Monday, December 20, 2004

A Little of the Old In and Out

In: "Crikey!" Royals emit the most charming little noises when excited. The pussy posse may be actively trying to block "Don's Plum (via defamer)," but The Leo was on best behavior around Fergie's daughters. According to Hello!Magazine:

Free Image Hosting at

"Sarah Ferguson's daughters, Beatrice and Eugenie, found themselves competing for the attentions of a handsome Hollywood prince this weekend. The two royal teenagers met up with Tinseltown star Leonardo DiCaprio on Sunday night, when he jetted into London to promote his new film The Aviator.

"Sixteen-year-old Beatrice even let out a gasp of 'crikey' when the actor welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek."

Out: Supermodel Natalia Vodianova's Eyes. *The Corsair shudders* We have long been afeard of Natalia Vodianova's big, haunting Ruskie peepers. Is she a Scorpio? Is she part wolf? Was she nurtured in the wilderness?

Now, according to British Vogue, she acknowledges their edgy Laura Mars effect on us ordinary mortals:

Above: Stop staring at my readers, Natalia Vodianova! You're freaking us out!

"'My eyes are very intimidating!' she went on. 'I just looooook, and it's kind of scary. Ask my husband about it. He's very scared.'"


Above: 70 cult hit The Eyes of Laura Mars ... so relevant to today

Then, all was good when she soothed our fears by lulling us into a false sense of compacency with lurid tales of Sapphic model love. Ahh. Nice:

"... ASKED whether she'd snog Helena Christensen for charity, Natalia Vodianova says she wouldn't need any incentive. 'I think I would - but not for the charity,' she said recently. 'I think she's one of the sexiest women. She's got these amazing cat's eyes. I think through your eyes you show your soul and you show everything. It's the most powerful element of the human body.'"

In: Young Buck. Is there any such a thing as "bad publicity" in hip hop? Can "tear da club up" ever be taken too literally? Doesn't notoriety enhance one's social standing, thus make your game mo' poppin'? According to Reuters:

"The rapper Young Buck was charged Monday with assault with a deadly weapon for allegedly stabbing a man during a chair-tossing melee at the Vibe Awards last month.

"The rapper, whose given name is David Darnell Brown, was accused in a complaint of stabbing Jimmy James Johnson in retaliation after Johnson allegedly punched Brown's mentor, Dr. Dre, during the taping of the show on Nov. 15.

"Dre, a producer and rap star whose name is Andre Young, was about to receive a lifetime achievement award when he was hit."

Out: Michael Jackson. The man has an affinity for lawsuits, as well as desiccated elephant man remains and leather outfits with lots of nifty zippers. According to TheSmokingGun:

"A California videographer whose home was raided last year as part of the Michael Jackson child molestation probe has sued the King of Pop for fraud and copyright infringement. Hamid Moslehi, 37, contends that he is owed more than $100,000 for his work as Jackson's private photographer (he shot video and still images of the singer, his family, and the Neverland estate).
"In a U.S. District Court complaint filed last week in Los Angeles, Moslehi also claims that Jackson and codefendant Marc Schaffel never compensated him for crucial video that was used in two videos produced by Team Jacko (and which aired last year on Fox) as a rebuttal to Martin Bashir's damaging 'Living with Michael Jackson' documentary. He is seeking in excess of $1 million for the use of that footage. Moslehi's camera was running while Bashir interviewed Jackson and lavished praise on the performer's parenting skills. Moslehi said that when he told Schaffel and other Jackson representatives that he had footage of Bashir fawning over Jackson and contradicting claims later made in his BBC documentary, he was hailed as a 'hero.'"

Apparently, Moslehi "claims that he was never credited in the two Fox productions, nor has he received any royalties for the use of the Bashir footage."
In: Joyce Wadler. No one knows how better to break a man on the red carpet quite like The Old Grey Lady's gossip Bodfacer, Joyce Wadler. She's hungrier and meaner this year. She's at fighting weight. Perhaps due to her frisson with P Diddy's entourage last year at around this time, she is especially cruel.

She broke down the grandfatherly Elliot Gould, cause, my, is there a fucker in the world more deserving of getting the hot air and ill-fitting toupee knocked off of him than that innocuous old Gould? The poor man was big in '74, then promptly married, dumped and ignored -- in rapid succession -- by Babs Streisand; we know it; he knows it; Lord, leave this poor senior to his man-girdle! But no, not when there's blood to be shed, even the old and weary will have no respite.

She quotes Gould, straight up, clearly relishing the impending ratfuck into which the hapless Elliot Gould now walketh into entirely unaware:

"'I feel comfortable. I feel content. I'm not in denial and I have really good recall. My philosophy is: It's nature. It's life.'"

... She brings him up to take him down:

"... Had he spoken to his former wife, BARBRA STREISAND, about 'Meet THE FOCKERS,' in which she and DUSTIN HOFFMAN play BEN STILLER's parents?"

"The good mood appeared to evaporate.

"Mr. Gould was suddenly stern: 'No, we only talk about our son.'"

Oof! That, my mellows, is sound of a man being gut-checked in the solar plexus.

Out: Rummy. After a lukewarm defense by Armed Services Committee chair John Warner, who had earlier been critical, Rummy got the cue that his job is safe ... at least until after the Iraqi elections.

He's been getting ruffed up in the press. But he's trying to be social, as this Newsweek item makes clear, with a game Rummy venturing into the den of the cultural elite:

"You might think that the home of Benjamin Bradlee, former editor of The Washington Post, and his wife, Sally Quinn, was the last place Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld wanted to be last Thursday night. Washington was engaged in one of its periodic head hunts, and the local jungle drums, the news columns and op-ed page of The Washington Post were beating loudly for Rumsfeld's head. Prominent pundits and senators from Rumsfeld's own party had declared on the pages of the Post that it was time for Rummy to go. Bradlee's house is a kind of headquarters of the Washington permanent-media establishment. The reputations of once powerful government servants are buried there, between the dessert course and the toasts.

"There was some tension this evening between the reporters and their targets, er, subjects."

No comments: