MarthaMarthaMartha's New Year

According to the always excellent reporting by Rush and Molloy, any misconceptions suggesting that Martha Stewart was literally "busting rocks" on New Year's and not actually "rocking out," like the rest of us, should fade to black:



"Martha Stewart continues to win friends and influence inmates at Alderson Federal Prison Camp in West Virginia. The domestic diva hosted an intimate New Year's Eve party in her cell. A Christmas Day gospel choir performance got her dancing again.

"'I tell you, Martha was getting into it,' eyewitness Jose Figueroa tells People.

"'Martha's got a little funk in her; she was jamming and clapping.'"

Yes, she does have a little funk in her, mostly commissary food. Although, possibly also some funk on her, prison showers being what they are -- enough said.

"In fact, Stewart has become a big-house mom to younger jailbirds.

"'If I can do it, you can do it,' Stewart is said to have told a new inmate who was in tears."

Martha's come a long way from her absentminded beginnings, as reported by that significant cultural artifact, The National Enquirer, fairly recently:

"A gang of four inmates cornered Martha in a recreation room," an insider told The ENQUIRER.
"They didn't physically rough up Martha, but did make it very clear that the next five months of her life would be spent in their world, where certain unwritten rules would have to be followed.

"Two of the inmates got right in Martha's face and warned her they were the ones who called the shots inside Alderson, while two others stood with their backs turned and watched for guards."

(The Corsair takes out his binoculars and --mirabile dictu -- spots Falco peregrinus)

"They filled her in on prison's one-strike rule, which simply means Martha will be given only one warning about those inmates she's expected to obey.

"If she gets out of line and doesn't heed their first warning, then they promised there will be hell to pay for strike two!

"All Martha could do was stand there and nod her head in agreement. She paid close attention as they explained the special favors she would sometimes be expected to provide--laundry, making their beds and buying supplies for them from the commissary."

We don't need to get into the "special favors," here. According to Rush and Molloy:

"(Martha's) even adopted the prison cat as a pet. Her yoga regimen has helped her lose 10 pounds.

"Says a pal: 'She looks like she's been to the Golden Door Spa for a month.'"

Madonna at the Office?

Madonna's "Office Gal" photo shoot for Versace (see above) by Mario Testino is finally over, after a list of demands including, according to theSun, large bottles of Kabbalah water, fresh yellow and white flowers and a series of drinks at specific temperatures among other things.



Still, it could possibly compete with 50 Cent's Tour Rider, which contained, among other items, "soft toilet paper, creamy peanut butter, one jar of grape jelly, 'butter and marg,' sliced cheese tray with four cheeses (onions, pickles lettuce in separate containers), pasta and tuna salad with a minimum of three dressings ...(and) 'coldslaw' (sic)"

Anyhoo: According to British Vogue:

"ASK most people to describe Madonna' and you're unlikely to be offered 'typical working woman'. But that's how Brana Wolf styled her, for the latest Versace ad campaign, shot by Mario Testino. Although the stunning images of the Material Girl office-bound remind us of no working environment we've ever seen, we wouldn't have it any other way.

"Seen lounging on her office daybed (every office should have one) in classic Versace print shirt and jeans, perhaps deigning to lick the occasional stamp, this is office life Versace style. The fashion giant will spend $20 million on its ad campaign this year, a sizeable chunk of which will be headed Madonna's way. But, according to Donatella Versace, she's worth it: 'She�s an icon. She's an innovator, a groundbreaker and she's the best in her field. She relates to women of all ages. She's got extraordinary personal style and has been a friend of mine and the house for many years.'"

Correction: According to Jeannette Walls at TheScoop, our MadonnaEsther Renews Vows story, which we got from Hello!Magazine veered astray of the mark, apologies:

"Don�t buy Madonna a toaster oven quite yet.

"The singer renewed her wedding vows with hubby Guy Ritchie on their fourth wedding anniversary, according to international reports. The stories described in detail how the couples exchanged rings in a romantic Kabbalah ceremony. Only problem is, it never happened, according to people close to Madonna.

�'No truth to it at all,' a colleague of Madonna�s tells The Scoop. 'There were no rings, no ceremony.'

"Madonna�s spokeswoman also told The Scoop that there were no renewed vows. 'Mr. and Mrs. Ritchie spent their 4th wedding anniversary with 16 close friends at their country home outside of London.'"

So, no, "the disgusting voodoo" wasnt involved.

Addition: Donna Versace is auctioning off her possessions a la Jackie O. The Freak!

Is George Clooney The Most Beautiful Man?

Most arrogant, perhaps; most smarmy, quite possibly, but we don't know about Most Beautiful when we think of George Clooney (The Corsair practices complicated T'ai Chi movements in tune with Handel's magisterial Water Music). Then again, we don't usually go around judging men's looks, although we do think, generally, men should not shirk the issue.



George Clooney a bit of an ass, we must say, with more than a touch of the bitch about him (And, no, we are not pimpslapping his aunt, Rosemary Clooney, okay, maybe a little; nor are we slamming his performance as the show's "80s nice guy" on Facts of Life). He dropped blogging as soon as his man Kerry lost the race (a considerable pause)

There is something -- oh, The Corsair doesn't know -- off about the man. One can always tell when a man listens to too much Sinatra, just as one can always tell when an actor has watched too many Brando movies. The excess Sinatra rubs off of his persona, and they end up like Clooney, simulacrums of Sinatra, or, SoS, parodies strutting around the Big Screen. Sinatra had an original charm -- New Jersey Italian performer, a red meat loving legitimate tough guy who took up boxing as a young man, and, most important, add a dash of gentleman to the mix; Clooney, imitating The Maestro, comes off as a fool in trying to co-opt that chic, so particular to a golden age, the 50s, that has passed away forever.

Now, SoS Clooney goes on and on in interviews about his villa on Lake Como. "Everyone should own a Villa on Lake Como," he said, rather smarmily, to Tina Brown on Tpoic A last year.

So it goes without saying that it came as a surprise to The Corsair that according to a "scientific poll" conducted with 700 visitors of Madame Tussaud's Museum in the UK -- so you know it must be legitimate and accurate -- that George Clooney is indeed the most beautiful man in the world, and Julia Roberts the most beautiful woman.



