A Little of the Old In and Out
In: Atoosa Rubenstein, darly pretty editrix. Jeff Bercovici of WWD writes of our favorite editor:
"Atoosa Rubenstein has always been a little, well, different.
"As founding editor of Cosmogirl, she turned that quality to her advantage, offering herself as a role model to quirky teens who were interested in standing out, not fitting in. Now, one year after becoming editor in chief of Seventeen, Rubenstein is once again seeking success by going against the grain. In a category that has become ever more segmented into distinct editorial and demographic niches, Rubenstein?s heavily revamped Seventeen is trying to position itself as the go-to resource for teenagers of every race, region and social clique. 'It is everything to all girls, and there is no reason, if you?re strategic, you can?t be that,' said Rubenstein.
Right on; Read on.
Out: Did Rick James OD? According to that significant cultural artifact The National Enquirer:
"'Rick was high for an entire week straight prior to his death,' the friend disclosed.
"'On Tuesday and Wednesday he'd received four separate drug deliveries -- cocaine for snorting and crystal meth to smoke.
"'The last time I saw him on Thursday, he was suffering from coughing fits so bad that he was gasping for air.
"'It's terribly sad. When I said goodbye I had the same feeling I always had leaving him -- it might be the last time I'd ever see him alive.'"
The whole sad story is here.
In: Elizabeth Hurley's new panties. According to British Vogue:
"Elizabeth Hurley has joined fellow models Elle Macpherson and Caprice by venturing into the world of underwear design, creating her own range of lingerie featuring every woman's dream - an 'invisible' pair of knickers and bra. The 39-year-old hopes to emulate the success of Elle Macpherson's Intimates and Kylie Minogue's Love Kylie ranges, after being encouraged by her boyfriend Arun Nayar. A source close to Hurley told the Daily Mail: 'Elizabeth has been trying to keep this very hush-hush but she's incredibly excited about it. She's been thinking about a new business venture for a while. She knows that as she's approaching 40 her modelling days will not last for ever and she wants something lucrative to fall back on. It was Arun who suggested that she launch her own clothing empire. She's always had a great eye for design and Liz said herself if Elle and Kylie can do it, then so can she.' Hurley plans to start with a bikini and swimwear range but the friend said: 'The sky is the limit and she's hoping one day to have her own clothing empire. She has come up with some really clever designs such as invisible lingerie that you can't see under tiny tight-fitting clothes.' Hurley has overseen the designs, which will be launched at the end of the year."
No word yet on whetheror not Hurley has developed a stealth technology that would allow said panties to oscillate wildly in the immediate vicinity of billionaires with heart problems and no next of kin. Charmed, I'm sure.
Out: Parisanship. By now we are all aware of the particularly intense partisanship on The Hill at this time, as a result, in part, by the ultraconservative governance of this nation by a President who was elected -- just barely -- without the popular vote, and, thus, without a proper mandate for radical reform, one which he coveted, one which might revenge his father's loss in '92. The prudent course of action in weighing the consequences of the tenuous election of 2000 would have been to govern the nation center-right, and, if re-elected with a substantial margin, to tack the ship of state farther Right (wing). No one would have faulted Bush for this.
The 9/11 happened, throwing all traditional political behavior topsy turvy. "The rules have changed," said the Editorials from the OP Ed sections of the editorial pages.
K-Street is now divided down the middle, of course, as Log Cabin Republicans, pro-preemption human rights advocates, neoconservatives, stem cell research advocates (some scientists, some swing state pro-scientific advancement types), former Naderites, Air America types and conservatives all rally to their respective sides, many of them traditionally alien.
Whatever happened to taking the best of both sides? As a typical Gemini (don't hold it against me), I have to say, I truly believe both sides have their pluses.
Frankly, I have some respect the conservative search for wisdom, with it's masculine virtue. I truly do. Liberals just cannot wrap their minds around the idea that public schools are a governed by community consensus, and that if anyone actually learns from them, anything of value beyond "a smattering of economics" or "woodwork," or "sex ed," or, "integrated math (a tasteless pudding made by a committee of chefs with PhD's in something called 'Math Education;)," it is probably by accident. Okay, that was a great oversimplification of reality, but you get the point. The liberal theory of education is that there are no ultimate truths, life is like a tumultuous wave, contingent, and, therefore, education ought to be tailored to help the learner navigate his or her surfboard -- with compassion; there are no permanent things.
Public schools exist to train the next generation of servants, the possibility that a public school might teach, say, that sepia-dark Homeric Greek, or an advanced study of the Lincoln-Douglas debates on slavery in civics class, or the African St. Augustine's Confessions (too religious, not politically correct) or classical mechanics (the astronomy of Ptolemy or Newton -- difficult, to be sure, but not impossible to navigate), or Elizabethan poetry is absurd as, well, that won't get you a job, and, besides, it's all by dead white men who offered a truth for their time, but, with contingency, we need an education for this new historical moment. There is an almost congential aversion among public schools to teach via first sources. I will not entertain the possibility that a lot of useless hacks at the Board of Eds and publishing Houses across the country would be out of work if their mishmash textbooks didn't receive lucrative publishing contracts to dilute the wisdom of The Great Authors. They knew what they were saying.
Public school trains kids to get jobs, to survive, this is considered a necessity -- it is anathema to discuss public education without mentioning jobs; private schools teach kids to be free thinkers, granted, of course, many have a tidy inheritance coming to them, but that is not the point, they are educated to be educated, to be active participants in our democratic experiement, to advance learning, to be wise, not simply educated to get a nifty tech job. A liberally educated individual would not only be bright enough to get that job, but also, to crave after lifelong learning, search for justice in the world, in politics, in daily life.
