual,' Nick Sullivan, Esquire's fashion director, said Tuesday. 'But that's really the point.'
"Andre 3000 is the usually over-the-top dressed half of hip-hip duo OutKast. Some of the 30-year-old's fashion outings include: a lime green jacket at the 2004 Grammy Awards, candy apple red fur for the VH1 Big in 2003 ceremony and a pink-on-pink ensemble for the 2003 MTV Video Music Awards.
"'He's probably worn his most outrageous when he's in a video or on stage,' said Sullivan, who said Esquire's list is more about personal style than a celebrity's stylist's style. 'What we photographed him in is very much what he wanted to wear.'
"Andre 3000 sports several different and subtle looks in the magazine's spread including a double-breasted suede trench coat by Michael Kors, a cashmere sweater by the Ralph Lauren Purple Label and corduroy trousers by AndreBenjamin, the rapper's own clothing line.
"Sources of his fashion inspiration include clothes from period flicks such as 'Legends of the Fall' and 'The Great Gatsby' and the 'old men' in his neighborhood."
Really? I thought his influences were Fruit Striped bubblegum and, of course, the proverbial 'old men' in his neighborhood. (suspenders? blogger, please!)
And why isn't my pal Taki Theodoracopoulos on that goddam list! Grrrr
In: Scott Stereogum. Today, along with a clip of Minnie Driver covering a Bruce Springsteen cover (the girl has a voice), he gives us some deep cover VH1 scoop:
"Wanted to tell you guys a long time ago, but had to keep my big mouth shut until now.
The second season of VH1's Bands Reunited features:
"Haircut 100
"ABC
"The Motels
"The English Beat
"New Kids On The Block ("La-la-la-la-la-la tonight, la-la-la-la-la-la tonight.")
NKOTB?! I don't even know where to begin. It's like God and Buddha just heaped bountiful blessings on every snarky blogger in the world.
In: Dying your hair. Tom Cruise's hair is dyed a meaningful slate grey for Collateral, and, conversely, Billy Crystal's hair is dyed an ordinary black, according to AFlyOnTheWall:
"I was in the back stall of the public mensroom the other evening at a prominent Beverly Hills hotel. Just as I was finishing up, two men came in, apparently thinking they were alone. One of them began discussing his battles with a receding hairline and how he massages some kind of pricey cream into his scalp to stop hair loss.
"He then went on to lament how his barber uses Just for Men to color his hair, and now he's worried that may be contributing to his hair loss. And I'm starting to think Mr. Hair Crisis sounds an awful lot like Billy Crystal. So I exit the stall to wash my hands and, lo and behold, it is Mr. Crystal, talking to a friend while poufing his hair in front of the mirror.
"He glances at me sort of sheepishly, and I pretend I haven't overheard a thing."
And the comments on the board are vicious (The Corsair snaps his fingers, does a neck roll, and looks straight into the camera, repeating, mysteriously) ... "vicious."
Out: The John Kerry Teresa Heinz shouting match. What could possibly be so important as to provide bad press for a Presidential run? Why would anyone argue when you are a heartbeat away from the most powerful office in the land? What is there to argue about? Can two partners be in a sexier, more romantic, deeper moment than in running to decide the fate of the world> I mean, shouldn't the sex be out. of. the. fucking. world? Apparently, not with John and Teresa (pronounced Te-reh-sa) Drudge gives us the poop:
"Democrat presidential hopeful John Kerry and his wife got into a heated argument after a campaign rally in Arizona Sunday night -- a heated argument so hot they spent the night in different rooms! A well-placed law enforcement source tells DRUDGE how Kerry and Teresa Heinz moved to separate suites at Flagstaff's Little America Hotel. 'It was a cooling off, nothing more,' says a top source. The stress of the campaign and the nonstop tour of battleground states is taking a toll on the Kerrys. Teresa Heinz Kerry has been confiding in staffers how the tour is just 'nonstop movement' and how there 'is no time just to 'be.'"
The Corsair understands, for he, too, has questions about how to 'be'.
In: The London Baroque Orchestra's Couperin Recording. These days when I drag myself to bed, after a night of monumental drinking and political debate, turn on the air conditioner, put on Beethoven, he of the silvery sadness, and drift off to my special place where, my last dream journal recorded, pristine alpine monastaries are guarded by red baboons and laughing hyenas.
Anyhoo: Last night I tried a different sleep aid, The London Baroque Orchestra's Couperin instead of Beethoven, and fuck if it wasn't the most incredible recording I've heard in years, the sound was crystal clear, the keyboards witty, brisk and brimming with Couperin's "intelligent emotionalism," and, as so often is the case with Couperin, he tests the outer limits of the harpsichords sonic capabilities. If you are really into intricate and mysterious plinkety-plonkety sounding harpsichord pieces, like spiderwebs in the wind, like something Conchis in John Fowles' Magus might play on his Playel Harpsichord to lure English schoolteachers to their doom on far flung Greek islands, you know Couperin is the man. Couperin rules the night, baby pop; if you play any music at your apartment after midnight, and you are hoping to get some nookie off your date, break off some Couperin, playa. Francois Couperin will get you laid! No joke.
And if you, like me, are a Couperin fan, then this is the CD that you need to have.
(Bonus Points: If you, while Couperin in playing, whisper, to your lover, "between you and me ... wasn't Sartre totally overrated as a philosopher"? They'll be putty in your hands)
Out: Andre 3000, the Best Dressed Man in the World? Well, that's what Esquire says:
"'He's a complete individual,' Nick Sullivan, Esquire's fashion director, said Tuesday. 'But that's really the point.'
"Andre 3000 is the usually over-the-top dressed half of hip-hip duo OutKast. Some of the 30-year-old's fashion outings include: a lime green jacket at the 2004 Grammy Awards, candy apple red fur for the VH1 Big in 2003 ceremony and a pink-on-pink ensemble for the 2003 MTV Video Music Awards.
"'He's probably worn his most outrageous when he's in a video or on stage,' said Sullivan, who said Esquire's list is more about personal style than a celebrity's stylist's style. 'What we photographed him in is very much what he wanted to wear.'
"Andre 3000 sports several different and subtle looks in the magazine's spread including a double-breasted suede trench coat by Michael Kors, a cashmere sweater by the Ralph Lauren Purple Label and corduroy trousers by AndreBenjamin, the rapper's own clothing line.
"Sources of his fashion inspiration include clothes from period flicks such as 'Legends of the Fall' and 'The Great Gatsby' and the 'old men' in his neighborhood."
Really? I thought his influences were Fruit Striped bubblegum and, of course, the proverbial 'old men' in his neighborhood. (suspenders? blogger, please!)
And why isn't my pal Taki Theodoracopoulos on that goddam list! Grrrr
In: Scott Stereogum. Today, along with a clip of Minnie Driver covering a Bruce Springsteen cover (the girl has a voice), he gives us some deep cover VH1 scoop:
"Wanted to tell you guys a long time ago, but had to keep my big mouth shut until now.
The second season of VH1's Bands Reunited features:
"Haircut 100
"ABC
"The Motels
"The English Beat
"New Kids On The Block ("La-la-la-la-la-la tonight, la-la-la-la-la-la tonight.")
NKOTB?! I don't even know where to begin. It's like God and Buddha just heaped bountiful blessings on every snarky blogger in the world.
Personal Trainers Are The New Black
Personal Trainers are the new black. (The Corsair says this with an Old Testament finality, a high seriouslness, while, simultaneously munching on a Tuna wasabi crisp)
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, personal trainers have gotten a heretofore unheard of status. It's crazy like Patrick Swayze (The Corsair quietly hums, 'She's Like The Wind,' to himself). That significant cultural artifact The National Enquirer writes:
"'I've heard of stars paying as much as $250 or more an hour for a top-name personal trainer, sometimes much more if the trainer has to travel with them to a movie location or on a concert tour,' Michael Thurmond, a longtime personal trainer told The ENQUIRER.
"'Stars like Oprah Winfrey, Debra Messing and Kate Hudson may pay top dollar for their personal trainers ..." said Thurmond, who also works with contestants on ABC's 'Extreme Makeover.' 'But they can certainly afford it.'"
This news comes on the heels of Page Six's well discussed Tom Cruise doppelganger story:
"According to a witness, the actor's entourage included a man who was a 'young version of Tom.' When Cruise went to take his seat, he looked at his doppelganger who was sitting next to a heavyset man. The friend pointed to a seat next to the heavyset man. And Cruise sat down. But when the lights went out, Cruise's friend and the heavyset man exchanged places so the actor could sit right next to his friend. After the movie Tom ran out with 10 bodyguards escorting him into the freight elevator, leaving behind his pal (who joined him later at the after-party.) 'It was odd,' said our spy. Others in Los Angeles note the doppelganger has been Cruise's trainer for years."
Again with the trainers. Finally, in the new Reese Witherspoon Vanity Fair (because Prince and Oprah were busy), Elle MacPherson says, "Travelling on holidays with my personal trainer (is a necessary extravagance) ... he keeps me in shape."
Personal Trainers are the new black. (The Corsair says this with an Old Testament finality, a high seriouslness, while, simultaneously munching on a Tuna wasabi crisp)
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, personal trainers have gotten a heretofore unheard of status. It's crazy like Patrick Swayze (The Corsair quietly hums, 'She's Like The Wind,' to himself). That significant cultural artifact The National Enquirer writes:
"'I've heard of stars paying as much as $250 or more an hour for a top-name personal trainer, sometimes much more if the trainer has to travel with them to a movie location or on a concert tour,' Michael Thurmond, a longtime personal trainer told The ENQUIRER.
"'Stars like Oprah Winfrey, Debra Messing and Kate Hudson may pay top dollar for their personal trainers ..." said Thurmond, who also works with contestants on ABC's 'Extreme Makeover.' 'But they can certainly afford it.'"
This news comes on the heels of Page Six's well discussed Tom Cruise doppelganger story:
"According to a witness, the actor's entourage included a man who was a 'young version of Tom.' When Cruise went to take his seat, he looked at his doppelganger who was sitting next to a heavyset man. The friend pointed to a seat next to the heavyset man. And Cruise sat down. But when the lights went out, Cruise's friend and the heavyset man exchanged places so the actor could sit right next to his friend. After the movie Tom ran out with 10 bodyguards escorting him into the freight elevator, leaving behind his pal (who joined him later at the after-party.) 'It was odd,' said our spy. Others in Los Angeles note the doppelganger has been Cruise's trainer for years."
Again with the trainers. Finally, in the new Reese Witherspoon Vanity Fair (because Prince and Oprah were busy), Elle MacPherson says, "Travelling on holidays with my personal trainer (is a necessary extravagance) ... he keeps me in shape."