(Averted Gaze) Kind of pedestrian, if you ask me ... ThisisLondon writes:

"Actors George Clooney and Julia Roberts have been voted the most beautiful people on the planet.

"New mother Roberts comes top of the women's list above Hollywood beauty Angelina Jolie and ex-Friends star Jennifer Aniston in third place.

"Clooney eclipses his Ocean's Twelve co-star Brad Pitt into second place and David Beckham third."

But What Scarlett Really Wants to do is Direct!



Above: Johannson fulfilling an "ambition" to star in a Vermeer painting.

According to Ananova, all those creepy flings with sundry Eurotrash are simply backstory, people. Research, perhaps, for her "starlet" second act. Scarlett Johannson has many ambitions -- many, many, many ambitions, publicly declared, many, many, many, ambitions does this woman have -- a respectable European title, for instance; an Oscar; respect from her peers; perhaps, too, the odd completed sexual congress in the elevator at the Chateau Marmont with the comparatively elderly Benicio del Toro -- who knows (The Corsair takes a considerable pause, quietly sipping a 1973 Chateau Le Trehon) ?:

"Scarlett Johansson has spoken about her ambition to become a movie director.

"The 20-year-old Lost In Translation star tells Teen Vogue that she wants to direct 'as soon as possible.'

"She said: 'I'd also love to make a really scary horror movie.'"

(Averted Gaze) And, of course, as prelude, Our Scarlett-Starlet is doing the requisite "Jude Law" in 2005, starring in every other picture:

"Scarlett has several movies due out soon including A Love Song for Bobby Long opposite John Travolta, The Island opposite Ewan McGregor, In Good Company with Dennis Quaid and Woody Allen's as-yet-untitled new movie filmed last year in London.

With Love, Lucy, Heathcliff and Euan: Grading the Sykes Clan

Fashionweekdaily gave me a belated Christmas present -- oh yes they did -- in the form of this letter from Lucy Sykes, her husband, Euan Rellie, and -- oddly -- her precocious 17 month old baby, Heathcliff (what can we say? The Sykes girls like Clark Gable movies), who signed alongside with his parents. We grade them on their name dropping and social climbing, as evidenced by their writing:



(image via Gawker)

"Seventeen-month old Heathcliff Rellie said he wanted to go somewhere sunny for Christmas, so we took him down to our favorite holiday island, where we spent our honeymoon in May 2002. We?ve been going to Harbour Island for many years, but are now beginning to worry a bit about how popular it has become with the cognoscenti."

This is beginning to sound like a "cognostinkie." Whew! Someone open a window! You only dropped one name for me to pick up, Sykeses. Is this really the Sykes clan? Is this an imposter letter? Pick up the pace, guys!

"Lucy was ready for a break from the frantic preparations for Spring/Summer 05 Season 1 at Lucy Sykes Baby which will hit Barneys, Calypso, Neimans, Saks stores everywhere, Scoop Baby, and Selfridges in the UK at the end of February. Euan took the chance to get fit: he ran the length of the beach and back seven miles every day."

Okay, now we're talking some world class name dropping; this is clearly the Sykes clan alright, brand names peppering the content like the September Vogue issue; popping ... real consumerism at work in an actual "conversation"

"Harbour Island, off North Eleuthera in the Bahamas, is always jam-packed full of fashion tribes.
"Its a small island with a population of 1,100 people, but has attracted photographers like Gilles Bensimon and Pamela Hanson since the 1980s."

Ah yes (The Corsair clasps his chin, pensive), The Corsair sees ... they are going after the Patti Hansen-Rolling Stones namedropping connection. Small island, rock and roll, rock royalty; very retro. Exclusive. Postmodern, even. An excellent choice. We approve. Yes ... our compliments.

"If you want to go there, youd better like small planes and airports ..."

Blast the colonials. Come on. You know you want to.... Blast the colonials (The Corsair squints). You wouldn't be a Sykes if you didn't ...

" ... India Hicks moved down there from New York ten years ago. She and her husband David Flint Wood were kind enough to include us in their Christmas lunch and New Year plans. They live in bliss with three beautiful, sun-drenched sons, and together offer without doubt the warmest and most natural hospitality we have ever experienced. Christmas lunch included all their Italian friends, including the very pretty, very talented artist and former model Jessica Zambeletti, her cool banker husband Leopoldo, and India?s impossibly chic mother, Lady Pamela Hicks."

It took them quite a while to drop a "title" bomb, no? They abstained from going further on "those colonies." Their self restraint is improving. They have gotten strong in the force.

"We finished the meal with Christmas pudding from Tesco reputedly as preferred by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II."

(Loud whistle) Totally unnecessary. Inappropriate besides. The Queen? Louch! Pudding? We say: Penalty! Three CP points are forthwith withdrawn from the Sykes account. Peasants!

"If you go, stay as we did at The Landing, owned and run by Toby Tyler, his wife Tracy Barry and her mother Brenda Barry ? in partnership with India and David. It?s the best small hotel in North America, built in 1800, so book ahead."

An appeal to history. But only 1800. Wasn't she a history major? 1 CP point restored.

"Elle Macpherson and her boyfriend Arki Busson gave the party of the week (though Jessica Zambeletti?s dinner was a close rival). We were all instructed to wear white and appear at dusk on a tiny secluded beach. Elle and Arki celebrated her brother Ben's birthday by releasing white balloons from the end of the dock into the sunset, to the sound of the local Junkanoo band. "

Ka-pow: Ella mention,elevation-- instant restoration of all three CP points; it's all good.

"Guests included gorgeous British Vogue features editor Pippa Holt (who is best friends with Sydney Fashion designer and Euan's cousin Alice McCall, and charmed the island with her sandwich magnate boyfriend Julian Metcalfe and his sons), .."

They are in the middle of a name drop-coma. Surely they jest. We needed a pause to refresh.

A magnate is fine, but why spoil it by placing betwixt two pieces of processed bread and some congealed meat, and, possibly a sauce. Why did we need to know that someone vaguely socially related to you made money on sandwiches, fast food, no matter how brimming with excellence.