And, of course, you get what you pay for.
And the teachers unions in public schools are mostly out for pay raises. And any political dialogue on the subject usually degenerates into chat of "repairing buildings," or "putting cops in schools," or, my favorite, "installing metal detectors," and "testing." Ever wonder why pols -- from liberals like Bill Clinton (Chelsea went to Sidwell Friends) and Mark Greene to conservatives to Bill Buckley (Christo went to Portsmouth Abbey) and Taki (son went to Le Rosey)-- send their kids to private schools?
At least conservatives aren't hypocrites on the matter.
Conservatives have strong curriculum proposals, because they believe in ultimate truths.
But, of course, when this search for wisdom ("ultimate truths"), or, at least, the belief that they actually exist -- as opposed to liberals -- degenerates, disintegrates, you get gasbags and moral scolds, like the schoolmarm from Missouri, who believes that all liberals are addicted to "porn and filth." But, in the end, this evangelical moralizing stems from resentment at the sophisticated fast life of those same "Godless, immoral liberals." (The schoolmarm may not make as much money, have as much sex, or have as much fun, but -- by God -- she knows in her heart that Jesus loves her)
Now: lest everyone on the left abandon me, thinking me a fascist (I can see the comments coming), I started out at The Nation, and I also respect, quite frankly, deeply: the liberal yearning for worldly sophistication. The fragrance of existence is intoxicating, large beyond all measure, and everything is possible in nature's experiment, perhaps, even, everything is permitted: progress is infinite, says the liberals, with characteristic grace, charm, wit, freedom and beauty.
Visit the Upper West Side, the world's capitol of liberalism and you can see -- especially in summer -- just how existentially beautiful it is to be a liberal. There are ethnic restaurants everywhere (as opposed to the frosty Upper East Side, where ethnic diversity is limited to ethnic servants going in the service entrances; there is a barrenness of diversity in conservative bastions, like Sewanee, Tennessee; Charleston, South Carolina; and Idaho, Montana and South Dakota). A liberal neighborhood means lots of kinetic energy on a Friday night -- snap, crackle and pop, lots of kids, liberals love kids and youth just as conservatives respect and worship senectitude.
Lots of large and happy dogs with bandanas frolic in lefty climes, and a sort of air of Buddhist detatchment and "accepting," like, say, the one in Northampton, Massachusetts, or Burlington, Vermont, or even Denver, Colorado is predominant.
There is no ultimate truth, just the existentialist surfer reality with improvisation and love. And travel to strange and mysterious cultures and partake of their particular "realities". Naive, yes, but pretty, and, of course, sophisticated. Liberals are far more sophisticated than conservatives, socially, intellectually and in every which way. I'd much rather party with lefties.
In my life I try to take the good from both sides of the political spectrum and call each on on their bullshit ... when I'm not blogging about trite but fun celebrity gossip, that is. So, let's not be soooo conservative, or sooo lefty. And, please, stop emailing me with calling me a commie or a fascist. I just told you I can, in true Gemini fashion -- which I am -- see merit to both sides of the aisle. Basta!
Monday, August 16, 2004
Clooney Scared of Going Bald
All men fear male pattern baldness on some wavelength -- that's only natural -- it's a signal that nature is moving, within one's personal field, towards entropy. Virility is in decline. The alpha sex drive will soon decline. A purple twilight is fast approaching -- and then: the void.
According to Ireland Online -- of all places -- George Clooney is particularly scared of male pattern baldness:
"Ocean's Eleven star George Clooney is petrified about shaving his head for his latest role - in case it doesn't grow back. The 43-year-old Hollywood heart-throb is set to go bald and pile on the pounds for a soldier role in Syrania, a movie about the CIA's war on terrorism. A friend says: 'George has no problem with putting on a few pounds - in fact he's looking forward to it.' What he is a little freaked out about is shaving his head. He's been worried about going bald and someone told him that if he shaves his hair off then it might not grow back the same ... He might just crop it now, or maybe wear a skullcap.'"
Concern for those salt and pepper locks, which once launched a thousand schoolgirl hearts during the 80s in The Facts of Life, are probably the result of on-set conversations with Matt Damon who, according to FlyOnTheWall, is himself concerned about his own flaxen tresses.
And why not? "George," on The Facts of Life, was the embodiment of the 80s -- the smug attitude, so resonant during the Reagan Era; the big hair, the floppy New Wave clothing. The Clooney persona is deeply tied to his hair. We share your pain, George. I mean, will you be able to pull all those Conde Nast covers? Will you be able to set all those Conde Nast editors' hearts aflutter if your pate has sunburn freckles from lounging about on your 25 room villa on Lake Cuomo? Will you still be able to smirk?
Male pattern baldness, be not proud?
All men fear male pattern baldness on some wavelength -- that's only natural -- it's a signal that nature is moving, within one's personal field, towards entropy. Virility is in decline. The alpha sex drive will soon decline. A purple twilight is fast approaching -- and then: the void.
According to Ireland Online -- of all places -- George Clooney is particularly scared of male pattern baldness:
"Ocean's Eleven star George Clooney is petrified about shaving his head for his latest role - in case it doesn't grow back. The 43-year-old Hollywood heart-throb is set to go bald and pile on the pounds for a soldier role in Syrania, a movie about the CIA's war on terrorism. A friend says: 'George has no problem with putting on a few pounds - in fact he's looking forward to it.' What he is a little freaked out about is shaving his head. He's been worried about going bald and someone told him that if he shaves his hair off then it might not grow back the same ... He might just crop it now, or maybe wear a skullcap.'"