Cedrick The Entertainer, Entertains
In People's The Scoop, in the August 16,2004 edition, Cedrick the Entertainer made me laugh so abruptly that I may have damaged my esophagus:
People: How will (The Honeymooners) movie compare to the tv series?
Cedrick the Entertainer: (Ralph Kramden) always wanted to do the right thing, but he had this gruff outer shell that always put him in bad situations. He'll still be a bus driver. We won't say, 'To the Moon, Alice,' in the context that I'm about to knock her out. You can't do that nowadays.
I should hope not.
In People's The Scoop, in the August 16,2004 edition, Cedrick the Entertainer made me laugh so abruptly that I may have damaged my esophagus:
People: How will (The Honeymooners) movie compare to the tv series?
Cedrick the Entertainer: (Ralph Kramden) always wanted to do the right thing, but he had this gruff outer shell that always put him in bad situations. He'll still be a bus driver. We won't say, 'To the Moon, Alice,' in the context that I'm about to knock her out. You can't do that nowadays.
I should hope not.
Cindy Crawford Disses PETA
Cindy Crawford, pseudo-billionaire, is not a woman to be tossed aside lightly. She must be thrown with great force! (ask Rande Gerber about that one) British Vogue comes out with the tasty little tidbit that Cindy "Sin" Crawford is turning her back on her past as an animal rights activist, back in the days when it was socially prestigious to be seen as pro-animal rights. It's not the first time.
The pendulum swings. And now Crawford, in her supermodel senectitude, the red-bronze twilight of her career based on looks, has chosen to assume the role of the fur-clad "woman of substance." And why not? It's not as if the supermodels really cared about animals. Or, rather, maybe they do in abstracto, but in the everyday real world sense, they can be coerced into wearing a fox stole if it looks really neat.
I mean, let's face facts: On the grand scale of supermodel concerns, the anti-fur stance is sandwiched somewhere in between neck moisturizer and sheer concealer. If even that high.
British Vogue writes:
"IS Cindy Crawford going to be PeTA's next victim? The American supermodel, who famously posed alongside Naomi Campbell, Kate Moss, Elle Macpherson, Claudia Schiffer and Christy Turlington for the 1995 I'd Rather Go Naked Than Wear Fur campaign, is to star in the new ads for Blackglama fur. Crawford, who posed outside for the shots that will appear in magazines in October, follows in the footsteps of Bette Davis, Marlene Dietrich, Lauren Bacall, Rita Hayworth and Gisele Bundchen in working for the company. 'We're very excited,' Edward Brennan, chief executive officer of American Legend, the marketing cooperative that owns Blackglama, told Women's Wear Daily. He said he did not believe that Crawford, who signed with Planit M agency last month after two years off the fashion radar, would cause controversy with her decision to work for him. 'I wouldn't have had any reservations, but I don't think she was [in the PeTA ads],' he said. 'As far as I'm concerned, it wouldn't have affected our decision.' Brennan said that as far as he knew, Crawford had simply posed for a photographer who was an animal activist and that the PeTA logo has been added to her fake fur Todd Oldham hat afterwards by Photoshop. Whatever her stance used to be on wearing fur, it seems that now Cindy has free run of some of the world's most luxurious pelts. Having modelled five coats for the campaign, she can apparently keep them all. "She can have any one she wants," went on Brennan. 'I hope she took all five.'"
Why would a pseudo-billionaire feel the need to model? Is it a trend? And will Warren Buffett, pray tell, be shaking his little capitalist tush on the catwalk anytime soon?
Cindy Crawford, pseudo-billionaire, is not a woman to be tossed aside lightly. She must be thrown with great force! (ask Rande Gerber about that one) British Vogue comes out with the tasty little tidbit that Cindy "Sin" Crawford is turning her back on her past as an animal rights activist, back in the days when it was socially prestigious to be seen as pro-animal rights. It's not the first time.
The pendulum swings. And now Crawford, in her supermodel senectitude, the red-bronze twilight of her career based on looks, has chosen to assume the role of the fur-clad "woman of substance." And why not? It's not as if the supermodels really cared about animals. Or, rather, maybe they do in abstracto, but in the everyday real world sense, they can be coerced into wearing a fox stole if it looks really neat.
I mean, let's face facts: On the grand scale of supermodel concerns, the anti-fur stance is sandwiched somewhere in between neck moisturizer and sheer concealer. If even that high.
British Vogue writes:
"IS Cindy Crawford going to be PeTA's next victim? The American supermodel, who famously posed alongside Naomi Campbell, Kate Moss, Elle Macpherson, Claudia Schiffer and Christy Turlington for the 1995 I'd Rather Go Naked Than Wear Fur campaign, is to star in the new ads for Blackglama fur. Crawford, who posed outside for the shots that will appear in magazines in October, follows in the footsteps of Bette Davis, Marlene Dietrich, Lauren Bacall, Rita Hayworth and Gisele Bundchen in working for the company. 'We're very excited,' Edward Brennan, chief executive officer of American Legend, the marketing cooperative that owns Blackglama, told Women's Wear Daily. He said he did not believe that Crawford, who signed with Planit M agency last month after two years off the fashion radar, would cause controversy with her decision to work for him. 'I wouldn't have had any reservations, but I don't think she was [in the PeTA ads],' he said. 'As far as I'm concerned, it wouldn't have affected our decision.' Brennan said that as far as he knew, Crawford had simply posed for a photographer who was an animal activist and that the PeTA logo has been added to her fake fur Todd Oldham hat afterwards by Photoshop. Whatever her stance used to be on wearing fur, it seems that now Cindy has free run of some of the world's most luxurious pelts. Having modelled five coats for the campaign, she can apparently keep them all. "She can have any one she wants," went on Brennan. 'I hope she took all five.'"
Why would a pseudo-billionaire feel the need to model? Is it a trend? And will Warren Buffett, pray tell, be shaking his little capitalist tush on the catwalk anytime soon?
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
A Little of the Old In and Out
(Ed Note: I'm really tired, but I wanted to keep my social contract with you guys, so forgive the quality today)
In: The bitchslap Strikes Again! Unfortunately, this distinctly African-American way of sayinf, "fuck you very much," is becoming as American as stalking an ex-girlfriend -- or so I'm told. Naomi Cambell is the latest sister who has resorted to this gesture when words failed her. Of the bitchslap, I waxed lyrically recently, on the subject of the monumentally unhandsome Stanley Crouch and his literary milquetoast antagonist, Dale Peck. I described the scene thusly:
"Just putting a touch of sting on the cheeks, they say. Crisply cupping the jawline. Brushing an errant knave's ear with a limp backhand. A Palm Extended To Allow for Maximum Surface Contact -- rushing, cleaving the air. Flesh-on-flesh percussion, a macabre symphony of irritated blood vessels throbbing 'neath the cheeks.
"It all sounds so cruel. Or so I'm told (Averted gaze, wicked smile). Not that I would know anything about this African-American sport. (The Corsair has an evil little grin)
"...The receiver is brought low. His cheeks flush with that 'homemade rouge.' Most significantly, the speechless audience, who, breaking the silence, collectively utter the gutteral, 'oooooohhh.' Or so I'm told. The Corsair has good urban man-in-the-streets sources for these matters, for matters of bitchslapping (The Corsair has an evil little grin) Truer words have never been spoken (The Corsair ruefully rubs his cheek, and stares with fish eyes at a picture of a smiling Stanley Crouch). And speaking of disrespect ...
Out: Meth and Red, it seems. According to Defamer, the writing staff was sent home:
"... And the only way that sitcom writers can be separated from their room full of Nerf toys, junk food, and scripts with penis doodles on them and returned to their neglected families is cancellation. M&R recently received an extension from 12 to 15 episodes, but now they've been cut off at the knees and are shooting their 12th and final show tonight. Our sources don't know how many of these episodes will eventually air or are destined to become unseen artifacts of hip-hop-stoner history, but it looks like they're headed for the dreaded 'Indefinite Hiatus' of TV oblivion."
Well, that's sad, but you know the writers will all get work on other sitcoms and have stories to tell their kids. And Meth and Red will continue to do low budget films that are profitable. So, let's all chalk it up to a learning experience. And so, the next time Fox Tv comes bearing sitcoms, Meth won't either "punch a writer," or, depending on whom you believe, "grabbed the writer's head and pushed." (Simultaneous Urban Translator: That would be a freely interpreted "noogie")
In:Black Book Magazine, not Little Black Book the vehicle for that actress with the big crazy eyes, Brittney Murphy. As Fashionweekdaily notes:
"Ari Horowitz and his merry band of investors�including Mort Zuckerman�s nephew Eric Gerlter and Jason Beckman�who snatched up BlackBook, might have some interesting plans in store. Not only are they working out a deal with the nearly bankrupt Honey magazine (recently purchased by Philmore Anderson) where they�ll assume Honey�s subscription liability (paving the way for future partnerships), they�re also pushing the BlackBook brand into the limelight.
"Just last week at the premiere of the Brittany Murphy film 'Little Black Book,' Horowitz�s magazine and the nightlife guides it produces in New York, Los Angeles, and Miami�aptly named the Little BlackBook�were donated for the gift bag. 'BlackBook is definitely growing its brand,' an insider tells The Daily. 'They�re looking for deals to buy up media and magazine businesses to build a conglomerate.' Looks like BlackBook and Little BlackBook won�t be so little after all."
I believe that there should be an urban-twenty-to-thirtysomething-ambitious-bling-bling magazine. And, I think, with some tweaking, more articles and less pictures, Black Book could be something that we can all be proud of.
Out: The Donald. You always know Donald Trump is in some kind of fiscal crisis when he turns up the publicity volume meter past 10, right? Donald is the total materialist -- if force doesn't manifest itself in the media, it doesn't exist. Buddhist Monks are suckers.
The Donald's getting married. The Donald's on Esquire's cover, itching for a bitchslap. The Donald's getting a clothing line. The Donald wanted to run for President in 1992 on the Reform ticket, directing media attention away from his crumbling pseudo-empire.
What the fuck?! Now, Donald is hawking a clothing line. You know he's got to be in some serious kind of shit to be shilling slacks, or, as British Vogue spins it:
"DONALD TRUMP has been styling young men and women's careers for some time with The Apprentice reality show and now he is moving into their wardrobes. Soon to hit US clothes rails is the Trump Signature Collection, a line of men's suits, coats, slacks and, possibly, golfing gear, that will carry the Trump family crest."
And just what the fuck is the Trump family crest? Indulge me. What. The Fuck. Is. The Trump. Crest. Short fingers grabbing at pennies on the expectorate-laden sidewalk? Eastern European women of easy virtue marrying for money and a green card?
"'This will be high end menswear,' he told Newsweek. 'We already have tremendous interest.'"