It just doesn't make any sense. We can only attribute the social misdemeanor to the "name dropping coma," that evidently befell Euan, who, like a shark smelling blood, the climbers instincts is to just sort of toss out any name, any boldfacer, as if by tyhe lightness his social station wouls rise, seeking elevation ... and it doesn't; it just ... doesn't. (sadly) Minus 2 CP points.

"... pregnant Boden art director and Red magazine stylist Mary Eustace with her understated and elegant boyfriend Luke Ridley, Julian Vogel of Modus Publicity from London, Audrey Marney and Alex de Betak, Richard Gere and Carey Lowell, and Lulu Guinness?s Beverly Hill and her husband Mark. All seemed to bring with them toddler age sons and daughters ? the ideal future customer base for Lucy Sykes Baby.

"Heathcliff was pleased to learn from fellow holidaymakers Tina Brown and Harry Evans ? providing some much-needed literary and academic clout on the island that their daughter is reading Wuthering Heights."

Permit me. We really can't read anymore, although you can here. Nice to know Tina Brown's daughter reads books that inquisitive, bright young women did a half a century ago. But the Sykes clan .... Too postmodern. Quality commingled with fuselage. Scattered energies. Immense ambition without the requisite talent.

A fascinating sociological document, to be sure, one, no doubt, that will be pored over by astuste anthropologists and social scientists of the future of the general decadence of our age. One can almost hear the lead scientist saying, "Precisely what the fuck was a Julian Vogel of Modus Publicity from London?" to general confusion. The Corsair couldn't answer the question now.

Cameron Versus Lindsay Versus Deanna Versus Justin: Like, Omigod!



Why does $20 million gal, Cameron Diaz, hate this model, Deanna Miller?

According to Hollywood.com:

"Movie beauty Cameron Diaz has been accused of attacking a model with ice cubes in a jealous rage."

Models, and, in the case of Miss Diaz, former models, can be very creative in their methods of combat, but, well -- ice? -- I never ...

"The Charlie's Angels star and her pop hunk boyfriend Justin Timberlake were enjoying an intimate dinner in a plush New York restaurant when underwear model Deanna Miller sat down on the table next to them."

... the underwear model meets Diaz.

"Upon hearing revelations Miller flirted with the 'Cry me a River' singer at an exotic magazine photo shoot in the Bahamas, Diaz proceeded to fire icy ammunition at the 20-year-old and her pals, reports British newspaper The Sun."

One can only imagine the girlish giggles that Justin Timberlake emitted at the scene of being fought over like the pretty little girl he truly is.

"A source says, 'Throughout the entire dinner, Cameron was pelting Deanna in the back of the head with ice chips. Cameron apologized for doing it, like, 'Oops, sorry girls'--but then she continued to do it.'"

Afterwards, Justin hopped on the back of Cameron's motorbike, adjusting his petticoats and held her around the waist softly as she drove him into the night.

"However, Diaz's spokesman has rubbished the allegations, insisting, 'That is a ridiculous story.'"
So, Cameron Diaz has been getting punchy, but Lindsay Lohan is the voice of reason, according to Contactmusic, on, of all places, the Tony Danza Show (WTF?!):

"The actress-and-singer, 18, who is engaged in an ongoing war of words with HILARY DUFF among others, chastised the celebrity couple for their actions while appearing on today's (04JAN05) TONY DANZA SHOW in America.

"A target of media scrutiny herself, MEAN GIRLS star Lohan insisted every star in Hollywood should be thankful that the paparazzi are even bothered about them.

"She told Danza, 'You have to understand that when you come into this business you wanna be in the tabloids, you want to be written up, you want paparazzi to follow you and, then, when they do, people freak out.

"'I mean you have Cameron Diaz and Justin Timberlake hitting people now... It gets frustrating but you have to understand that's their job and they're just trying to get a picture.

"'It's a blessing rather than something you should hate... If you let them take a picture it's a little bit easier.'

"Diaz and Timberlake, who allege two Hollywood photographers jumped out on them and tried to provoke a fight, are currently locked in a legal battle with the snappers after taking one of their cameras.

A Little of the Old In and Out

In: Hilary Swank. Shadenfreude, as with all German compound words expressing the complex brew of fin-de-siecle/turn-of-millennium angst can become colossally tiresome, overdone, and, sometimes (The Corsair holds his head in world weariness), in the quiet of our souls, we just , you know, just once, want to like a rich, laurelled celebrity and think -- hey -- maybe this one's a real cool person, so what if they have all that success, the money turn them into assholes, so, maybe they deserve it; this is, mirabile dictu, one of those moments; According to that significant cultural artifact, The National Enquirer:

"Hilary Swank, fresh from her acclaimed role as a boxer in 'Million Dollar Baby.' ... who'd finished a workout, was exiting the trendy Crunch gym in Hollywood when she noticed a guy pestering a pretty girl for her phone number.

"The girl rebuffed the creep, who suddenly got verbally abusive -- then grabbed her by the arm! That's when Hilary jumped in and ordered him to back away from the frightened girl.

'Yeah and what are you gonna do about it?' the guy retorted. Snarled Hilary: 'I'm warning you, BACK OFF!' At the elevator to the parking lot, Loser Boy tried to enter with the two women, but Hilary -- who gained 19 pounds of muscle during her intensive 'Million Dollar' training -- fiercely pushed him away from the doors, which closed before he could recover.

"Hilary even walked the girl to her car to make sure she got away safely."

Brava. Now, back to the snark ...

Out: Kate Bosworth and Orlando Bloom. There's nothing wrong with Kate Bosworth that a robust multivitamin and some pasta couldn't aright properly; and, ancillary to that, there's nothing wrong with Orlando Bloom that -- say -- a personality, some manliness and a raffish dash of charisma might enhance, bring into being, make less plastic. In other words, they were made for each other; each one's vacuity complimenting the others mediocrity. Alas, just when we come to that realization, Ananova writes:

"Orlando Bloom has reportedly split from girlfriend Kate Bosworth.