Concern for those salt and pepper locks, which once launched a thousand schoolgirl hearts during the 80s in The Facts of Life, are probably the result of on-set conversations with Matt Damon who, according to FlyOnTheWall, is himself concerned about his own flaxen tresses.
And why not? "George," on The Facts of Life, was the embodiment of the 80s -- the smug attitude, so resonant during the Reagan Era; the big hair, the floppy New Wave clothing. The Clooney persona is deeply tied to his hair. We share your pain, George. I mean, will you be able to pull all those Conde Nast covers? Will you be able to set all those Conde Nast editors' hearts aflutter if your pate has sunburn freckles from lounging about on your 25 room villa on Lake Cuomo? Will you still be able to smirk?
Male pattern baldness, be not proud?
XTina Drops the Piercings
Apparently Christina Aguilera is dropping 10 of her eleven piercings, according to British Vogue:
"CHRISTINA AGUILERA has removed all of her body piercings; all that is, except for one. One nipple piercing has been spared in the cull of the eleven pieces of body jewelry that had become synonymous with the singer and Versace model's look. Gone are piercings in her ears, belly button, eyebrow, lip and tongue 'in a kind of rebellion', Aguilera told reporters. 'I've taken out all my piercings apart from one in my right nipple. That's for me.' A friend said Christina was 'well past the piercing thing' and was enjoying life with record executive boyfriend Jordan Bratman. 'At least now airport metal detectors won't go crazy when she passes through,' she said. Christina once admitted that she had piercings whenever she was unhappy in her life."
Of late, Christina has been classing herself up, in direct geometrical contrast to her rival Britney Spears' skanking up of herself. In fact, it is interesting if, at the precise moment Brittney met up with her fiance's babymomma's child, XTina was extricating herself from her piercings. Hmm.
We'll keep you posted.
Apparently Christina Aguilera is dropping 10 of her eleven piercings, according to British Vogue:
"CHRISTINA AGUILERA has removed all of her body piercings; all that is, except for one. One nipple piercing has been spared in the cull of the eleven pieces of body jewelry that had become synonymous with the singer and Versace model's look. Gone are piercings in her ears, belly button, eyebrow, lip and tongue 'in a kind of rebellion', Aguilera told reporters. 'I've taken out all my piercings apart from one in my right nipple. That's for me.' A friend said Christina was 'well past the piercing thing' and was enjoying life with record executive boyfriend Jordan Bratman. 'At least now airport metal detectors won't go crazy when she passes through,' she said. Christina once admitted that she had piercings whenever she was unhappy in her life."
Of late, Christina has been classing herself up, in direct geometrical contrast to her rival Britney Spears' skanking up of herself. In fact, it is interesting if, at the precise moment Brittney met up with her fiance's babymomma's child, XTina was extricating herself from her piercings. Hmm.
We'll keep you posted.
Saturday, August 14, 2004
Tinkerbell: Missing: $1,000 Reward
One would think that heiress/tv star and soon-to-be music icon Paris Hilton could pony up more than the mere $1,000 put up for her missing dog, Tinkerbell.
According to The Sun: "The titchy chihuahua has been pinched and desperate Paris has put up a $1,000 reward for its safe return ... The hotel heiress is distraught after it went walkies just two days ago. Assistants were seen putting up posters and scouring the area near her home in Beverly Hills."
Which is bad news considering what Paris told Hollywood Life Magazine in June, "Tinkerbell is my life ... I love her so much, I can't imagine losing her. I will die when she dies. I really won't know what to do."
Neither will Tink. Thems mean streets to a dog used to wearing designer labels, booties and such, away from your $1500 dog carrier. Imagine the therapy bills when they find her.
If anyone has any information on this pampered teacup Chihuahua's whereabouts, please call Hilton's assistant, Wendy, at 310-858-5410.
Comment here or VH1's Best Week Ever Blog.
And, Darling Nicky Hilton gets married.
One would think that heiress/tv star and soon-to-be music icon Paris Hilton could pony up more than the mere $1,000 put up for her missing dog, Tinkerbell.
According to The Sun: "The titchy chihuahua has been pinched and desperate Paris has put up a $1,000 reward for its safe return ... The hotel heiress is distraught after it went walkies just two days ago. Assistants were seen putting up posters and scouring the area near her home in Beverly Hills."
Which is bad news considering what Paris told Hollywood Life Magazine in June, "Tinkerbell is my life ... I love her so much, I can't imagine losing her. I will die when she dies. I really won't know what to do."
Neither will Tink. Thems mean streets to a dog used to wearing designer labels, booties and such, away from your $1500 dog carrier. Imagine the therapy bills when they find her.
If anyone has any information on this pampered teacup Chihuahua's whereabouts, please call Hilton's assistant, Wendy, at 310-858-5410.
Comment here or VH1's Best Week Ever Blog.
And, Darling Nicky Hilton gets married.
Momento Mori: Julia Child
Julia Child, Momento Mori: I remember being a six year old child, in Kips Bay, in Manhattan, riveted by Public television, which seemed so sophisticated to me: aged six.
In the mornings, the ritual was Big Bird and the Electric Company, Zoom, The Big Blue Marble; when I got older, after UNIS (The United Nations International School), and the park next to the apartment, my much beloved 4:30 Movie, and then, still later, after homework, Cosmos, if, of course, my favorite 70s show Eight is Enough wasn't on.