Play the Donald Trump drinking game, everybody. It's a fun way to get to the end destination of blotto. Every time The Donald intones in an interview, poring over one of his many low grade piece of ass business ventures, saying, "We already have tremendous interest," offered, of course, in that sleazy voice that makes you want to take a shower, that harkens us back to the Old West and snakeoil tonics, and to Detroit pimps in the 1970s -- drink. You will be drunk by the time Trump starts dropping names like Mike Tyson and Reeg Philbin.
In: Ali G is getting married. I didn't get Ali G the first season. He seemed buffoonish. But either I've changed, or he's changed, because I understand that he is the ally of the snarky, he is in the hallowed tradition of Spy. Ali G, in his various incarnations, suckerpunches self important windbags on the media radar, like Sam Donaldson (I met him up close when I was Research Editor at Silicon Alley Reporter, on their SAR 100 issue, and this guy creeps me out -- he has dead eyes, shark eyes; I'm telling you: Sam Donaldson has no conscience) doesn't this .
And now, according to that significant cultural artifact, The National Enquirer, he's getting married:
"HBO comedy star Ali G dumbfounds celebrities with outrageously ridiculous questions, but he was dead serious when he asked "Scooby-Doo" actress Isla Fisher to be his wife.
"The British-born star of 'Da Ali G Show' -- whose real name is Sacha Baron Cohen -- is set to wed Isla, 28, in her hometown of Perth, Australia, later this year.
"The star couple have been renting Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt's old home in the Hollywood Hills for the past several months while Sacha works on his series and his first American feature film.
"'Isla is converting to Judaism for her fiance so they can have a traditional Jewish wedding,' said a source close to 32-year-old Sacha.
"'The couple have even made several journeys to Israel, and last year they had to cut one of their trips short when a bullet was fired into their hotel room in Tel Aviv. At first they thought their room had been targeted. Then police discovered two bodies in the adjoining hotel room!'"
Getting married when you get famous? I thought that the typical Hollywood power move would be to break up, explore your options, so to speak, do a Cuba Gooding, once you got famous. Or what Billy-Bob Thornton did to Laura Dern once he hooked up with someone more famous, namely, a Billy Crudup.
Crazy like Swayze: Sasha must be British.
(Ed Note: I'm really tired, but I wanted to keep my social contract with you guys, so forgive the quality today)
In: The bitchslap Strikes Again! Unfortunately, this distinctly African-American way of sayinf, "fuck you very much," is becoming as American as stalking an ex-girlfriend -- or so I'm told. Naomi Cambell is the latest sister who has resorted to this gesture when words failed her. Of the bitchslap, I waxed lyrically recently, on the subject of the monumentally unhandsome Stanley Crouch and his literary milquetoast antagonist, Dale Peck. I described the scene thusly:
"Just putting a touch of sting on the cheeks, they say. Crisply cupping the jawline. Brushing an errant knave's ear with a limp backhand. A Palm Extended To Allow for Maximum Surface Contact -- rushing, cleaving the air. Flesh-on-flesh percussion, a macabre symphony of irritated blood vessels throbbing 'neath the cheeks.
"It all sounds so cruel. Or so I'm told (Averted gaze, wicked smile). Not that I would know anything about this African-American sport. (The Corsair has an evil little grin)
"...The receiver is brought low. His cheeks flush with that 'homemade rouge.' Most significantly, the speechless audience, who, breaking the silence, collectively utter the gutteral, 'oooooohhh.' Or so I'm told. The Corsair has good urban man-in-the-streets sources for these matters, for matters of bitchslapping (The Corsair has an evil little grin) Truer words have never been spoken (The Corsair ruefully rubs his cheek, and stares with fish eyes at a picture of a smiling Stanley Crouch). And speaking of disrespect ...
Out: Meth and Red, it seems. According to Defamer, the writing staff was sent home:
"... And the only way that sitcom writers can be separated from their room full of Nerf toys, junk food, and scripts with penis doodles on them and returned to their neglected families is cancellation. M&R recently received an extension from 12 to 15 episodes, but now they've been cut off at the knees and are shooting their 12th and final show tonight. Our sources don't know how many of these episodes will eventually air or are destined to become unseen artifacts of hip-hop-stoner history, but it looks like they're headed for the dreaded 'Indefinite Hiatus' of TV oblivion."
Well, that's sad, but you know the writers will all get work on other sitcoms and have stories to tell their kids. And Meth and Red will continue to do low budget films that are profitable. So, let's all chalk it up to a learning experience. And so, the next time Fox Tv comes bearing sitcoms, Meth won't either "punch a writer," or, depending on whom you believe, "grabbed the writer's head and pushed." (Simultaneous Urban Translator: That would be a freely interpreted "noogie")
In:Black Book Magazine, not Little Black Book the vehicle for that actress with the big crazy eyes, Brittney Murphy. As Fashionweekdaily notes:
"Ari Horowitz and his merry band of investors�including Mort Zuckerman�s nephew Eric Gerlter and Jason Beckman�who snatched up BlackBook, might have some interesting plans in store. Not only are they working out a deal with the nearly bankrupt Honey magazine (recently purchased by Philmore Anderson) where they�ll assume Honey�s subscription liability (paving the way for future partnerships), they�re also pushing the BlackBook brand into the limelight.
"Just last week at the premiere of the Brittany Murphy film 'Little Black Book,' Horowitz�s magazine and the nightlife guides it produces in New York, Los Angeles, and Miami�aptly named the Little BlackBook�were donated for the gift bag. 'BlackBook is definitely growing its brand,' an insider tells The Daily. 'They�re looking for deals to buy up media and magazine businesses to build a conglomerate.' Looks like BlackBook and Little BlackBook won�t be so little after all."
I believe that there should be an urban-twenty-to-thirtysomething-ambitious-bling-bling magazine. And, I think, with some tweaking, more articles and less pictures, Black Book could be something that we can all be proud of.
Out: The Donald. You always know Donald Trump is in some kind of fiscal crisis when he turns up the publicity volume meter past 10, right? Donald is the total materialist -- if force doesn't manifest itself in the media, it doesn't exist. Buddhist Monks are suckers.
The Donald's getting married. The Donald's on Esquire's cover, itching for a bitchslap. The Donald's getting a clothing line. The Donald wanted to run for President in 1992 on the Reform ticket, directing media attention away from his crumbling pseudo-empire.
What the fuck?! Now, Donald is hawking a clothing line. You know he's got to be in some serious kind of shit to be shilling slacks, or, as British Vogue spins it:
"DONALD TRUMP has been styling young men and women's careers for some time with The Apprentice reality show and now he is moving into their wardrobes. Soon to hit US clothes rails is the Trump Signature Collection, a line of men's suits, coats, slacks and, possibly, golfing gear, that will carry the Trump family crest."
And just what the fuck is the Trump family crest? Indulge me. What. The Fuck. Is. The Trump. Crest. Short fingers grabbing at pennies on the expectorate-laden sidewalk? Eastern European women of easy virtue marrying for money and a green card?
"'This will be high end menswear,' he told Newsweek. 'We already have tremendous interest.'"
Play the Donald Trump drinking game, everybody. It's a fun way to get to the end destination of blotto. Every time The Donald intones in an interview, poring over one of his many low grade piece of ass business ventures, saying, "We already have tremendous interest," offered, of course, in that sleazy voice that makes you want to take a shower, that harkens us back to the Old West and snakeoil tonics, and to Detroit pimps in the 1970s -- drink. You will be drunk by the time Trump starts dropping names like Mike Tyson and Reeg Philbin.
In: Ali G is getting married. I didn't get Ali G the first season. He seemed buffoonish. But either I've changed, or he's changed, because I understand that he is the ally of the snarky, he is in the hallowed tradition of Spy. Ali G, in his various incarnations, suckerpunches self important windbags on the media radar, like Sam Donaldson (I met him up close when I was Research Editor at Silicon Alley Reporter, on their SAR 100 issue, and this guy creeps me out -- he has dead eyes, shark eyes; I'm telling you: Sam Donaldson has no conscience) doesn't this .
And now, according to that significant cultural artifact, The National Enquirer, he's getting married:
"HBO comedy star Ali G dumbfounds celebrities with outrageously ridiculous questions, but he was dead serious when he asked "Scooby-Doo" actress Isla Fisher to be his wife.
"The British-born star of 'Da Ali G Show' -- whose real name is Sacha Baron Cohen -- is set to wed Isla, 28, in her hometown of Perth, Australia, later this year.
"The star couple have been renting Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt's old home in the Hollywood Hills for the past several months while Sacha works on his series and his first American feature film.
"'Isla is converting to Judaism for her fiance so they can have a traditional Jewish wedding,' said a source close to 32-year-old Sacha.
"'The couple have even made several journeys to Israel, and last year they had to cut one of their trips short when a bullet was fired into their hotel room in Tel Aviv. At first they thought their room had been targeted. Then police discovered two bodies in the adjoining hotel room!'"
Getting married when you get famous? I thought that the typical Hollywood power move would be to break up, explore your options, so to speak, do a Cuba Gooding, once you got famous. Or what Billy-Bob Thornton did to Laura Dern once he hooked up with someone more famous, namely, a Billy Crudup.
Crazy like Swayze: Sasha must be British.
I couldn't resist this LA.com blog piece:
"Swanky celeb dinner parties are as old as the Hollywood Hills, but a recent one, thrown by a big time female star whose career has recently hit a few nasty speed bumps, turned out to be one for the books. Her oh-so-hip guests filed into the dining room of her lavish home and were amused to find the walls covered with glam photo portraits of the star from the beginning of her career, but (given the star�s famously wicked sense of humor) all assumed she was spoofing. Until, that is, she kept steering the dinner conversation back to herself, asking each guests to name which of her movies they liked best, which scenes they loved her best in, and what kind of movie they think she should do next. Oh, but Dolly hears that�s nothing compared to the nights she�s invited girlfriends over for pajama parties that always involve watching one of her earlier movies on video--which she watches with absolute entrancement. Paging Norma Desmond. "
Cameron Diaz? Just a guess.
"Swanky celeb dinner parties are as old as the Hollywood Hills, but a recent one, thrown by a big time female star whose career has recently hit a few nasty speed bumps, turned out to be one for the books. Her oh-so-hip guests filed into the dining room of her lavish home and were amused to find the walls covered with glam photo portraits of the star from the beginning of her career, but (given the star�s famously wicked sense of humor) all assumed she was spoofing. Until, that is, she kept steering the dinner conversation back to herself, asking each guests to name which of her movies they liked best, which scenes they loved her best in, and what kind of movie they think she should do next. Oh, but Dolly hears that�s nothing compared to the nights she�s invited girlfriends over for pajama parties that always involve watching one of her earlier movies on video--which she watches with absolute entrancement. Paging Norma Desmond. "
Cameron Diaz? Just a guess.
Best Of Corsair
Hey guys, due to work deadlines, no post today. But here's some "Best of ..." that might interest you:
Mr. Belvedere sits on his balls (seriously; I was laughing so hard when I posted this, if only you knew).
