A Little of the Old In and Out

In: Joan Collins, Diva. Joan Collins is everywhere, jet setting, rushing Gemini that she is; she's in perpetual motion even when at rest, like Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase. On the go; on the move. According to Rush and Molloy (6th item), "In what must be a record in celebrity freebie grabbing, the novel-writing TV diva demanded a $25,000 goodie bag after just seven minutes at the Entertainment Weekly Oscar party."

"'Will my gift bag be in my limo?' we heard Collins ask two young party organizers, who nervously imparted the bad news that Collins would have to wait for delivery the next day.

"'I wanted the boots!' she said as she marched out the soign� saloon's door in a huff"

Just like a willful three year old: It's all about Joan Collins, Diva, author of 11 books, who just signed her latest, according to Hello!Magazine:

"Set against a backdrop of Greece, Hollywood and New York Misfortune's Daughters is a tale of wealth, fame and ambition, following the struggles of two spoiled heiresses vying to break free from the shadow of their parents.

"Joan was all smiles as she attended a special signing of her latest work at a popular New York bookstore on Monday. The former Dynasty star, who wore a stunning outsize necklace and matching earrings, was joined by husband Percy Gibson as she chatted with fans while autographing copies of the book."

Granted, Joan's personality is about as fluffy as Scarlett Johansson's unfortunate Oscar hair, there's something distinctly entertaining about observing her youthful energy and bratty -- but never nasty -- self-involvement in play. Joan Collins is as entertaining as a glass of champagne, and, we might add, ages as alluringly.

Out: P Diddy. Are you tired of P Diddy's sorry ass yet? The Corsair knows he is. Lloyd Grove captures perfectly in his amber prose Diddy's Hiltonesque display:

"Combs, resplendent in a white tuxedo, danced in the center of things, declaiming into his wireless microphone whenever a thought occurred to him.

"'Stop the music!' Combs rapped. 'Jamie Foxx is in the house! Oscar is in the house! Sean Penn is in the house! Robin Wright Penn is in the house!'

"To greet his A-list guests, Combs vaulted onto a sofa and over a banquette, then jumped a railing without breaking a sweat. A linebacker-size security man dutifully followed, grunting as he carefully scaled the same obstacles."

Never let them hear you grunt; never let them see you sweat. Porn star rules. Face the world boldly in imitation of a marble emperor's bust. Besides, Diddy doesn't even have sweat glands. He's a freak. Just so you know: P Diddy's unique anatomy converts the carbon dioxide in the atmosphere into pure unbridled raw ambition.

In: Martha Stewart's Electronic Anklet. Electronic Prison Anklet's are going to be so fucking "in" this spring. It's going to be "on like popcorn." They carry the social cachet in equal parts White Collar crime and urban ghetto chic. Damn! That's fire. According to Marketwatch:

"Upon her upcoming release from prison Sunday, the founder of Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia will wear an electronic anklet so federal probation officers can keep track of her while she serves the second half of her sentence under house detention, legal experts said.
Stewart must serve five months of house confinement as part of her punishment for being convicted of lying about a stock sale, which will likely translate into many quiet evenings at home."

Nothing wrong with some "me" time, enjoying, say, the mature notes of a 1991 Domaine Leflaive Chevalier-Montrachet. Although if you go in for that sort of thing, The Corsair prefers the 1997 vintage. But that's neither here nor there.

"... The ankle bracelet may be tough to accessorize, but the chances of Stewart overstepping her bounds are slim to none, (Professor Larry) Soderquist said."

And what bounds are those? Physical? Martha's going to be bigger than Microsoft once she gets out of the pokey. She'll have urban respect for doing her time with her head held high; she'll have the respect of women who know -- like we all do -- that she was targeted particularly for her gender and the high profile she kept; and, finally, Martha will have the respect that we all give to the underdog. Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage ...

Out: Scarlett Johansson's Oscar Hair. What was up with that mangy, mongrel coif? (Simon Doonan in Fashionweekdaily: "She looked like she was turning into Nicole Kidman a bit. The dress was great, but the hair looked a bit damaged. She was having a Bernadette Peters 80�s moment with the hair") We are thoroughly vexed. Fashionweek Daily has the 411:

"Poor Annabel Tollman. Not only is the Interview Fashion Director suffering from her questionable styling of Scarlett Johansson at The Oscars, shes also sick with bronchitis."

Okay, that explains it. Now we are satisfied. The stylist had bronchitis. That's what happened to the hair. The stylist had bronchitis. That's a great name for a band, by the way.

In: Razor Magazine. The Corsair writes for Razor, so take this recommendation however you will, but the March edition Taser gun story and the superhott Shannon Elizabeth photo spread alone are worth the price of the magazine.