Cosmos -- which I never understood, really -- but I was awed by the 70s humanist-sciency vibe of it all, and, of course, ultimately, Julia Child. Julia Child and her sauces, always the sauces with that woman (Leo).
My brothers and I, and, after she was born, my sister, were all fascinated by this eccentric warbling woman, this Julia Child, who emanated from the mysterious WGBH studios in Boston -- a source of great speculations on the part of the African diplobrats, to be sure; she'd be cooking all manner of delicious things, always, and, so very strategically, around the time my mom and other moms around the country, made dinner. One could almost smell those sauces from GBH studios all the way to Kips Bay.
We generally ate African in the Mwangaguhunga household (and so, unlike Proust, Madeleine's light, aristocratic tea dipped Madeleine does not draw me back to my Kips Bay childhood, my "Madeleine moments" involve the heavier Cumin-spiced sambousa, a Ugandan delicacy), but, indoctrinated by UNIS -- and it was a good thing -- we were all avid internationalists, in politics as well as aesthetics, fascinated to the core about this French cuisine prepared by a Francophile Cambride gal.
I believe that my Mother, taking a hint from our mesmerized gazes every evening at Julia and her goings on, decided on some active engagement with her kids. She made us crepes, following Julia Child's recipe to the letter, and we helped, a little, and they were damn good, and we all gained a fascination with cooking, in concreto instead of in abstracto. And I do not believe that then or since have I ever had better crepes. One part motherly love, one part little helpers, I gather, and one part the lady from WGBH. Farewell, Julia Child, I commend you to the place of happy memories for my generation, Rest In Peace.
Julia Child, Momento Mori: I remember being a six year old child, in Kips Bay, in Manhattan, riveted by Public television, which seemed so sophisticated to me: aged six.
In the mornings, the ritual was Big Bird and the Electric Company, Zoom, The Big Blue Marble; when I got older, after UNIS (The United Nations International School), and the park next to the apartment, my much beloved 4:30 Movie, and then, still later, after homework, Cosmos, if, of course, my favorite 70s show Eight is Enough wasn't on.
Cosmos -- which I never understood, really -- but I was awed by the 70s humanist-sciency vibe of it all, and, of course, ultimately, Julia Child. Julia Child and her sauces, always the sauces with that woman (Leo).
My brothers and I, and, after she was born, my sister, were all fascinated by this eccentric warbling woman, this Julia Child, who emanated from the mysterious WGBH studios in Boston -- a source of great speculations on the part of the African diplobrats, to be sure; she'd be cooking all manner of delicious things, always, and, so very strategically, around the time my mom and other moms around the country, made dinner. One could almost smell those sauces from GBH studios all the way to Kips Bay.
We generally ate African in the Mwangaguhunga household (and so, unlike Proust, Madeleine's light, aristocratic tea dipped Madeleine does not draw me back to my Kips Bay childhood, my "Madeleine moments" involve the heavier Cumin-spiced sambousa, a Ugandan delicacy), but, indoctrinated by UNIS -- and it was a good thing -- we were all avid internationalists, in politics as well as aesthetics, fascinated to the core about this French cuisine prepared by a Francophile Cambride gal.
I believe that my Mother, taking a hint from our mesmerized gazes every evening at Julia and her goings on, decided on some active engagement with her kids. She made us crepes, following Julia Child's recipe to the letter, and we helped, a little, and they were damn good, and we all gained a fascination with cooking, in concreto instead of in abstracto. And I do not believe that then or since have I ever had better crepes. One part motherly love, one part little helpers, I gather, and one part the lady from WGBH. Farewell, Julia Child, I commend you to the place of happy memories for my generation, Rest In Peace.
A Little of The Old In and Out
In: Blind Items. They never went out. Ben Widdicombe of the Daily News' Gatecrasher serves up some pipin hott scoop, but, of course, without the main ingredients, and so, blindfolded, we fumble into the night:
"Which fashion editor is complaining at cocktail parties about having to airbrush track marks off the arms of a supposedly saintly supermodel"?
A new Gia? Fuck if I know. I have no idea who this is, I could say the name of someone in the fashion industry that is considered sainted by editors, but I'm pretty sure that she is not shooting up, as she is happy with her ex-firefighter husband, living in JFK Jrs old pad, but smack and supermodels make for one hell of a story, no? Frankly, though, I wasn't even aware that the term "supermodel" was even still in use. Supermodels qua supermodels properly belong to the 80s, that Gilded Age that we shall never quite see the likes of again. It was an age of supply side economics and it's attendant materialism, one that presaged the inevitable victory of The West over the Soviet Union, where the women wore big hair, and the Boomers sold out and went into advertising. The frosty, cheesy trumpet blast of the Dynasty theme song was a clarion call to captalist excess. Ahh.
What the fuck were we talking about again?
Oh yeah, the blind items. Excuse my trailing, it was the crank I just inhaled before signing on:
"Which blind item shouldn't you read over breakfast? The one about the married Hollywood star who had to delay filming of a movie because he got a nasty, nasty eye infection from his male assistant. You don't want to know."
I was going to say Tom Cruise on this particularly disturbing piece, right after I got "crank sick" but Tom's not married, not anymore anyway, and it's just not him. So, I have no idea once again; guess amongst yourselves.