President Nixon was crunked up on Jesus Juice. (Or, Tricky Dick's Drinkie Poo)
Esquire Lives
Michael Jackson's Dad whips MJ
Tucker Carlson on Fame
Six Degrees of Nicolette Sheridan
Al Sharpton on SNL
Vivika Fox Won't Leave 50 Cent Alone!
I, Caligula
Musical Chairs at Conde Nast
Hey guys, due to work deadlines, no post today. But here's some "Best of ..." that might interest you:
Mr. Belvedere sits on his balls (seriously; I was laughing so hard when I posted this, if only you knew).
President Nixon was crunked up on Jesus Juice. (Or, Tricky Dick's Drinkie Poo)
Esquire Lives
Michael Jackson's Dad whips MJ
Tucker Carlson on Fame
Six Degrees of Nicolette Sheridan
Al Sharpton on SNL
Vivika Fox Won't Leave 50 Cent Alone!
I, Caligula
Musical Chairs at Conde Nast
Monday, August 09, 2004
A Little of the Old In and Out
(Ed Note: Thanks Roe935 for clearing up the Laverne and Shirley issue.)
In: Lucy Sykes. According to Fashionweekdaily, "Marie Claire editor-at-large Lucy Sykes is styling the Liz Lange fashion show at the Bryant Park tents this September."
See you in September, darling. (The Corsair blows the gal an air kiss) So, don't now say that I never offered anything nice about La Sykes.
Tennis, anyone?
Out: Catwoman. Or, as Roger Friedman of Fox says purr-fectly:
"The only movie really doing worse (than The Village), of course, is 'Catwoman,' a film that's clawed its way to the bottom. The Halle Berry starrer is a financial disaster of a magnitude that must have Warner Bros. in a frenzy. (The awful New York premiere must have been an omen.)
"'Catwoman' has a $135 million price tag. So far, though, it's taken in only $36 million domestically and about $1.5 million overseas."
Meow. The Corsair still believes that Sharon Stone is the jinx of that minx, even though Halle is accident prone. Sharon has stunk up more theaters than those buttery popcorn smelling ventilators.
In: Hating X-Men director Bryan Singer. It's the new black. Hate on him, why don't you. Bryan may be an ass that gets tossed off the studio lot, but, apparently, he is fun to dish on. According to FlyOnTheWall:
"I got to see Singer in his full tyrannical glory a few years back when I was at post house to view a director friend's rough assemblage. (For you flyovers, a 'post house' is a post-production facility where sound work is done on a film; a 'rough assemblage' is a very rough first cut with only master shots.) I walked in the door of the normally quiet facility in Burbank and heard what sounded like a hoarse teenager screaming and crying in the distance. When I was escorted back to the appropriate screening room, I discovered the screeching teenager was none other than director Bryan Singer, standing on a chair in a mix room and screaming hoarsely at some poor post-production lackey for a minor oversight. Singer was in such a typhoon rage that his words were incomprehensible. But I'll never forget his face: red from crying as tears and snot poured down his puffy face to his quavering chin. He looked exactly like the overgrown baby that he is. Only in Hollywood."
Already posters are giving their favorite "Hating Bryan Singer" stories here in the comments section. The Corsair predicts that blogs are going to make it hard for Hollywood divas (and, their counterparts, "hevas") to get away with all the shit and vinegar they have been getting away with all these years in relative obscurity, ignored by their buddies in the LA press corps. The Corsair cannot wait for an Anonymous casting couch blog, dishing on Steven Segal and his ilk.
Out: Vanity Fair. According to Fashionweekdaily, "supermodel Gisele graces the October covers of both Esquire and Vanity Fair, the former being the magazine�s photo issue." So, uhm, I guess that means that since Gisele is from Brazil (but half German), that this could technically -- possibly, maybe -- count as a Latina cover for the alabaster VF? Hardly. Not "in," but out, damn VF.
In: Stalking Kevin Bacon. Question: Do you ever dream about trapping Kevin Bacon in a dungeon and watching him do the Footloose dances over and over, just for your amusement? No? It's just me?
Anyhoo: First, there was Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. The Game. And then it wasn't enough. It. Wasn't. Hardly. Enough. We Needed more Kevin; the bacon wasn't sizzling. (The Corsair breaks into a cold sweat, sharpens a meat cleaver). You don't know what it's like to be a Kevin Bacon fan, dude. You. Don't. Know.
Sometimes ... when I'm in a Diner late at night. Like: 3AM. And the waitress wants to refill my cup of Joe for, like, the tenth cup. And she's walking really slowly, so as not to distract me from my Guns and Ammo magazine. I ask for eggs and bacon, abruptly, loudly, just to keep her off balance. And when she wants to know how I want the bacon ... I tell her Kevin, get it, Kevin Bacon ... (The Corsair suddenly and abruptly breaks into a very loose imitation of Kevin Bacon's Footloose dance.
And now, (The Corsair pants audibly) the great Gawker (take it easy, Choire) has provided our prey, like a Nabokovean butterfly, mounted... I mean our Bacon fix; tee-hee:
"Saw Kevin Bacon AGAIN (I see him all the time because he lives a few blocks away) this morning, first standing on his apartment building steps peering out like a beacon of light�then following me into the subway (of course he was following me). I proceeded to stalk him into the car he was riding on but pretended I wasn�t interested. He was wearing black sweatpants with a green stripe, nicely accessorized with a well worn green Eagles baseball hat and a black t-shirt and sneaks. He wore his sunglasses and was reading the NY Times the whole time. I watched the other subway riders with amusement to see if they noticed it was him. I think a few were a little startled out of their morning stupor but no one bothered him. He is cute but a rather ordinary, if vaguely hip, guy. I got out in Midtown but he continued on�I wondered if he was going downtown to look at apartments because I saw in the NY Post that he might be looking to move out of the neighborhood (sob)!"
Then, the stalker reports go to briefly Nathan Lane, but quickly, justly, return to fixate on Our Kevy:
"Nathan Lane at Caf� Fiorello in front of Lincoln Center having an early dinner with a friend before his performance of The Frogs. Also, Kevin Bacon walking on the Upper West Side with a dreadlock headed boy."
Dreadlock freak terrorizes Gotham! (The Corsair whips up a frenzy) ... wait till they get a load of me.
(Ed Note: Thanks Roe935 for clearing up the Laverne and Shirley issue.)
In: Lucy Sykes. According to Fashionweekdaily, "Marie Claire editor-at-large Lucy Sykes is styling the Liz Lange fashion show at the Bryant Park tents this September."
See you in September, darling. (The Corsair blows the gal an air kiss) So, don't now say that I never offered anything nice about La Sykes.
Tennis, anyone?
Out: Catwoman. Or, as Roger Friedman of Fox says purr-fectly:
"The only movie really doing worse (than The Village), of course, is 'Catwoman,' a film that's clawed its way to the bottom. The Halle Berry starrer is a financial disaster of a magnitude that must have Warner Bros. in a frenzy. (The awful New York premiere must have been an omen.)
"'Catwoman' has a $135 million price tag. So far, though, it's taken in only $36 million domestically and about $1.5 million overseas."
Meow. The Corsair still believes that Sharon Stone is the jinx of that minx, even though Halle is accident prone. Sharon has stunk up more theaters than those buttery popcorn smelling ventilators.
In: Hating X-Men director Bryan Singer. It's the new black. Hate on him, why don't you. Bryan may be an ass that gets tossed off the studio lot, but, apparently, he is fun to dish on. According to FlyOnTheWall:
"I got to see Singer in his full tyrannical glory a few years back when I was at post house to view a director friend's rough assemblage. (For you flyovers, a 'post house' is a post-production facility where sound work is done on a film; a 'rough assemblage' is a very rough first cut with only master shots.) I walked in the door of the normally quiet facility in Burbank and heard what sounded like a hoarse teenager screaming and crying in the distance. When I was escorted back to the appropriate screening room, I discovered the screeching teenager was none other than director Bryan Singer, standing on a chair in a mix room and screaming hoarsely at some poor post-production lackey for a minor oversight. Singer was in such a typhoon rage that his words were incomprehensible. But I'll never forget his face: red from crying as tears and snot poured down his puffy face to his quavering chin. He looked exactly like the overgrown baby that he is. Only in Hollywood."
Already posters are giving their favorite "Hating Bryan Singer" stories here in the comments section. The Corsair predicts that blogs are going to make it hard for Hollywood divas (and, their counterparts, "hevas") to get away with all the shit and vinegar they have been getting away with all these years in relative obscurity, ignored by their buddies in the LA press corps. The Corsair cannot wait for an Anonymous casting couch blog, dishing on Steven Segal and his ilk.
Out: Vanity Fair. According to Fashionweekdaily, "supermodel Gisele graces the October covers of both Esquire and Vanity Fair, the former being the magazine�s photo issue." So, uhm, I guess that means that since Gisele is from Brazil (but half German), that this could technically -- possibly, maybe -- count as a Latina cover for the alabaster VF? Hardly. Not "in," but out, damn VF.
In: Stalking Kevin Bacon. Question: Do you ever dream about trapping Kevin Bacon in a dungeon and watching him do the Footloose dances over and over, just for your amusement? No? It's just me?
Anyhoo: First, there was Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. The Game. And then it wasn't enough. It. Wasn't. Hardly. Enough. We Needed more Kevin; the bacon wasn't sizzling. (The Corsair breaks into a cold sweat, sharpens a meat cleaver). You don't know what it's like to be a Kevin Bacon fan, dude. You. Don't. Know.
Sometimes ... when I'm in a Diner late at night. Like: 3AM. And the waitress wants to refill my cup of Joe for, like, the tenth cup. And she's walking really slowly, so as not to distract me from my Guns and Ammo magazine. I ask for eggs and bacon, abruptly, loudly, just to keep her off balance. And when she wants to know how I want the bacon ... I tell her Kevin, get it, Kevin Bacon ... (The Corsair suddenly and abruptly breaks into a very loose imitation of Kevin Bacon's Footloose dance.
And now, (The Corsair pants audibly) the great Gawker (take it easy, Choire) has provided our prey, like a Nabokovean butterfly, mounted... I mean our Bacon fix; tee-hee:
"Saw Kevin Bacon AGAIN (I see him all the time because he lives a few blocks away) this morning, first standing on his apartment building steps peering out like a beacon of light�then following me into the subway (of course he was following me). I proceeded to stalk him into the car he was riding on but pretended I wasn�t interested. He was wearing black sweatpants with a green stripe, nicely accessorized with a well worn green Eagles baseball hat and a black t-shirt and sneaks. He wore his sunglasses and was reading the NY Times the whole time. I watched the other subway riders with amusement to see if they noticed it was him. I think a few were a little startled out of their morning stupor but no one bothered him. He is cute but a rather ordinary, if vaguely hip, guy. I got out in Midtown but he continued on�I wondered if he was going downtown to look at apartments because I saw in the NY Post that he might be looking to move out of the neighborhood (sob)!"