"The 21-year-old actress called off her relationship with the 27-year-old Lord Of The Rings star, claims the Daily Star.

An insider told the paper: 'Kate gets lonely without him so she thought it was time they should call it a day.'

"'Orlando Bloom has reportedly split from girlfriend Kate Bosworth.

"The 21-year-old actress called off her relationship with the 27-year-old Lord Of The Rings star, claims the Daily Star.

"An insider told the paper: 'Kate gets lonely without him so she thought it was time they should call it a day.'"

We wouldn't entertain the possibility that this has anything to do with Bloom canoodling in Dubai with a mystery blonde. Never. Ever. Maybe?

In: Diggs Dynamite. Our favorite publicist, the beautiful Ivy Supersonic, who has a thing for bad boys, and is usually ahead of the emerging trend curve, interested us with her enthusiasm over one Diggs Dynamite, a bad boy to be sure, but who has a new album out, and who, according to his press release, "... resides in the London Ohio Correctional Facility."

Charmed, I'm sure; that's what we thought ab initio; but then The Corsair read on, intrigued -- how does a convict acquire a publicist of Ivy's calibre unless he's suffused with the "good stuff," worthy of our pals attention, whose hard-edged taste we admire:

" ... All song lyrics written, produced & recorded by DIGGS DYNAMITE from the joint. He has written over 100 songs during his 5+ year stay for some controversial and destructive choices he's made; drug possession & robbing the drug dealer."

"Dynamites gonna blow S**t up!" said Ivy via text message to me this afternoon, blazing with excitement. Ivy's hoping to cause music industry explosion Droppin' Dynamite, "starting the new year off with a bang!" All 19 tracks on his demo From The Trenches of London, were recorded "on the inside" -- which is pretty hard, pretty gangsta, and, quite frankly, pretty goddamn interesting.

More here. Check it out.

Out: Is Truman Out? If so, then maybe someone can email me what James Truman actually did for a living at Conde Nast to: papermag@yahoo.com

Is Evel Kenievel a Pimp?

According to News.com.au:



"MOTORCYCLE daredevil Evel Knievel cannot sue a Web site that published a photo of him with two women above a caption reading 'You're never too old to be a pimp', a US appeals court ruled today.The term 'pimp' was probably intended as a compliment, the court said."

Pimping, by any stretch of the imagination (The Corsair grabs his bottle of Baron de Sigognac Armagnac, slyly, then a Cuban Schimmelpennick and a chilled white wine glass) -- aint easy, or so the old adage goes (The Corsair whistles the first 16 measures of Mozart's Queen of the Night Aria from Die Zauberflauten). There's all the bail money, for one. It goes without saying that if all of one's start up capital is being spent on bail as soon as it comes in from, ahem, "fortnightly investors," well, "The Game" going to turn out low profit margins. It goes without saying.



(The Corsair puts on 70s funk) Then, there's that matter of economic growth, which is, no pun intended, a bitch. Growth in this traditionally low profit margin industry arises from the particular manner and stylations of the pimp, his pimpology, which means, in other words, bling-bling, and ancillary to that vector -- that's right -- more spending: the "iciest gear," the "most tricked out, latest ride, with rims," and, of course, "true pimping game requires that one never wears the same outfit twice." The gaudier the better.

Then there's Marketing. The tediousness of the sweet talk. The fancydancing. The palace intrigue. The whole (air quotes) "Pimp-Ho::Helgellian Master-Slave dialectic" (The Corsair sips Armagnac) ... it's all so "First Room," as Graydon Carter might say, between tokes from a Winston Light (The Corsair pulls on his Schimmelpennick). Flossing the sound system with the "crunchiest" beats. Pimp goblet's for every day of the week -- or month, if you roll like that. Protection money to the local precinct, you know, kicking it Old School, Fort Apache the Bronx, urban jungle style. And the intangibles, like "having game," or, as sociologists in academia refer to it, "charismatic leadership."

No, no, true believer, pimping is not easy. We'd rather try our hand at the blogging game. More media coverage.

"But Knievel said, 'What good is law in the United States of America if five or six goddamn bimbos are going to rule against it?'"

Bimbos? Misogyny ... will not help your case, Mr. Robbie "Evel" Knievel -- and neither will the name Evel, BTW -- on pimping charges.

"Knievel sued after ESPN, a subsidiary of Walt Disney Co., published a photo of the famed stunt driver at the Action Sports and Music Awards in 2001 with his arms around his wife and a second young woman.

"The photo on the EXPN.com website ran alongside that of other people with captions that, in the words of a lower court ruling, 'contained loose, figurative, slang language.'"

But is Evel Kenievel a Pimp?

Names. A pimps name is important. It ought to suggest "sin," or vice of some form, thus like attracting like. The best pimp names involve liquor. "Soave Bolla" is a very Chi-town pimp name, while "Gallo," might reign supreme on the Philly Street. The Corsair is particularly fond of the pimp name "Beaujolais," but only if the name is used seasonally. If pimping and not writing had been our calling, our vocation, that, surely would have been our nom du guerre. The name "Beaujolais" has the appropriate patina and flava -- cost effective, louche, good natured, of moderate quality; but we must say, The Corsair is a lot more mysterious, adventurous. There have also been pimps known as "Delicious," we say this, apropos of nothing, if you must know.

Verdict: The name Evel, misspelled "Evil", could easily be mistaken for the urban pimp sobriquet. His pimp hand is strong.

Apparel. A pimp's dress and overall grooming is important. A pimp was the world's first metrosexual. A "working girl" has to want to feel proud "choosing" her pimp. Tangerine power suits. Sorbet neckerchiefs. Lime hats with ostrich feathers. Lavender shirts with Robin's egg blue suspenders and aligator boots. It's all good.

Verdict: Crisp white motorcycle outfit, tight about the crotch. Oh yeah. This spells Vancouver pimp.

Sweet Talking and Fancy Dancing. A pimps game is hugely dependent on his flow.

Verdict: Evel has a surprisingly strong flow for being of the trailer born. Pimpressive.

Draw your own conclusions.

Jet Set Marriage Fever: seal-klum; Law-Miller; Grant-Jemima!