Out: P Diddy's Fashion Week Party will be hott, as if we don't already know this. According to British Vogue:
"SEAN COMBS is going to launch New York Fashion Week with a party to celebrate the opening of his first flagship store on 41 Street and Fifth Avenue. The rapper and fashion designer, who hired ex-Ralph Lauren designer Max Wilson to create his womenswear collections this week, is bound to put the city in the party mood with a flash of his signature bling. And the store itself is already creating quite a buzz. 'At least 50 people a day stop by the construction site to ask when we are going to be open,' Greg Anderson of InSite Development, Inc, which is putting the store together, told Elites News ... The first of a series of stores for the label, which generated approximately $300 million in sales last year, the shop will appeal to Puff's casually dressed rap fans as well as those keen to wear his impeccably tailored Sean John suits. 'We are currently working on a number of exciting projects, including the premiere of 475 Fifth Avenue, ' said Charles Sopriano, vice president of retail for the label. 'We have spent considerable time developing proprietary product categories for this store. In addition to our current clothing lines, we will also offer a full range of sunglasses, men's accessories, small leather goods, fragrances, men's grooming products and an exclusive line of home d�cor and accessories.'"
A full range of sunglasses is cool, but sometimes, just sometimes, life throws you uncool moments, like when, recently:
"Hip-hop mogul Sean 'P Diddy' Combs and supermodel pal Naomi Campbell were knocked overboard into the Mediterranean sea over the weekend.The British beauty invited fellow seafaring celebrity pal P Diddy to spend a few hours on her yacht, off the coast of Spanish Balearic party island Ibiza, when an unknown yachtsman on another vessel struck the boat, sending the two stars into the sea.An onlooker says, 'They were knocked clean off the back off the boat and into the water.' Neither of them are people you would particularly like to cross and, perhaps unsurprisingly, the other boat didn't stick around to say sorry.'"
Splash! Don't you hate when that happens? Getting pitched into the Mediterranean, and all.
In: Neil Strauss. Have I been hard on him? Oh, fuck yeah. But I only really ride the ones I secretly like, and the new Rolling Stone Magazine, which I'll call (airquotes) "the Neil Strauss issue," he's the hott journo. I call it that because Strauss' book with Jenna Jameson is in excerpts, and Strauss interviews the new urban Tom Cruise.
In his no holds barred interview with Tom Cruise, perhaps the best one in print, he uses the new Tom Cruise press Glasnost as an opportunity to ask bone-tinglingly personal questions, questions that would make a gynecologist blush, and when Tom thinks he has deftly avoided the axe, Strauss drops the hammer. Here are some acute observations on The Tom:
"There are few questions that Cruise won't answer, but there are many that he won't give a direct answer to. The general rule is that the more difficult the question, the longer the silence before he answers. These periods of silent contemplation tend to mean that the answer will be a deflection to another topic. And the last line will be a firm and resolute statement, so that it seems as if a meaningful answer has been given. For example:
"I ask, 'Since your parents' divorce affected you to some degree, were you worried that your breakup would affect your kids?'"
The Corsair actually cringes ... he is really cringing, people:
"One second, two seconds, three seconds. 'When it comes to divorce, it's . . .' Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds, seven seconds, eight seconds, nine seconds. 'The important thing with a child is that you love them, you protect them and you help them to grow and find out who they are. And as a parent, it's my responsibility to help them to become independent and get all the knowledge and a broad view of the world and life. I know that Nic absolutely agrees with that. And that's what's important: being there.'"'
The key to the Straussian philosophy, not to be confused with the Straussians, is that Neil dissects Tom first and then writes down Tom's response, allowing the authoritative Tom to prove his diagnosis accurate, which is rhetorically pretty fun to read and very, very snarky indeed. Check it out.
Out: Down to the Wire! Roll Call writes of the Colorado Senate Primary: "Despite being heavily outspent by brewing magnate Pete Coors in the run-up to Tuesday�s Senate Republican primary in Colorado, former Rep. Bob Schaffer�s allies believe he is within reach of pulling off a major upset. "
Goddamn! Does every election this cycle have to go down to the wire, in the last hour? I'm having heart palpitation over this one.
In: Blind Items. They never went out. Ben Widdicombe of the Daily News' Gatecrasher serves up some pipin hott scoop, but, of course, without the main ingredients, and so, blindfolded, we fumble into the night:
"Which fashion editor is complaining at cocktail parties about having to airbrush track marks off the arms of a supposedly saintly supermodel"?
A new Gia? Fuck if I know. I have no idea who this is, I could say the name of someone in the fashion industry that is considered sainted by editors, but I'm pretty sure that she is not shooting up, as she is happy with her ex-firefighter husband, living in JFK Jrs old pad, but smack and supermodels make for one hell of a story, no? Frankly, though, I wasn't even aware that the term "supermodel" was even still in use. Supermodels qua supermodels properly belong to the 80s, that Gilded Age that we shall never quite see the likes of again. It was an age of supply side economics and it's attendant materialism, one that presaged the inevitable victory of The West over the Soviet Union, where the women wore big hair, and the Boomers sold out and went into advertising. The frosty, cheesy trumpet blast of the Dynasty theme song was a clarion call to captalist excess. Ahh.
What the fuck were we talking about again?
Oh yeah, the blind items. Excuse my trailing, it was the crank I just inhaled before signing on:
"Which blind item shouldn't you read over breakfast? The one about the married Hollywood star who had to delay filming of a movie because he got a nasty, nasty eye infection from his male assistant. You don't want to know."
I was going to say Tom Cruise on this particularly disturbing piece, right after I got "crank sick" but Tom's not married, not anymore anyway, and it's just not him. So, I have no idea once again; guess amongst yourselves.