Then, the stalker reports go to briefly Nathan Lane, but quickly, justly, return to fixate on Our Kevy:
"Nathan Lane at Caf� Fiorello in front of Lincoln Center having an early dinner with a friend before his performance of The Frogs. Also, Kevin Bacon walking on the Upper West Side with a dreadlock headed boy."
Dreadlock freak terrorizes Gotham! (The Corsair whips up a frenzy) ... wait till they get a load of me.
LaToya Jackson Undergoes Name Surgery
MSNBC reports that LaToya Jackson has changed her name to "Toy":
"This week, the buoyant 'Just Wanna Dance' (JaTail Records) by Toy climbs two notches on the chart to No. 14.
�'It feels good to be back,' Toy Jackson told Billboard. 'With this single, I wanted people to judge the song on its own merit.'
"Jackson fully understands that her name comes with much baggage, good and bad. 'People weren�t giving me the chance to do my thing, which is to sing,' she said. 'So, I altered my name for this single to see what would happen.'�
But on the horizon of contemporary music there have been hints, as in her "hit" "Sex Box (the orignial mix, silly, without full force rap), she croons, rather humidly, "Last night laying in the bed/Thinking and dreaming of you/Real tight, holding on my hand,Thinking of what I had to do/Here I am, like a toy/Now your gonna play with me/Hey you! Come boy, Give me what you think I need"
Which, of course, begs the question, is Toy her name ... or her function? (The Corsair wags his eyebrows like Groucho Marx)
MSNBC reports that LaToya Jackson has changed her name to "Toy":
"This week, the buoyant 'Just Wanna Dance' (JaTail Records) by Toy climbs two notches on the chart to No. 14.
�'It feels good to be back,' Toy Jackson told Billboard. 'With this single, I wanted people to judge the song on its own merit.'
"Jackson fully understands that her name comes with much baggage, good and bad. 'People weren�t giving me the chance to do my thing, which is to sing,' she said. 'So, I altered my name for this single to see what would happen.'�
But on the horizon of contemporary music there have been hints, as in her "hit" "Sex Box (the orignial mix, silly, without full force rap), she croons, rather humidly, "Last night laying in the bed/Thinking and dreaming of you/Real tight, holding on my hand,Thinking of what I had to do/Here I am, like a toy/Now your gonna play with me/Hey you! Come boy, Give me what you think I need"
Which, of course, begs the question, is Toy her name ... or her function? (The Corsair wags his eyebrows like Groucho Marx)
Barbra Streisand: The Bloviator
I know I should like Barbra Streisand, former lover of the embattled Don Johnson, as it was her donation to The Nation Magazine that allowed me to intern at that Magazine straight out of college with a nice little stipend to get me through the week. I should feel all warm and fuzzy and full of gish darn gratitude. And, damn, that extra beer money helped me slough through the Summer of 1995. But, Goddam, is she a bloviator or what?
According to The National Enquirer, that significant cultural artifact:
"Furious over Barbra Streisand's outrageous demands after they asked her to speak at the Democratic National Convention, organizers rebelled and yelled: 'Streisand . . . STAY HOME!'"
The Corsair heartily agrees.
"Snarled one insider: 'She was a nightmare!' La Streisand delivered a typewritten list of demands that blah-blah-ed on for pages about makeup artists . . . hairdressers . . . a fleet of limos . . . hotel suites for the star's entourage and a small army of private bodyguards . . . etc. In addition, say sources, she ordered Dems to hire extra guards for her protection and (here's my favorite!) even dictated strict security demands to the FBI! Topping it all off, party 'loyalist' Streisand refused to pony up a penny toward the staggering bill -- insisting that the tab be paid by campaign contributions from ordinary Americans! Seething party bosses told the singer through clenched teeth: 'Thanks . . . but no thanks!' Now Streisand's fibbing to pals that she couldn't attend the convention because she's working on 'Meet the Fockers' -- but sources say her scenes were shot long before the opening gavel banged!"
But that is nothing compared to the 4-page bio on her shameless web site, which bloviates at Wagnerian length about, among other things, her "honorary degree from Brandeis," and:
"Ms. Streisand's feelings about the rights and obligations of artists to participate in the political process were brought into sharp focus by her early 1995 speech at Harvard University under the sponsorship of the John F. Kennedy School of Government. The address won unprecedented reportage and reproduction in such print media as the New York Times and the Washington Post. It was carried a record number of times on C-SPAN and is included in Senator Robert Torricelli's book, 'In Our Words: The American Century,' a collection of important speeches of the 20th century."
This may in fact be a first, people: not only is Babs' site bragging about being her "The Artist as Citizen"(a speech written by Kerry's consigliere Bob Shrum and touched up by Peter Jennings) being carried a record number of times on C-Span, a dubious distinction at best, but, further, the site bloviates about being included in a collection of important speeches of the 20th century, edited by Robert "I'm Sorry" Toricelli.
Granted, lyrical stylings like "Love soft as an easy chair/Love fresh as the morning air," do not a Holderlin make, but if she's going to be so in-your-face about her left politics, she could at least frame it in such a way that it does not call attention to how many fucking diva perks she needs.
I know I should like Barbra Streisand, former lover of the embattled Don Johnson, as it was her donation to The Nation Magazine that allowed me to intern at that Magazine straight out of college with a nice little stipend to get me through the week. I should feel all warm and fuzzy and full of gish darn gratitude. And, damn, that extra beer money helped me slough through the Summer of 1995. But, Goddam, is she a bloviator or what?
According to The National Enquirer, that significant cultural artifact:
"Furious over Barbra Streisand's outrageous demands after they asked her to speak at the Democratic National Convention, organizers rebelled and yelled: 'Streisand . . . STAY HOME!'"
The Corsair heartily agrees.
"Snarled one insider: 'She was a nightmare!' La Streisand delivered a typewritten list of demands that blah-blah-ed on for pages about makeup artists . . . hairdressers . . . a fleet of limos . . . hotel suites for the star's entourage and a small army of private bodyguards . . . etc. In addition, say sources, she ordered Dems to hire extra guards for her protection and (here's my favorite!) even dictated strict security demands to the FBI! Topping it all off, party 'loyalist' Streisand refused to pony up a penny toward the staggering bill -- insisting that the tab be paid by campaign contributions from ordinary Americans! Seething party bosses told the singer through clenched teeth: 'Thanks . . . but no thanks!' Now Streisand's fibbing to pals that she couldn't attend the convention because she's working on 'Meet the Fockers' -- but sources say her scenes were shot long before the opening gavel banged!"
But that is nothing compared to the 4-page bio on her shameless web site, which bloviates at Wagnerian length about, among other things, her "honorary degree from Brandeis," and:
"Ms. Streisand's feelings about the rights and obligations of artists to participate in the political process were brought into sharp focus by her early 1995 speech at Harvard University under the sponsorship of the John F. Kennedy School of Government. The address won unprecedented reportage and reproduction in such print media as the New York Times and the Washington Post. It was carried a record number of times on C-SPAN and is included in Senator Robert Torricelli's book, 'In Our Words: The American Century,' a collection of important speeches of the 20th century."
This may in fact be a first, people: not only is Babs' site bragging about being her "The Artist as Citizen"(a speech written by Kerry's consigliere Bob Shrum and touched up by Peter Jennings) being carried a record number of times on C-Span, a dubious distinction at best, but, further, the site bloviates about being included in a collection of important speeches of the 20th century, edited by Robert "I'm Sorry" Toricelli.
Granted, lyrical stylings like "Love soft as an easy chair/Love fresh as the morning air," do not a Holderlin make, but if she's going to be so in-your-face about her left politics, she could at least frame it in such a way that it does not call attention to how many fucking diva perks she needs.
Deadbeat ... Looking For a Deadbeat
Embattled actor Don Johnson, who played Sonny Crockett, the alagator pet-owning rough-edged pastel wearing sailboat living cop, may soon be singing The Smuggler's Blues with Johnny Law himself if he doesn't pony up some dinero for his unpaid shopping bills, according to the Beeb:
"A judge has ordered Hollywood actor Don Johnson to pay an unpaid shopping bill of nearly $5,500.
"Pitkin County District Judge Erin Fernandez-Ely said Johnson must pay $5,470 ... for the overdue balance at Clark's Market.
"The judge also ordered Mr Johnson to pay $426.85 in interest to the grocery store in Aspen, Colorado."
Although the former icon has put his Aspen 17 acre ranch for sale, The Aspen Daily News writes:
"Tom Clark, president of the valley-based, nine-store chain, said it's doubtful he'll extend the former 'Miami Vice' star a line of credit in the future, even if he satisfies his tab. Clark's had given Johnson a line of credit since 1989, but last year his bill went unpaid, and he had been in default since September, according to court papers.
"'We're dealing with somebody who at one time was very credit worthy and obviously a very successful actor and a very successful businessman, and really, it's sad,' Clark said. 'It's sad for anybody who's successful but can no longer pay their bills. This was not a fun thing to do, and hopefully I'll never have to do it again.'"
Pay the bill, Sonny, or, you belong to the city, Don, the city of Aspen's penitentiary.
Comment here or VH1's BWE Blog
Embattled actor Don Johnson, who played Sonny Crockett, the alagator pet-owning rough-edged pastel wearing sailboat living cop, may soon be singing The Smuggler's Blues with Johnny Law himself if he doesn't pony up some dinero for his unpaid shopping bills, according to the Beeb:
"A judge has ordered Hollywood actor Don Johnson to pay an unpaid shopping bill of nearly $5,500.
"Pitkin County District Judge Erin Fernandez-Ely said Johnson must pay $5,470 ... for the overdue balance at Clark's Market.
"The judge also ordered Mr Johnson to pay $426.85 in interest to the grocery store in Aspen, Colorado."
Although the former icon has put his Aspen 17 acre ranch for sale, The Aspen Daily News writes:
"Tom Clark, president of the valley-based, nine-store chain, said it's doubtful he'll extend the former 'Miami Vice' star a line of credit in the future, even if he satisfies his tab. Clark's had given Johnson a line of credit since 1989, but last year his bill went unpaid, and he had been in default since September, according to court papers.
"'We're dealing with somebody who at one time was very credit worthy and obviously a very successful actor and a very successful businessman, and really, it's sad,' Clark said. 'It's sad for anybody who's successful but can no longer pay their bills. This was not a fun thing to do, and hopefully I'll never have to do it again.'"
Pay the bill, Sonny, or, you belong to the city, Don, the city of Aspen's penitentiary.