Yesterday, our favorite superhero gossip- duo Rush and Molloy reported that international pop superstar Seal popped the question to Teutonic Ubermodel and Halloween Party connoisseur, Heidi Klum. How jet set is that? The big fat juicy tabloidal trend continues now, because according to Hello!Magazine:



"Female movie fans would be forgiven for feeling a little melancholy today, because Jude Law is officially off the singles market. A spokesman for the handsome actor has confirmed that he and girlfriend Sienna Miller are engaged to be married."

As we speak, there is probably a collective collaborative mourning in the Conde Nast cafeteria, who are already probably shattered at the loss of wafer-thin James Truman, whose job description as the formidable sounding "Editorial Director of Conde Nast," a title the legitimately internationalist intellectual Alexander Liebman wore with swellegance. We never quite figured out what Truman was paid to do, except that he got to go to interesting places, like Iran, and kind of hang out and discuss design and culture and, we guess, "give back," to the Conde Nast titles. or something like that. And what not.

Too bad Avedon isn't around to chronicle this grieving process in high heels, well toned personally trained bodies flush from the mornings exercise, and the perfectly understated dress. Cool demeanor notwithstanding, predatory Editrixes seem almost clad in rich ermine robes sipping mulled clarets in bejeweled cups, one can almost hear the icy blasting of the French hunting horns in the emerald-green distance, the hounds barking, the game's afoot -- Jude Law, the nimble fox, has outwitted the jocular aristos -- ambitious editorial assistants/Medieval Courtiers, interns, all pretenaturally thin, we believe, can now be seen actually weeping against the billowing, contoured architectural glass (The Corsair gnashes his teeth).

Hot Conde Nasty tears are being sprayed upon the blue titanium (The Corsair rends his garments).

There is bawling amongst the curvilinear banquettes.

The Stages of Grief at Jude Law's Impending Nuptials (with kudos and love to Diztopia):

Stage 1: Denial. "This can't be happening to me, I'm a Conde Nast editor! I am at the top of the food chain! I am at 350 Madison Avenue, motherfucker! I need to yell at my Assistant!" One denies that the loss has occurred. One ignores the signs of the loss. No crying. Not accepting or even acknowledging the loss. One goes looking for the former spouse in familiar places, like the Serpentine Gallery Summer Party in London, or the premiers of Jude's various films. To no avail. The shit is beginning to hit the proverbial fan.

Stage 2: Anger. -"Why me? I've never failed to get my man in my life." One becomes angry with God, or, in the case of the properly subservient Conde Nast employee, Si, and, of course, with ourselves, or, less rationally, with others over our loss. "I need my Limoges teacup with Earl Grey. This is going to be a long morning" One encounters at this stage feelings of wanting to fight back or get even with Sienna ("that whore!"), blaming her for Jude's leaving.

Stage 2: Bargaining. Bargaining often takes place before the loss. Wishing, begging, praying for them to come back ("I promise to not eat any pastries or sweets for a month if you bring back Jude"). Attempting to make deals with the spouse who is leaving, or attempting to make deals with God, or, in this case, Si, to stop or change the loss.

Stage 4: Despair We become overwhelmed by the hurt of our loss. One encounters at this stage feelings of hopelessness, frustration, bitterness, self pity, mourning loss of person as well as the hopes, dreams and plans for the future ("We were going to be married in a castle"). Feeling lack of control, feeling numb.

Stage 5: Acceptance. Well, at least there is always the debonair perennial Conde Nast fallback, George Clooney, but George -- reasons the Conde Nast mind -- doesn't have the British accent and New Yorker ennui, the caddish nature, the blondeness, the general "Eurogodliness" that all good Conde Nast editors try to affect the manners of, hire to man the phones, or, quite simply, marry into, that Jude Law has. Jude Law was the perfect Conde Nast object of affection, he will always be remembered. Ah well, but in the end, there is Orlando, there's Heath, and besides, we're Conde Nast -- it's our job to manufacture Eurogods for the masses to worship, we discover, and if we cannot discover, we manufacture the beautiful people. C'est tout!

"... In a romantic moment fit for one of his movies, Jude popped the question on Christmas Day by surprising the New Yorker with a huge diamond ring. The photogenic couple, who first met on the set of the film Alfie, are now celebrating with a holiday in the Seychelles. The pair are yet to set a date for the wedding, but their spokeswoman has confirmed that they plan to make their vows soon.

"'It's true they are engaged,' revealed Caira Parks."

The Corsair offers free tissues to Conde Nasties.

"'Jude has bought Sienna a big cluster diamond ring. He asked her to marry him on Christmas Day ? they spent Christmas together in England. They have told their families the news and they're thrilled, as are Jude's children. They love Sienna and can't wait for the wedding.'

"'No date has been set yet and it is not known whether it will be this year. The date will depend on their filming schedules ? they are both very busy at the moment.' Jude's ex-wife Sadie was among the first to offer her congratulations.

"'I am delighted for him and Sienna,' she said. 'I wish them all the best for the future.'"

And to seal the jet set marriage trifecta, a little something The Corsair, in the tradition of Bennifer, would like to dub "Grant-Jemima":



"It has likewise been reported that Hugh Grant is planning a trip down the aisle, after his partner Jemima Khan was spotted wearing a diamond ring on her wedding finger."

Ah, doesn't it just warm the cockles this holiday season that a even a manwhorish slab of beef like Hugh Grant can climb every social mountain, till he finds his dreams?

Was Lincoln BiSexual?

"Also, (Lincoln's) fascination with sex stories whose obscenity alarmed even him�he was an early stand-up comic and, as such, was appreciated in the stag world of the law. Descriptions of his performances (and the stories told) even suggest a mild case of Tourette's syndrome. Certainly, anal sex was a common denominator to his tales."
Gore Vidal, Vanity Fair web exclusive.

Elegant blogger James Wolcott hips us to some Old School American Historical dish, namely, Gore Vidal's essay -- and truly Gore Vidal is of Montaigne's caliber, peerless, in the Art of the Essay -- "Was Lincoln Bi-Sexual?" which probes gently but relentlessly the relationship between Honest Abe and his -- now, how shall we say this? -- "longtime companion," one Joshua Speed, and no, we didn't make that last unfortunate name up.