Out: P Diddy's Fashion Week Party will be hott, as if we don't already know this. According to British Vogue:
"SEAN COMBS is going to launch New York Fashion Week with a party to celebrate the opening of his first flagship store on 41 Street and Fifth Avenue. The rapper and fashion designer, who hired ex-Ralph Lauren designer Max Wilson to create his womenswear collections this week, is bound to put the city in the party mood with a flash of his signature bling. And the store itself is already creating quite a buzz. 'At least 50 people a day stop by the construction site to ask when we are going to be open,' Greg Anderson of InSite Development, Inc, which is putting the store together, told Elites News ... The first of a series of stores for the label, which generated approximately $300 million in sales last year, the shop will appeal to Puff's casually dressed rap fans as well as those keen to wear his impeccably tailored Sean John suits. 'We are currently working on a number of exciting projects, including the premiere of 475 Fifth Avenue, ' said Charles Sopriano, vice president of retail for the label. 'We have spent considerable time developing proprietary product categories for this store. In addition to our current clothing lines, we will also offer a full range of sunglasses, men's accessories, small leather goods, fragrances, men's grooming products and an exclusive line of home d�cor and accessories.'"
A full range of sunglasses is cool, but sometimes, just sometimes, life throws you uncool moments, like when, recently:
"Hip-hop mogul Sean 'P Diddy' Combs and supermodel pal Naomi Campbell were knocked overboard into the Mediterranean sea over the weekend.The British beauty invited fellow seafaring celebrity pal P Diddy to spend a few hours on her yacht, off the coast of Spanish Balearic party island Ibiza, when an unknown yachtsman on another vessel struck the boat, sending the two stars into the sea.An onlooker says, 'They were knocked clean off the back off the boat and into the water.' Neither of them are people you would particularly like to cross and, perhaps unsurprisingly, the other boat didn't stick around to say sorry.'"
Splash! Don't you hate when that happens? Getting pitched into the Mediterranean, and all.
In: Neil Strauss. Have I been hard on him? Oh, fuck yeah. But I only really ride the ones I secretly like, and the new Rolling Stone Magazine, which I'll call (airquotes) "the Neil Strauss issue," he's the hott journo. I call it that because Strauss' book with Jenna Jameson is in excerpts, and Strauss interviews the new urban Tom Cruise.
In his no holds barred interview with Tom Cruise, perhaps the best one in print, he uses the new Tom Cruise press Glasnost as an opportunity to ask bone-tinglingly personal questions, questions that would make a gynecologist blush, and when Tom thinks he has deftly avoided the axe, Strauss drops the hammer. Here are some acute observations on The Tom:
"There are few questions that Cruise won't answer, but there are many that he won't give a direct answer to. The general rule is that the more difficult the question, the longer the silence before he answers. These periods of silent contemplation tend to mean that the answer will be a deflection to another topic. And the last line will be a firm and resolute statement, so that it seems as if a meaningful answer has been given. For example:
"I ask, 'Since your parents' divorce affected you to some degree, were you worried that your breakup would affect your kids?'"
The Corsair actually cringes ... he is really cringing, people:
"One second, two seconds, three seconds. 'When it comes to divorce, it's . . .' Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds, seven seconds, eight seconds, nine seconds. 'The important thing with a child is that you love them, you protect them and you help them to grow and find out who they are. And as a parent, it's my responsibility to help them to become independent and get all the knowledge and a broad view of the world and life. I know that Nic absolutely agrees with that. And that's what's important: being there.'"'
The key to the Straussian philosophy, not to be confused with the Straussians, is that Neil dissects Tom first and then writes down Tom's response, allowing the authoritative Tom to prove his diagnosis accurate, which is rhetorically pretty fun to read and very, very snarky indeed. Check it out.
Out: Down to the Wire! Roll Call writes of the Colorado Senate Primary: "Despite being heavily outspent by brewing magnate Pete Coors in the run-up to Tuesday�s Senate Republican primary in Colorado, former Rep. Bob Schaffer�s allies believe he is within reach of pulling off a major upset. "
Goddamn! Does every election this cycle have to go down to the wire, in the last hour? I'm having heart palpitation over this one.
Will New Jersey Go Republican, Giving W A Second Term?
Arianna Huffington writes, brilliantly, on hearing the news of Governor McGreevy's resignation in her latest column:
"On Thursday, my day started at eight in the morning speaking together withNew Jersey Senator John Corzine at a breakfast sponsored by ANGLE -- an organization consisting of the gay and lesbian leadership of Southern California and a magnet for political candidates running for office and raising funds. A couple of hours after I had left the breakfast, where I had been surrounded by successful gay men and women -- businesspeople, politicians, accountants, even a priest -- my phone started ringing off the hook. New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey had just resigned and announced that he is gay, and it seemed as if the bookers from every television talk show in America -- from CNN�s 'American Morning' to ABC�s 'Nightline' -- had simultaneously had the exact same thought: 'Let's get Arianna Huffington.' I was the proverbial two birds being killed with one stone -- a political commentator whose ex-husband had come out as gay.
"As the day progressed, it became clear that this was a story unfolding on so many levels only a Shakespearean drama or a Verdi opera could do justice to it. There was the personal, the political, possibly the legal, and who knows what else to be revealed by the time we get to Act Five.
"But we are still in Act One. And in Act One the spotlight is on the nexus of the personal and the political. McGreevey�s resignation announcement was undoubtedly the best political speech he�s ever made. It was powerful, compelling, emotional, and in sharp contrast to the pre-packaged speechifying we are so accustomed to hearing from politicians. At this profound crisis point in his political and personal lives he soundedalmost liberated."