Comment here or VH1's BWE Blog
Saturday, August 07, 2004
Congressman Alexander Switches Parties
This dude, Rep. Rodney Alexander, is so devilishly calm, so sneaky, so silent as he did it, so interesting, that I am fascinated by what logistics went on behind the scenes that caused him to switch parties and take such a gamble at a time when, quite frankly, anything can happen and it usually does.
In these partisan days, where all collegial comeraderie and sense of compromise has gone the Way of the Dodo, I'd thought I'd seen everything -- everything! -- and here comes Rodney Alexander, who schools me but good on Politicking 101. I didn't even see this one coming, I don't think anyone did, not even the political junkies at TheHill.com, and certainly not the "plugged in" cats on CNN's Inside Politics, or Chris Matthews' Hard Ball.
Old Rod just gave us all a lesson in the political snooker, and how an unassuming Congressman can steal the weekend. Who knew he had game like that? He and Alan Keyes are the players of the week the AP reports:
"In 48 hours, Rep. Rodney Alexander went from Democrat to Republican, friend to foe � or foe to friend, depending on your political persuasion.
"Democrats reacted to the news by calling the first-term congressman a turncoat and a coward. They must now gain another seat, 12 in all, to win back the House this fall. The count today: Democrats 205, Republicans 229. "A new ally, on the other hand, rang him up Friday to say congratulations. President Bush according to White House spokesman Scott McClellan, welcomed Alexander to the GOP and wished him well.
"Alexander's about-face came about in two days, but had really been in the works for two years. After announcing his new affiliation Friday afternoon, Alexander said he had been struggling with his conservative votes for his entire term � backing the Bush tax cuts as well as the war in Iraq � and noted they had brought him criticism from Democrats.
"'I just decided it would be best for me to switch parties, that I would be more effective in the 5th District in the state of Louisiana as a Republican,' he said.
"In March, Alexander found himself under such intense pressure that he had to publicly announce he would remain a Democrat. Yet, he skipped last month's National Convention in Boston.
"On Wednesday, Alexander registered at the start of qualifying for the 5th District race as a Democrat. Friday afternoon, the last day of qualifying for the Nov. 2 ballot, he made his switch, leaving Democrats no time to enter a strong candidate in the race."
Damn, that's some Machiavelli-sneaky shit right there. That's downright Cajun. Especially considering Louisisana is a swing state, but will more likely go for Bush (if it doesn't, Alexander is royally fucked when payback comes) than Kerry and trends Republican. And, of course, you just know the Congressional Republicans have a cornucopia of campaign cash, PAC cash and special lucrative committee assignments for his district, "face time" with POTUS, and such booty as to boggle the imagination to bestow to this Prince. It was a shrewd move, and I'd counsel Democrats to avoid looking like punks and just move on, no use crying over spilt milk.
Check, Karl Rove; checkmate ... to be determined at a later date.
This dude, Rep. Rodney Alexander, is so devilishly calm, so sneaky, so silent as he did it, so interesting, that I am fascinated by what logistics went on behind the scenes that caused him to switch parties and take such a gamble at a time when, quite frankly, anything can happen and it usually does.
In these partisan days, where all collegial comeraderie and sense of compromise has gone the Way of the Dodo, I'd thought I'd seen everything -- everything! -- and here comes Rodney Alexander, who schools me but good on Politicking 101. I didn't even see this one coming, I don't think anyone did, not even the political junkies at TheHill.com, and certainly not the "plugged in" cats on CNN's Inside Politics, or Chris Matthews' Hard Ball.
Old Rod just gave us all a lesson in the political snooker, and how an unassuming Congressman can steal the weekend. Who knew he had game like that? He and Alan Keyes are the players of the week the AP reports:
"In 48 hours, Rep. Rodney Alexander went from Democrat to Republican, friend to foe � or foe to friend, depending on your political persuasion.
"Democrats reacted to the news by calling the first-term congressman a turncoat and a coward. They must now gain another seat, 12 in all, to win back the House this fall. The count today: Democrats 205, Republicans 229. "A new ally, on the other hand, rang him up Friday to say congratulations. President Bush according to White House spokesman Scott McClellan, welcomed Alexander to the GOP and wished him well.
"Alexander's about-face came about in two days, but had really been in the works for two years. After announcing his new affiliation Friday afternoon, Alexander said he had been struggling with his conservative votes for his entire term � backing the Bush tax cuts as well as the war in Iraq � and noted they had brought him criticism from Democrats.
"'I just decided it would be best for me to switch parties, that I would be more effective in the 5th District in the state of Louisiana as a Republican,' he said.
"In March, Alexander found himself under such intense pressure that he had to publicly announce he would remain a Democrat. Yet, he skipped last month's National Convention in Boston.
"On Wednesday, Alexander registered at the start of qualifying for the 5th District race as a Democrat. Friday afternoon, the last day of qualifying for the Nov. 2 ballot, he made his switch, leaving Democrats no time to enter a strong candidate in the race."
Damn, that's some Machiavelli-sneaky shit right there. That's downright Cajun. Especially considering Louisisana is a swing state, but will more likely go for Bush (if it doesn't, Alexander is royally fucked when payback comes) than Kerry and trends Republican. And, of course, you just know the Congressional Republicans have a cornucopia of campaign cash, PAC cash and special lucrative committee assignments for his district, "face time" with POTUS, and such booty as to boggle the imagination to bestow to this Prince. It was a shrewd move, and I'd counsel Democrats to avoid looking like punks and just move on, no use crying over spilt milk.
Check, Karl Rove; checkmate ... to be determined at a later date.
Who Is the Queen of The Blogosphere?
Those Brits are always starting trouble, fucking always: first it was taxation without representation, then the lethally unfunny Benny Hill, which spawned a generation of molesters, and now ... this: a 3 page London Independent article on Stephanie Klein. Frankly, I like Stephanies blog, and I'm glad she's getting the international attention, and, by virtue of that, all of us bloggers trapped in this New York clusterfuck.
Stephanie, if you don't frequent her blog, is the witty cutie who was once asked out by Chris "Mr. Big" Noth. The Independent took to calling her"Manhattan's weblog internet queen," which, in turn, you can imagine, set off some blogosphere controversy, the likes of which we haven't seen since the Krucoff vs. Lockhart Steele Wars.
Felix at MemeFirst weighs in:
"First: weblog internet queen? As opposed to, oh, weblog cuneiform tablet queen? More to the point, the entries are unreadable, even for someone who lives here: I can't imagine a UK reader caring about them in the slightest.
"Still, the Independent does raise an interesting question: who is the weblog internet queen of Manhattan? Back in October, I announced that 'the true queen of the blogosphere' was Jen Chung ... Widening the competition to include the likes of Maccers and Eurotrash, who would you nominate?"
The excellent Nichelle responded, justly, bringing up some names we are familiar with, and some new to us:
"Hey, what about me? or Lindsayism? the Real Janelle? Culture Kitchen? LustyLady? AlexisT? Brazilian Muse? Sweet Blog O'Mine? Standard Deviance? Ultragrrl? Hottpants?"
To which I'd like to add to the list SocialiteLife's Miu Von Furstenberg, and La Depressionada.
Have I missed any? I'm sure I have. I'm writing this hung over on a Saturday morning. Who do you think gets the Internet Queen of Manhattan? If we go beyond Manhattan, why not OldHag and Sarah Weinman (Is Sarah a Manhattanite? I don't know; I do know, however, that she got her Master's at John Jay, but she occupies a sort of sexy and spaceless "all crime all the time"frame in her blog, so I'm not sure)?
(And why is this only Manhattan? Is this some British plot to separate the boroughs and reclaim her colonies? Fuck if I know, people. I'd just ask: Who is the Queen of the Internet).
And when Is Lindsay going to allow us to comment back on her blog? I guess when people behave. Damn, I miss the to-and-fro on that blog with comments.
Those Brits are always starting trouble, fucking always: first it was taxation without representation, then the lethally unfunny Benny Hill, which spawned a generation of molesters, and now ... this: a 3 page London Independent article on Stephanie Klein. Frankly, I like Stephanies blog, and I'm glad she's getting the international attention, and, by virtue of that, all of us bloggers trapped in this New York clusterfuck.
Stephanie, if you don't frequent her blog, is the witty cutie who was once asked out by Chris "Mr. Big" Noth. The Independent took to calling her"Manhattan's weblog internet queen," which, in turn, you can imagine, set off some blogosphere controversy, the likes of which we haven't seen since the Krucoff vs. Lockhart Steele Wars.
Felix at MemeFirst weighs in:
"First: weblog internet queen? As opposed to, oh, weblog cuneiform tablet queen? More to the point, the entries are unreadable, even for someone who lives here: I can't imagine a UK reader caring about them in the slightest.
"Still, the Independent does raise an interesting question: who is the weblog internet queen of Manhattan? Back in October, I announced that 'the true queen of the blogosphere' was Jen Chung ... Widening the competition to include the likes of Maccers and Eurotrash, who would you nominate?"
The excellent Nichelle responded, justly, bringing up some names we are familiar with, and some new to us:
"Hey, what about me? or Lindsayism? the Real Janelle? Culture Kitchen? LustyLady? AlexisT? Brazilian Muse? Sweet Blog O'Mine? Standard Deviance? Ultragrrl? Hottpants?"
To which I'd like to add to the list SocialiteLife's Miu Von Furstenberg, and La Depressionada.
Have I missed any? I'm sure I have. I'm writing this hung over on a Saturday morning. Who do you think gets the Internet Queen of Manhattan? If we go beyond Manhattan, why not OldHag and Sarah Weinman (Is Sarah a Manhattanite? I don't know; I do know, however, that she got her Master's at John Jay, but she occupies a sort of sexy and spaceless "all crime all the time"frame in her blog, so I'm not sure)?
(And why is this only Manhattan? Is this some British plot to separate the boroughs and reclaim her colonies? Fuck if I know, people. I'd just ask: Who is the Queen of the Internet).
And when Is Lindsay going to allow us to comment back on her blog? I guess when people behave. Damn, I miss the to-and-fro on that blog with comments.
A Little of the Old In and Out
In: Happy Birthday to two of our favorite bloggers, OldHag and Uncle Grambo, Leo's both. May they keep going on informing and amusing us for as long as "this thing of ours" drives us.
Out: Dale Peck, the man we love to hate. The man who survived a brutal bitchslap attack from Stanley Crouch is interviewed in Gothamist. So best.
In: Croatia, but, you probably already knew that. According to Fashionweekdaily:
"Jessica Shaw, in her 'Shaw Report' for this week�s Entertainment Weekly, declared vacationing in Croatia as 'in.' What a coincidence, as Lauren Davis, the J. Mendel public relations director, sent The Daily a postcard this week from her trip abroad:
'Dear Daily,
'I am in Croatia! It sounds like a bad joke but it�s true! I am here for some good ol� fashion Eastern-European fun�they say it is the new St. Tropez, you know! In all seriousness, it is a marvelous place. [My boyfriend] and I came here on a boat last summer and are doing the same trip again. We�re starting in Dubrovnick and ending in Venice.'"