It all makes sense now, looking backward: the whole "Great Emancipator" posture as "Out-of-the-closet" metaphor. The cultivated -- at least for his station in life -- wit of the railroad lawyer, the man's man. It was the "Amish beard" that ultimately threw off our gaydar, drawing us wide of the mark; the Amish beard wouldn't go over too well in Chelsea, or its equivalent, we imagine, circa, 1865.

"The young Lincoln had a love affair with a handsome youth and store owner, Joshua Speed, in Springfield, Illinois. They shared a bed for four years, not necessarily, in those frontier days, the sign of a 'smoking gun' only messy male housekeeping."

... (The sound of The Corsair whistling) Yeah, but precisely how "messy." (The Corsair tucks in with brio) Who was smoking whose Abra-Ham? And -- inquiring minds want to know -- who laid out the "corncob pipe" first? Did he pronounce certain wines "naive"? And, finally, did Ulysses S. Grant like to "party"?

"Nevertheless, four years is a long time to be fairly uncomfortable. The gun proved to be the letters that passed between them when Joshua went home to Kentucky to marry, while Lincoln was readying himself for marriage in Springfield. Each youth betrays considerable anxiety about the wedding night ahead."

Uhm, fantasizing? Hello?

"Can they hack it? To Sandburg's credit [Carl Sandburg, poet and multivolumed Lincoln biographer] he picked up on this (who could not after reading the letters?), but, first time around, I skipped his poetical comments on Lincoln's 'streak of lavender and spots soft as May violets.' "

Positively pimpy! What the fuck? This is starting to make sense. Slavery was so disempowering of everyone's inner decorator. And nonconsentual "whipping"? A social faux pas. And the low ceilings of the slave ships? Can you say -- Disaster?

"Sandburg was a typical American of his time and place; he knew that any male with sexual feelings for another male was a maiden trapped inside a male body. Even the great Mae West, our first commanding sexologist, was convinced that fairies were simply women, obliged, through no fault of their own, to inhabit crude male bodies: Plangently Doctor Mae mourned her lost sisters."

Yeah, what he said; and, uh, didn't Abe like to wrestle? And didn't he go to the theater? I'm just saying ...

"There are those who will contend--nay, rage--that the Great Emancipator could not have been a bi-guy. I can see Lynne Cheney shaking her head now, deploring this latest affront in 'revisionist history.' But even she will find it hard to quarrel with Vidal's inspirational last paragraph, which reverently bows to the mysterious ways in which the Almighty works."

Permit me. Lincoln was indeed a visionary, and bisexuality suggests a more enlightened sensibility, at least to some. Take "The Fugutive Slave Act," for example. Waay too controlling. If your baby leaves you, let the door hit him where the good lord done split him. What, with all those chains, bloodhounds, paddles, overseers and night patrols -- does someone have "Trust issues"?

And those drably colored way too overbooked slaving ships. What? Couldn't somebody have bothered to paint those walls a life-enhancing "sorbet"? Or something by way of African earth tones -- beige, perhaps?

Slave ships -- that's not a cruise, darling -- that's a snooze.

Just how is someone supposed to get their "travel on" -- roars the engine, The Corsair imagines, of Mr. Lincoln's inexorable logic -- and quite possibly hook up with, or "liaise," with the chieftain of his dreams under such overcrowded and unhygenic conditions. One can almost hear our bi-President, standing athwart the sweeping tides of history, yelling, "Fiddlefaddle!"

Couldn't the slave ship captain have bothered to go the extra mile -- --reasons Mister Lincoln -- tossed a few pottery knicknacks around? Sprayed something -- oh, I don't know -- "citrusy"? Hired a DJ for that trans-pacific journey? Lain easy on the hickory stick beatings, unless, of course, it was consentual?

Besides, a bi-President would have known the barbarity of making people make do with a monthly ration of salted pork and corn meal. Hello? Where's the arugula? An essential food group. Human rights people. We hold these truths to be self evident! Perhaps Honest Abe intuitively knew that the liberation of African-Americans would release untold enormous amouts of "flava" into the drab Industrialized West, bewitching the Jazz Age, a generation later, and, ultimately, jump starting rock and roll.

Good looking out, Abe with the Amish beard thingie.

A Little of the Old In and Out



In: Agent Britney Spears, Forensic Scientist. About a year ago, Liz Smith of The New York Post reported that Britney Spears was a big fan of Court TV's 'Forensic Files,' which -- trailer trash, y'all -- excuse me, something caught in the throat, there, now, all better; which shows crime scene experts solving intricate puzzles.

Britney -- chicken fingers -- sorry, again: my bad, cold, flu, ahem; Britney received a Court TV cap from Henry Schleiff, chairman and CEO of Court TV; no doubt she wore the cap with a Fosse-like flourish to some Nascar event's public restroom (Averted Gaze). Fascination with the legal system probably arises from Ms. Spears', ahem, humble beginnings and the ensuing historical Spears-versus-the-State-of-Louisiana contretemps. Now, according to the 3AM Girls:
"Pop princess Britney Spears has big plans for 2005 - she may quit pop for a life of crime.

"Apparently the 23-year-old star dreams of becoming a forensic scientist and may take a university degree! Yep, we nearly fell off our chairs too.

"According to our source: 'It sounds ridiculous but she's been inspired by TV's CSI, which shows scientists solving crimes.

"'Brit has been growing tired of all the media attention and is thinking about taking a break from it all. She's taking this university idea quite seriously.'"

Pepperdine has courses in Forensic Psychology, but we hope Agent Spears-Federline, while investigating the "Toxic" -- doesn't contaminate the crime scene with stickey orange Cheeto fingerprints, as is her wont.