I agree with Arianna's acute assessment. Until this moment, McGreevy was the prototypical pol -- oily, contrived, promiscuous in the meting out handshakes, overly groomed politican hair, the pretty blonde wife not overly attractive, the demure children, the Christianity professed publicly, the moderate positions on every possible issue -- his entire career was calculated never to rasp. And then his world got rocked, not for the affair -- who cares, so many in the alpha-male politician game have them -- but the negative weight of the upcoming sexual harassment suit will add onto the corruptions charges that have dogged his adminitration for the past year.
That having been said, those corruption charges have been tossed -- with incredible aggression -- by a rejuvinated Republican GOP. In the past moribund, especially after the ancient Frank Lautenberg was unmummified and run against the better man, Doug Forrester, whom he beat, thus embittering the GOP. Now the New Jersey Republican Party is back, revivified, angry, and in rare form, no doubt Karl Rove's fingerprints are all over that little crime scene.
Remember that disgusting story that the incoming leader of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Camden had decided that Gov. James E. McGreevey could NOT receive communion? That story broke, BTW, May 1, 2004, when the hunt was in full bloom) Now, tell me McGreevy was not being hunted. From my angle, he was in the crosshairs and you could smell the gunpowder. Ever since May, when the Archdiosis of Camden refused him communion, there has been a quickening of the attacks, a building sense of phantom meance and inevitability enshrowing Trenton. I believe the Republicans have it all figured out on how to win Jersey and it centers on the "culture of corruption":
Here are some other scandals with the McGreevy Administration, from 1010 WINS (From July, incidentally, before McGreevy resigned):
"--(McGreevy's) first chief of staff, Gary Taffet, is under investigation (Ed Note: He was indicted by the SEC), along with former McGreevey counsel Paul Levinsohn, for securing contracts to put up billboards on public property at the same time they were running McGreevey's campaign. Taffet has also been charged with insider trading in an unrelated case.
"--Attorney General Peter Harvey was fined $1,500 in February and agreed to reimburse two boxing promoters $2,200 after obtaining free ringside passes for his wife and two guests in Atlantic City.
"--Democratic fund-raiser David D'Amiano -- a former high school classmate of McGreevey's -- was indicted on July 6, charged with trying to extort $40,000 in campaign donations from a dairy farmer in exchange for help in getting a better price from the county for his land. Prosecutors said an unidentified state official -- McGreevey later said it was he -- was secretly tape-recorded using the code word 'Machiavelli' for the alleged extortion scheme; McGreevey said his reference to the 16th-century Italian author of 'The Prince' was a coincidental literary allusion, nothing more.
"--McGreevey's commerce secretary, William Watley, quit earlier this month amid reports he funneled money to businesses owned by him and family members.
"--The most sensational allegations came last week in the case of real estate developer Charles Kushner, 50, who as McGreevey's biggest campaign contributor has given millions to his campaigns and was once nominated by him for the top job at the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey. Kushner was charged with trying to thwart a federal campaign-finance investigation by luring a grand jury witness -- his own brother-in-law -- into a compromising position with a prostitute and sending video and photos to the man's wife."
More than a whiff of corruption, to be sure.
How will it all play itself out? Well, we know from today's news that the GOP is demanding that McGreevy resign immediately. Pronto.
Why? Well, for one, New Jersey is quite possibly in play. Believe it. New Jersey is angry, and has been for quite some time now, as emerging trend geeks like me have observed; that rising anger has not gone unobserved by Karl Rove and the GOP in DC for some time now. The GOP wants New Jersey, seethes over Forrester, and, on occasion, that lust has prematurely leaked out onto editorial pages, despite the fact of John Kerry's double digit poll lead there. New Jersey is the next Cal-ee-for-nee-ahh, I think; McGreevy also serves as Tristate area payback for Governor Rowland, just as Bill Clinton was payback for Richard Nixon.
And the Republicans may be right in this cause, or, at the very least, successful. Let us hope that the GOP will not appeal to our lower demons with crass bigotry on this issue, or even hint at it in attack ads, but, rather, follow a solid Republican strategy of blaming the "culture of corruption" that McGreevy embodies. That's a strategy that could hold and not debase politics with hate. And, if so, this could force McGreevy to leave office earlier than his intended post-November election date, especially if George Bush gets behind it -- and then, should the Republican win and they probably will -- he will have a new GOP Governor and momentum to win New Jersey in the Presidential election. And with it a second term as President.
One can only hope the GOP will not appeal to bigotry to achieve their aim.
Of course, all this would become moot if the Dems just drafted Bruce Springsteen for Governor.
Arianna Huffington writes, brilliantly, on hearing the news of Governor McGreevy's resignation in her latest column:
"On Thursday, my day started at eight in the morning speaking together withNew Jersey Senator John Corzine at a breakfast sponsored by ANGLE -- an organization consisting of the gay and lesbian leadership of Southern California and a magnet for political candidates running for office and raising funds. A couple of hours after I had left the breakfast, where I had been surrounded by successful gay men and women -- businesspeople, politicians, accountants, even a priest -- my phone started ringing off the hook. New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey had just resigned and announced that he is gay, and it seemed as if the bookers from every television talk show in America -- from CNN�s 'American Morning' to ABC�s 'Nightline' -- had simultaneously had the exact same thought: 'Let's get Arianna Huffington.' I was the proverbial two birds being killed with one stone -- a political commentator whose ex-husband had come out as gay.
"As the day progressed, it became clear that this was a story unfolding on so many levels only a Shakespearean drama or a Verdi opera could do justice to it. There was the personal, the political, possibly the legal, and who knows what else to be revealed by the time we get to Act Five.