Out: Theft. Sticky fingered vulgarians robbed both Al Gore, our former Vice President, and Paris Hilton this week. One imagines Dominick Dunne is in hot pursuit, Mont Blanc at the ready, Jermyn Street tailored shirt rustling.
According to the Page Sixers, re: Gore:
"Al Gore � for the first time since he was elected v.p. in 1992 � decided to do without security on a vacation in Italy. Bad move. 'The Gores were robbed while staying in a luxurious villa in Castellina,' a Tuscan source told the London Spy column in the Daily Telegraph. 'One of the neighbors went in to sympathize, and Al told him that the thieves had taken about $35,000 worth of valuables.' Gore purportedly was kicking himself for leaving his bodyguards behind."
The AP, like via Defamer, said this re: Paris:
"Police confirmed Friday they were investigating a burglary at the Hollywood Hills home of Paris and Nicky Hilton.
"Someone broke into the house Wednesday night, but detectives haven't identified a suspect, Officer Esther Reyes said. She wouldn't comment on what was stolen, citing the ongoing investigation.
"Us Weekly magazine quoted an unnamed Hilton family member, who said the burglar took off with hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash, jewelry and personal items.
"Another unnamed source told the magazine that a laptop computer, several designer purses, video tapes and photographs of Paris Hilton ... with ex-boyfriend Nick Carter were also taken.
"Paris Hilton's publicist, Gina Hoffman, confirmed the burglary but had no further comment."
In: Rick James. (This Rick James Dead Link via the most excellent Tom from The Media Drop). In Memoriam, Charlie Murphy's True Hollywood Story (Corsair blog link)
While Rick James is probably asking Saint Peter --as we "speak" -- questions, like: What did the two angel wings say to the face? Or, Does Heaven, by virtue of being Heaven, contain the "Stickiest" of the "Ickiest, " or saying, upon watching someone being denied entry into Heaven -- "Cold Blooded"! We will miss the original superfreak, as a source of fun and the fragility of life (okay, that was a bit pretentious, forgive me). Rick James, RIP
Out: Caroline McAteer, the publicist for embattled celebs Posh Spice and David "Bend It Like" Bekham, and her former clients, out: all. According to the 3AM Girls, the Beckham Titanic is sinking:
"VICTORIA Beckham has jettisoned a major cog in the First Family's 'truth' machine - their publicist Caroline McAteer.
"After years of 'spinning' to protect their image, it is all over for the ruthless, bubble-haired flunky who has been given the boot by the increasingly desperate duo."
And in a surprising brutal Op Ed in the New York Times today.
As you can see, very slow news week. I gave it my all, though.
In: Happy Birthday to two of our favorite bloggers, OldHag and Uncle Grambo, Leo's both. May they keep going on informing and amusing us for as long as "this thing of ours" drives us.
Out: Dale Peck, the man we love to hate. The man who survived a brutal bitchslap attack from Stanley Crouch is interviewed in Gothamist. So best.
In: Croatia, but, you probably already knew that. According to Fashionweekdaily:
"Jessica Shaw, in her 'Shaw Report' for this week�s Entertainment Weekly, declared vacationing in Croatia as 'in.' What a coincidence, as Lauren Davis, the J. Mendel public relations director, sent The Daily a postcard this week from her trip abroad:
'Dear Daily,
'I am in Croatia! It sounds like a bad joke but it�s true! I am here for some good ol� fashion Eastern-European fun�they say it is the new St. Tropez, you know! In all seriousness, it is a marvelous place. [My boyfriend] and I came here on a boat last summer and are doing the same trip again. We�re starting in Dubrovnick and ending in Venice.'"
Out: Theft. Sticky fingered vulgarians robbed both Al Gore, our former Vice President, and Paris Hilton this week. One imagines Dominick Dunne is in hot pursuit, Mont Blanc at the ready, Jermyn Street tailored shirt rustling.
According to the Page Sixers, re: Gore:
"Al Gore � for the first time since he was elected v.p. in 1992 � decided to do without security on a vacation in Italy. Bad move. 'The Gores were robbed while staying in a luxurious villa in Castellina,' a Tuscan source told the London Spy column in the Daily Telegraph. 'One of the neighbors went in to sympathize, and Al told him that the thieves had taken about $35,000 worth of valuables.' Gore purportedly was kicking himself for leaving his bodyguards behind."
The AP, like via Defamer, said this re: Paris:
"Police confirmed Friday they were investigating a burglary at the Hollywood Hills home of Paris and Nicky Hilton.
"Someone broke into the house Wednesday night, but detectives haven't identified a suspect, Officer Esther Reyes said. She wouldn't comment on what was stolen, citing the ongoing investigation.
"Us Weekly magazine quoted an unnamed Hilton family member, who said the burglar took off with hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash, jewelry and personal items.
"Another unnamed source told the magazine that a laptop computer, several designer purses, video tapes and photographs of Paris Hilton ... with ex-boyfriend Nick Carter were also taken.
"Paris Hilton's publicist, Gina Hoffman, confirmed the burglary but had no further comment."
In: Rick James. (This Rick James Dead Link via the most excellent Tom from The Media Drop). In Memoriam, Charlie Murphy's True Hollywood Story (Corsair blog link)
While Rick James is probably asking Saint Peter --as we "speak" -- questions, like: What did the two angel wings say to the face? Or, Does Heaven, by virtue of being Heaven, contain the "Stickiest" of the "Ickiest, " or saying, upon watching someone being denied entry into Heaven -- "Cold Blooded"! We will miss the original superfreak, as a source of fun and the fragility of life (okay, that was a bit pretentious, forgive me). Rick James, RIP
Out: Caroline McAteer, the publicist for embattled celebs Posh Spice and David "Bend It Like" Bekham, and her former clients, out: all. According to the 3AM Girls, the Beckham Titanic is sinking:
"VICTORIA Beckham has jettisoned a major cog in the First Family's 'truth' machine - their publicist Caroline McAteer.
"After years of 'spinning' to protect their image, it is all over for the ruthless, bubble-haired flunky who has been given the boot by the increasingly desperate duo."
And in a surprising brutal Op Ed in the New York Times today.
As you can see, very slow news week. I gave it my all, though.
The New "Urban" Tom Cruise (TM)
Tom Cruise has unmistakably emerged from the crysalis of his messy break up with Nicole Kidman and the public reassessment of the A-List in an "urban" mode.
I'd like to take full credit for describing Tom's reincarnation as Urban, but it was the Opening venue of "Collateral" at the Urban Film Festival -- a move that had Tom's calculating fingerprints all over it -- that helped me decide on the term.
Now everyone's running with it.
Canada's Globe and Mail yesterday:
"They define two ways of being in the urban jungle. With his grey silk suit to match his hair, Vincent suggests a silver fox (the predator image is underscored when a coyote, eyes flaring briefly, crosses in front of the taxi). Max, with his rabbitty overbite, dark clothes and old-fashioned glasses, chooses camouflage and avoidance."
Canada's National Post:
"Like Mann's Heat, which was also set in Los Angeles, Collateral viscerally captures a certain urban dichotomy: the veneer of gauzy glamour covering the city's dangerous underbelly. The sun is going down, smothering everything in a smoggy, orange haze. Cars lazily navigate the streets of downtown L.A. as The Roots' The Seed 2.0 plays in the background. But something darker is going on underneath, and Mann understands and conveys those discordant rhythms. "
They get the idea, but they miss the point: yes, the film is urban, but, more importantly, so is Tom, which is a long way from being Maverick in Top Gun, or the best bartender in the world in Cocktail, or Born on The Fourt of July. Tom is moving away from the All-American perfect guy and into a darker more postmodern multiethnic space. Could you imagine Tom, 5 years ago, under Pat Kingsley, interviewing Jada Pinkett-Smith for Interview Magazine? Or taking a subordinate bad guy role under Jamie Foxx? Me neither.
Guys, that's the story.
And, just remember, you hear it here first.
Tom Cruise has unmistakably emerged from the crysalis of his messy break up with Nicole Kidman and the public reassessment of the A-List in an "urban" mode.
I'd like to take full credit for describing Tom's reincarnation as Urban, but it was the Opening venue of "Collateral" at the Urban Film Festival -- a move that had Tom's calculating fingerprints all over it -- that helped me decide on the term.
Now everyone's running with it.
Canada's Globe and Mail yesterday:
"They define two ways of being in the urban jungle. With his grey silk suit to match his hair, Vincent suggests a silver fox (the predator image is underscored when a coyote, eyes flaring briefly, crosses in front of the taxi). Max, with his rabbitty overbite, dark clothes and old-fashioned glasses, chooses camouflage and avoidance."
Canada's National Post:
"Like Mann's Heat, which was also set in Los Angeles, Collateral viscerally captures a certain urban dichotomy: the veneer of gauzy glamour covering the city's dangerous underbelly. The sun is going down, smothering everything in a smoggy, orange haze. Cars lazily navigate the streets of downtown L.A. as The Roots' The Seed 2.0 plays in the background. But something darker is going on underneath, and Mann understands and conveys those discordant rhythms. "
They get the idea, but they miss the point: yes, the film is urban, but, more importantly, so is Tom, which is a long way from being Maverick in Top Gun, or the best bartender in the world in Cocktail, or Born on The Fourt of July. Tom is moving away from the All-American perfect guy and into a darker more postmodern multiethnic space. Could you imagine Tom, 5 years ago, under Pat Kingsley, interviewing Jada Pinkett-Smith for Interview Magazine? Or taking a subordinate bad guy role under Jamie Foxx? Me neither.
Guys, that's the story.
And, just remember, you hear it here first.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Kimora Simmons' Life & Style
I, for one, cannot wait to see Kimora Simmons' new show Life & Style: I know what you are thinking to yourself, 'No, Ron didn't just compliment Kimora, no, he didn't.
But, yes, I did; but it is, of course, a backhanded compliment"look out"), and not, to be sure, the reason that one might think that I may wish to see Kimora in action on tv. You see, The Corsair likes to watch a natural disaster every now and again, where, all in all, no one dies, or is even hurt.
This is cathartic, restorative, medicinal even. And, thusly, Fashionweekdaily piqued our (The Corsair makes ironic quotation marks out of thin air with his fingers) "Kimora curiosity" -- shall we say, about her new View-like show, which sounds, quite frankly, like The Poseidon Adventure (... and guess who plays the Rosemary Clooney character?):
"The quartet, made up of Kimora Lee Simmons, Jules Asner, Cynthia Garrett, and Lynne Koplitz, hope to become the 'it' show for women with compelling fashion, celebrity, relationship, and lifestyle content. Asner serves as the show�s 'Meredith Viera' while Cynthia Garrett is more 'Star Jones' (Ed Note: Eeeeww)� you can see an air of annoyance, for example, come over her because of the amateur behavior of her co-host, 'Speak English bi-otch,' she finally yelled at Simmons. Adding to the delicious cattiness, Koplitz told Simmons to 'act like a lady' because of her constant fighting.