Out: Saudi Royal Style, or lack thereof, because, well (exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detatchment), is there such a thing as Saudi chic? Can corrupt tyrants rock truly? -- While we can appreciate the fabulosity of late Zairian strong man Mobutu's leopard-skin chapeau, dictators are not chic. According to our favorite superhero-gossip columnist duo, Rush and Molloy, those Saudi royals are still "flavor"-challenged, funk deprived:

"Saudi Ambassador Prince Bandar bin Sultan will always take snow over sand on New Year's Eve. The honorary member of the Bush family flew in Roberta Flack to entertain about 80 pals at his annual year-end countdown in Aspen."

Roberta fucking Flack (The Corsair recoils in visible disgust)?! That's supposed to be entertainment? Even back in the day Roberta Flack wasn't popping; she was naught else but cookie-cutter R&B. How about some Riunite on ice as a refreshment, so we can go completely "country" with this. Between the Saudi royals frequent patronage of Russian whores, that embarrassing indirect state sponsoring of terrorism episode, and now -- the ultimate shame -- a "Roberta Flack party," (Averted Gaze) reallly, Saudi royal chic is in dire straights (Averted Gaze) indeed.

In: David Patrick Columbia's Social Diary. So hott. When not chronicling the Masters of the Universe Genus, Upper East Side High Society Variety Species, DPC gathers once-in-a-lifetime pictures of what happens at these events, in the tents, at the power lunches, usually involving said aristos slurping the distilled blood of Andalusian peasants, smiling into the camera, like this one:



That's -- from left to right -- British smoothie Euan Rellie, urban menace Mike Tyson, and recovering cell phone addict Lucy Sykes, looking positively "fucky," at Dior's Young Collectors Council Artists Ball at the Guggenheim. Charmed, I'm sure (Averted Gaze). Mike Tyson at The Mothefucking Guggenheim. Priceless.

That's world's-about-to-end spooky, kind of like finding Heather Graham at a book store ("What are all the square things with the paper inside, baby?") with her sugar daddy. That's what the Native Americans in their infinite wisdom used to call "bad medicine."

Out: Paris Hilton, Death and the Maiden. That Paris Hilton doesn't like black is a matter of public record (Averted Gaze). That porn 'ho bag probably only eats white chocolate. I'm just saying ... According to ContactMusic:

"PARIS HILTON was 'devastated' when she found out TV bosses told her she had to be a morgue attendant in her reality show THE SIMPLE LIFE 3.

"The American heiress and her co-star NICOLE RICHIE hated moving bodies and driving a hearse, but they did it for the hit programme which airs this month (JAN05) in America.

"Hilton says, 'The worst job was working in the morgue where we had to move bodies and drive the hearse.'"

That BLACK hearse. I'm just saying ...

In: Athina Roussell Onassis. Our sexy blog wife, the magnificent socialite Miu Von Furstenberg notes, "Athina Roussel Onassis, the granddaughter of late shipping billionaire Aristotle Onassis, is set to make a bid to ride for the Greek equestrian team for the 2008 Olympics in Beijing." A most intriguing development. Stay tuned.

Out: TMI. We love Margaret Cho, we love her blog, her sassy Asian cuchifrito attitude, but, well, too much information is too much information, as her post "Why Must I Bleed Alone" makes readily apparent:

"I take this new birth control pill where one of the side effects is having four menstrual periods a year. It's menopause in a pinch! I feel like an Olympic gymnast or some other kind of professional athlete, too muscular and stressed out for feminine luxuries such as menses and the prom. When it comes time for one of my quarterly shed, it takes me by surprise and I welcome it like a long lost friend."

Um, more than we needed to know Margaret. More than we ... needed to ... know.

Did Posh Have Three Boob Jobs?



Posh and David Beckham, the phenomenally good looking progenitors of Brooklyn, the baby with the mini-Humvee, the celebrity Christening, and the castle, and, his brother, the oft-lauded Romeo, he of the $2,000 a day present opener, whose name was recently pilfered by scraggly New Jersey rocker and Al Gore supporter (Averted Gaze) Jon bon Jovi, are under fire from the very appropriately named Rebecca Loos (rhymes with "Juice").

When not pleasuring wild pigs -- eeew --- on British reality teevee, the aforementioned Loos issues forth-- eew -- on the state of All Things Beckham. According to Ananova:

"Rebecca Loos has reportedly claimed that Victoria Beckham has had three boob jobs."

Quite right (The Corsair rolls up his sleeves), by our counting, the first "boob job" was her unfortunate tour of duty with the lamentable Spice Girls; the second "boob job," a social misdemeanor by any accounting to be sure, involved marrying and "begatting" with a serial adulterer; and the third and most disturbing "boob job" was working with the ubersleazy Damon Dash, who clearly used her to get a foothold into the UK scene.

Anyhoo:

"Loos, who alleges she had an affair with David, says the former Spice Girl told her she had gone under the surgeon's knife three times, as she wasn't pleased with the first two operations.

"Rebecca - who worked as David and Victoria's personal assistant when they first moved to Spain in 2003 - told Britain's Loaded magazine: 'They're fake and that's from the lady herself.
She told me she's had them done three times.

"'She kept changing them as she wasn't happy. At first they were too big, then too small. But she's happy now.'

"Bisexual Rebecca also claimed she would never have a threesome with David and Victoria - because she doesn't find them attractive reports Femalefirst.co.uk."

Here we must interject. We must. Try-sexuality would be far more accurate, accounting for wild pigs, of course. Continue:

She added: 'She's not sexy. I don't fancy him any more. I like a man with better morals.'"

Like wild boar, which "truffle" and such.

"Victoria - who is pregnant with the couple's third child - has always denied having breast implants and puts her ample chest down to a 'good bra.'

"David has always denied cheated on his wife with Rebecca, branded her claims as 'ludicrous.'"

MadonnaEsther Marries Again!



Everyone's favorite practitioner of "the disgusting voodoo" -- who may or may not have had some cosmetic surgery -- has renewed her vows with her manbitch, er, her husband, Guy Ritchie. Renewal of marriage vows says -- to the world media assembled -- that Guy Ritchie is her BabyDaddy, far more than merely a phase, like her South Beach Latina phase (The Corsair laconically yawns), her Black Basketball player phase, her Club Kid phase, her steroidal baseball player phase (Averted Gaze), her lesbian phase, and her British Aristocrat phase (The Corsair assumes the Zazen posture, contemplating Archimedian Spirals) , her Sex book and Vanilla Ice-Ice-Baby phase (The Corsair quietly spraypaints I-C-E on glass window), her various sloughed off pseudo-ethnic skins (The Corsair sips a mulled claret and draws back the bow, and lets fly a single precise arrow) quite frankly.