"But we are still in Act One. And in Act One the spotlight is on the nexus of the personal and the political. McGreevey�s resignation announcement was undoubtedly the best political speech he�s ever made. It was powerful, compelling, emotional, and in sharp contrast to the pre-packaged speechifying we are so accustomed to hearing from politicians. At this profound crisis point in his political and personal lives he soundedalmost liberated."
I agree with Arianna's acute assessment. Until this moment, McGreevy was the prototypical pol -- oily, contrived, promiscuous in the meting out handshakes, overly groomed politican hair, the pretty blonde wife not overly attractive, the demure children, the Christianity professed publicly, the moderate positions on every possible issue -- his entire career was calculated never to rasp. And then his world got rocked, not for the affair -- who cares, so many in the alpha-male politician game have them -- but the negative weight of the upcoming sexual harassment suit will add onto the corruptions charges that have dogged his adminitration for the past year.
That having been said, those corruption charges have been tossed -- with incredible aggression -- by a rejuvinated Republican GOP. In the past moribund, especially after the ancient Frank Lautenberg was unmummified and run against the better man, Doug Forrester, whom he beat, thus embittering the GOP. Now the New Jersey Republican Party is back, revivified, angry, and in rare form, no doubt Karl Rove's fingerprints are all over that little crime scene.
Remember that disgusting story that the incoming leader of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Camden had decided that Gov. James E. McGreevey could NOT receive communion? That story broke, BTW, May 1, 2004, when the hunt was in full bloom) Now, tell me McGreevy was not being hunted. From my angle, he was in the crosshairs and you could smell the gunpowder. Ever since May, when the Archdiosis of Camden refused him communion, there has been a quickening of the attacks, a building sense of phantom meance and inevitability enshrowing Trenton. I believe the Republicans have it all figured out on how to win Jersey and it centers on the "culture of corruption":
Here are some other scandals with the McGreevy Administration, from 1010 WINS (From July, incidentally, before McGreevy resigned):
"--(McGreevy's) first chief of staff, Gary Taffet, is under investigation (Ed Note: He was indicted by the SEC), along with former McGreevey counsel Paul Levinsohn, for securing contracts to put up billboards on public property at the same time they were running McGreevey's campaign. Taffet has also been charged with insider trading in an unrelated case.
"--Attorney General Peter Harvey was fined $1,500 in February and agreed to reimburse two boxing promoters $2,200 after obtaining free ringside passes for his wife and two guests in Atlantic City.
"--Democratic fund-raiser David D'Amiano -- a former high school classmate of McGreevey's -- was indicted on July 6, charged with trying to extort $40,000 in campaign donations from a dairy farmer in exchange for help in getting a better price from the county for his land. Prosecutors said an unidentified state official -- McGreevey later said it was he -- was secretly tape-recorded using the code word 'Machiavelli' for the alleged extortion scheme; McGreevey said his reference to the 16th-century Italian author of 'The Prince' was a coincidental literary allusion, nothing more.
"--McGreevey's commerce secretary, William Watley, quit earlier this month amid reports he funneled money to businesses owned by him and family members.
"--The most sensational allegations came last week in the case of real estate developer Charles Kushner, 50, who as McGreevey's biggest campaign contributor has given millions to his campaigns and was once nominated by him for the top job at the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey. Kushner was charged with trying to thwart a federal campaign-finance investigation by luring a grand jury witness -- his own brother-in-law -- into a compromising position with a prostitute and sending video and photos to the man's wife."
More than a whiff of corruption, to be sure.
How will it all play itself out? Well, we know from today's news that the GOP is demanding that McGreevy resign immediately. Pronto.
Why? Well, for one, New Jersey is quite possibly in play. Believe it. New Jersey is angry, and has been for quite some time now, as emerging trend geeks like me have observed; that rising anger has not gone unobserved by Karl Rove and the GOP in DC for some time now. The GOP wants New Jersey, seethes over Forrester, and, on occasion, that lust has prematurely leaked out onto editorial pages, despite the fact of John Kerry's double digit poll lead there. New Jersey is the next Cal-ee-for-nee-ahh, I think; McGreevy also serves as Tristate area payback for Governor Rowland, just as Bill Clinton was payback for Richard Nixon.
And the Republicans may be right in this cause, or, at the very least, successful. Let us hope that the GOP will not appeal to our lower demons with crass bigotry on this issue, or even hint at it in attack ads, but, rather, follow a solid Republican strategy of blaming the "culture of corruption" that McGreevy embodies. That's a strategy that could hold and not debase politics with hate. And, if so, this could force McGreevy to leave office earlier than his intended post-November election date, especially if George Bush gets behind it -- and then, should the Republican win and they probably will -- he will have a new GOP Governor and momentum to win New Jersey in the Presidential election. And with it a second term as President.
One can only hope the GOP will not appeal to bigotry to achieve their aim.
Of course, all this would become moot if the Dems just drafted Bruce Springsteen for Governor.
Friday, August 13, 2004
No posts today
Due to work commitments, no posts, but check out the archives ...
Class in New York
Blue Tang Clan
Snipes Vs. Andy Dick
Tyson vs. Snipes
Sammy Davis, Jr. Convalesces
George Stephanopoulos: Good
Stephanopoulos: Bad
An Interview with John Kerry's Hair
Due to work commitments, no posts, but check out the archives ...
Class in New York
Blue Tang Clan
Snipes Vs. Andy Dick
Tyson vs. Snipes
Sammy Davis, Jr. Convalesces
George Stephanopoulos: Good
Stephanopoulos: Bad
An Interview with John Kerry's Hair
Thursday, August 12, 2004
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.
"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.
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
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