"Simmons, wearing an overload of diamonds for daytime, brought her Baby Phat entourage with her, 'Why are you wearing sunglasses?' she asked one of her employees. The answer unimportant, she moved on, 'I wore eyeglasses yesterday to court but I didn�t tell anybody they were prescription.' She did keep it real however, by wearing Baby Phat jeans for the show. Simmons does provide much comic relief in edited segments of her trying to bargain shop�with coupons! Her assignment was to shop for a family of four for under $100. She spent $96 and bought a flat iron for her hair."
Oh, it's on like Gray Poupon, people, from now until the debut, that's my mantra; we are so there; TiVo's set for stun.
I, for one, cannot wait to see Kimora Simmons' new show Life & Style: I know what you are thinking to yourself, 'No, Ron didn't just compliment Kimora, no, he didn't.
But, yes, I did; but it is, of course, a backhanded compliment"look out"), and not, to be sure, the reason that one might think that I may wish to see Kimora in action on tv. You see, The Corsair likes to watch a natural disaster every now and again, where, all in all, no one dies, or is even hurt.
This is cathartic, restorative, medicinal even. And, thusly, Fashionweekdaily piqued our (The Corsair makes ironic quotation marks out of thin air with his fingers) "Kimora curiosity" -- shall we say, about her new View-like show, which sounds, quite frankly, like The Poseidon Adventure (... and guess who plays the Rosemary Clooney character?):
"The quartet, made up of Kimora Lee Simmons, Jules Asner, Cynthia Garrett, and Lynne Koplitz, hope to become the 'it' show for women with compelling fashion, celebrity, relationship, and lifestyle content. Asner serves as the show�s 'Meredith Viera' while Cynthia Garrett is more 'Star Jones' (Ed Note: Eeeeww)� you can see an air of annoyance, for example, come over her because of the amateur behavior of her co-host, 'Speak English bi-otch,' she finally yelled at Simmons. Adding to the delicious cattiness, Koplitz told Simmons to 'act like a lady' because of her constant fighting.
"Simmons, wearing an overload of diamonds for daytime, brought her Baby Phat entourage with her, 'Why are you wearing sunglasses?' she asked one of her employees. The answer unimportant, she moved on, 'I wore eyeglasses yesterday to court but I didn�t tell anybody they were prescription.' She did keep it real however, by wearing Baby Phat jeans for the show. Simmons does provide much comic relief in edited segments of her trying to bargain shop�with coupons! Her assignment was to shop for a family of four for under $100. She spent $96 and bought a flat iron for her hair."
Oh, it's on like Gray Poupon, people, from now until the debut, that's my mantra; we are so there; TiVo's set for stun.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
That Very Special Diffrnt Strokes Episode
Do you remember that "Very Special Differnt Strokes" espisode that gave us this iconic image of "TV with a message"? Assad Kelada did himself proud. I was just thinking about this episode the other day, and how naive and funny it was, but, at the time, it was a big deal. I think the cast came out at the end to start a "dialogue" on the issue of child molestation.
The gang at Jump The Shark put it all in perspective, caring more about the names and pop cultural references than the "specialness" of the episode:
"... the appearance of Gordon Jump (a.k.a. Mr. Malone on Growing Pains) was creepy. remember he was that scary pettafile (sic-- Ed Note: This is a very creative spelling of that word). He made arnold and dudley play 'jungle adventure' and watch porno's while he snapped pictures."
And:
"Kudos to the last entry regarding Mr. Carlson's (Gordon Jump) molestation of Gary Coleman (Arnold) and Shavar Ross (Dudley). That single episode may have been the most famous 'very special episode' to ever appear on TV. Mr. Carlson was a bicycle shop owner who made Arnold and Dudley drink wine and watch dirty mice cartoons and play 'Jungle Adventure.' Arnold wised up and decided to leave - Dudley made fun of Arnold for leaving, but it would be Dudley who had egg on his face when Mr. Carlson touched Dudley where he 'didn't want to be touched' The worst performance by an actor to ever appear in a single television episode award had to go to Lee Tari (Dudley's father) (he ironically also appeared on the shark jumping/Very Special Episode of 'What's Happening Now' as Doctor Blood a retired gang-banger who became an unassuming plumber) who showed about as much emotion as an iceberg after finding out that the owner of WKRP/Maytag Repairman tried to have sex with his son. After this episode it was many more very special episodes for DS (Kimberly & Arnold are kidnapped by a photographer; Sam gets kidnapped buying potato chips) and all downhill. "
All the posters seemed to remember that the game the molester proposed was called "Jungle Adventure," which is kind of odd when you think that that's what we all came away with after all that self-important writing. Oh yeah, Shavar Ross, who played Dudley is now a born again Christian, like Willie Ames, who so ably played Buddy Lembeck on Charles in Charge (and Scott Baio's sleazy pal in Zapped), but now makes straight-to-video religious shorts in Kansas. Shavar even has his own church. I guess you kind of have to turn to Jesus in a big way once you've had people kissing your ass in LA before you hit puberty and then you are a has-been once your voice breaks. Either Jesus or drug addiction.
(Ed Note: No posts tommorrow, due to work commitments)
Do you remember that "Very Special Differnt Strokes" espisode that gave us this iconic image of "TV with a message"? Assad Kelada did himself proud. I was just thinking about this episode the other day, and how naive and funny it was, but, at the time, it was a big deal. I think the cast came out at the end to start a "dialogue" on the issue of child molestation.
The gang at Jump The Shark put it all in perspective, caring more about the names and pop cultural references than the "specialness" of the episode:
"... the appearance of Gordon Jump (a.k.a. Mr. Malone on Growing Pains) was creepy. remember he was that scary pettafile (sic-- Ed Note: This is a very creative spelling of that word). He made arnold and dudley play 'jungle adventure' and watch porno's while he snapped pictures."
And:
"Kudos to the last entry regarding Mr. Carlson's (Gordon Jump) molestation of Gary Coleman (Arnold) and Shavar Ross (Dudley). That single episode may have been the most famous 'very special episode' to ever appear on TV. Mr. Carlson was a bicycle shop owner who made Arnold and Dudley drink wine and watch dirty mice cartoons and play 'Jungle Adventure.' Arnold wised up and decided to leave - Dudley made fun of Arnold for leaving, but it would be Dudley who had egg on his face when Mr. Carlson touched Dudley where he 'didn't want to be touched' The worst performance by an actor to ever appear in a single television episode award had to go to Lee Tari (Dudley's father) (he ironically also appeared on the shark jumping/Very Special Episode of 'What's Happening Now' as Doctor Blood a retired gang-banger who became an unassuming plumber) who showed about as much emotion as an iceberg after finding out that the owner of WKRP/Maytag Repairman tried to have sex with his son. After this episode it was many more very special episodes for DS (Kimberly & Arnold are kidnapped by a photographer; Sam gets kidnapped buying potato chips) and all downhill. "
All the posters seemed to remember that the game the molester proposed was called "Jungle Adventure," which is kind of odd when you think that that's what we all came away with after all that self-important writing. Oh yeah, Shavar Ross, who played Dudley is now a born again Christian, like Willie Ames, who so ably played Buddy Lembeck on Charles in Charge (and Scott Baio's sleazy pal in Zapped), but now makes straight-to-video religious shorts in Kansas. Shavar even has his own church. I guess you kind of have to turn to Jesus in a big way once you've had people kissing your ass in LA before you hit puberty and then you are a has-been once your voice breaks. Either Jesus or drug addiction.
(Ed Note: No posts tommorrow, due to work commitments)
James St. James Interviews Michael Alig
Gawker -- God bless you, Choire, for finding something hot in this slow news week -- turns our attention to this interview on World of Wonder between James St. James and convicted murderer/club kid Michael Alig. Hilarity ensues. It's just like old times:
"James: Well, the last time I talked to you, you had protection from someone, from some prison gang or something, and there was some crazy black guy banging on your cell trying to get your stuff.
"Michael: That was the last time you talked to me?!
"James: Yeah. It�s been like two months.
"Michael: Oh my gosh, that was just after I got here to this facility!
"James: And you were telling me how much you loved it. Tell me again how much you love it.
"Michael: Well (laughs), not any more.
"James: You were saying it was like the Roxy, that everyone walks around with their shirts off.
"Michael: Well, yeah, it is like that. We get a choice to go to the gym or the yard every night � or the field house as they call it. It�s like this big auditorium, like the size of the Roxy dancefloor.
"James: And there�s music and stuff?
"Michael: Well, they�ve got those huge video screens, like the kind that are like�
"James: ...the Palladium ones?
"Michael: Exactly. There are three of them and they each play a different kind of music: one is disco, one is rock, and one is rap.
"James: High-energy dance music in prison, yay!"
High energy dance music indeed. James St. James later delivers what can only be construed as the Most Surreal Line (one, incidentally, that could just as easily been filched from a Bob Dylan song) when he asks, "Do you really NEED somebody to say I love you at the dinner table, when you're dining with murderers and thieves?"
Gawker -- God bless you, Choire, for finding something hot in this slow news week -- turns our attention to this interview on World of Wonder between James St. James and convicted murderer/club kid Michael Alig. Hilarity ensues. It's just like old times:
"James: Well, the last time I talked to you, you had protection from someone, from some prison gang or something, and there was some crazy black guy banging on your cell trying to get your stuff.
"Michael: That was the last time you talked to me?!
"James: Yeah. It�s been like two months.
"Michael: Oh my gosh, that was just after I got here to this facility!
"James: And you were telling me how much you loved it. Tell me again how much you love it.
"Michael: Well (laughs), not any more.
"James: You were saying it was like the Roxy, that everyone walks around with their shirts off.
"Michael: Well, yeah, it is like that. We get a choice to go to the gym or the yard every night � or the field house as they call it. It�s like this big auditorium, like the size of the Roxy dancefloor.
"James: And there�s music and stuff?
"Michael: Well, they�ve got those huge video screens, like the kind that are like�
"James: ...the Palladium ones?
"Michael: Exactly. There are three of them and they each play a different kind of music: one is disco, one is rock, and one is rap.
"James: High-energy dance music in prison, yay!"
High energy dance music indeed. James St. James later delivers what can only be construed as the Most Surreal Line (one, incidentally, that could just as easily been filched from a Bob Dylan song) when he asks, "Do you really NEED somebody to say I love you at the dinner table, when you're dining with murderers and thieves?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)