According to Hello!Magazine:

"Pop diva Madonna and her husband Guy Ritchie celebrated the holiday season by renewing their wedding vows at a secret ceremony at their Ashcombe country estate in Wiltshire. The couple who marked their fourth anniversary on December 22, swapped rings and vows in a Kabbalah-based ceremony.

"'Madonna and Guy are closer now than ever before,' an insider was quoted as saying. 'They've been together a long time and felt the time was right to renew their wedding vows.' The Lock Stock And Two Smoking Barrels director reportedly gave the Material Girl a ring worth �100,000 pounds from Parisian jeweller Fred,"

Ladies and gentlemen, a special hand to Fred.

" ... while Madonna reciprocated with a ring that she had ordered more than six months ago. The couple decided to renew their vows after a stressful year in which Guy put his filmmaking career on hold in order to accompany the 46-year-old chanteuse on her 2004 return to the stage as she traversed the globe on a gruelling but successful international concert tour. Among those attending the celebration were actress Gwyneth Paltrow accompanied by husband rocker Chris Martin and their daughter Apple, who was entertained by Madonna's two children Lourdes and Rocco."

Usher's Superhead

According to NewsoftheWorld (and reported last week in the excellent Gatecrasher):

"Curvy Karrine Steffans boasts that the R&B megastar always comes to HER for real thrills, often acting out his kinky fantasy of having dominating sex with 'a stranger.'



"The 26-year-old who revels in the nickname Superhead admits she was just as hungry for Usher when their affair began in October, two weeks AFTER the singer began his on/off romance with Naomi."

We'd suggest the sobriquet "chickenhead," rather than "superhead," on account of it's more accurate. Wew shall procede ...

"With a wicked smile she confessed: 'I just wanted to devour him and eat him up ... so I did!

"'I hadn't been with a man for months. I gave him the best sex of my whole life!'"

Be all that you can be Karrine.

"Karrine, who was in the movie A Man Apart with Vin Diesel, insists catwalk queen Naomi can NEVER count Usher as hers alone.

"'Naomi's delusional if she thinks she's Usher's only girlfriend,' warned 36D-24-36 Karrine.

"'Usher leads his life as a young, rich, handsome, single man and no one is his girl.

Oh yes, hootchie mama, explain the ways of rich men to the naive Naomi Campbell, enlighten her on the subject ...

"'I've always known that I'm not the only one but I know that I'm the best at sex, which is why he just keeps coming back to me.'

"...A chance encounter at the W hotel in Los Angeles last autumn re-ignited the passion.

"'I was having dinner with friends without even realising Usher was also there in the VIP section,' said Karrine.

"'As I left at about 1.30am this guy beckoned me over and said, My name's Keith. I work for Usher and he'd like a moment of your time, if you don't mind. Follow me.'"

Swell, elegant ... swellegant!

"'That was the first time I'd seen Usher in ages, but that's how it all started up again.'

A Last Year in Marienbad scenario, to be sure -- what a swell guy.

"Next night the 25-year-old star called and invited Karrineto his 17th floor room at the St Regis Hotel.

"'I arrived at 3am and best friend Keith let me in,' said Karrine. 'But I was taken aback to see two young girls walk out just as I was going in.

"'Usher was in the bathroom sitting on the sink. He had on jeans, a white tank top and all his jewellery and he looked just beautiful."

Just washing up a little for Round 7 ...

"'We talked for a while then moved into the living room ... and I went into action.

"'But right in the middle of it Usher wanted to put a condom on. At first I thought he was just playing safe, but over the next few months he'd do the same thing again and again.

"As we met up regularly I came to realise this was his kick. If you're having sex with a stranger you put on a condom?and Usher likes to make out that's what he's doing.

Whoah! Talk about serious self-delusion. The self-confessed woman nicknamed "Superhead" wonders why a guy might wanta little bit of protection. Self preservation never filters into her fevered imagination. She won't entertain the possibility that he considers her freak of the week.

"He also liked me to keep my clothes on through foreplay, pretending we were unfamiliar with each other."

An "unfamiliarity" he carried out, no doubt (Averted Gaze), with "particular aplomb" the next time she saw him on the streets of Manhattan and tried to approach him, to get him to stop and chat, with her skank brigade in tow.

"And he'd get a thrill from people seeing us having sex. Sometimes his security would walk in when we were making out on the couch. Often they'd ask a question, he'd answer and just carry on having sex with me. He enjoys this kind of voyeurism. I think it makes him feel bigger as a man."

Thank you, "Superhead," The Anna Freud Professor Emeritus at Carvell's College of Knowledge.
"Karrine, who appears in Usher's latest video, admitted sex second time around with him is nothing like their early days.

"'Back then he was a very different guy,' she recalled. 'He'd jump in his big black truck and drive me to get sandwiches.

"'We'd fool around in the recording studio and make love there night after night.

"'While he was singing his heart out, I'd be in the booth making him hit those high notes! Once we had sex on a grand piano."

He started, largo, "tapping the Low A" -- if you know what The Corsair means, teehee; picked up the pace, moderato accelerando, in the intervening measures; and ended -- a little too briskly for her tastes -- we imagine, ignominiously, presto, "that's it"? *Only kidding* Actually:

"He was always more concerned about me and how I was feeling. He's well-endowed but always very sensitive to my needs ? very sensual and amazingly in tune with my body.

"'Now he's more concerned about himself. He has this power thing going on, orders me to do stuff and is very dominating. And when he talks to me during sex, he likes to demean me. He's even had another woman waiting for him in another room while we've been making love. At first I didn't realise, but now that I know I'd just leave on principle.'"

The Corsair deeply ponders the "principles" of "Superhead."

"Pictures of Usher cosying up to Naomi Campbell have been splashed all over the world, but Karrine has no doubts SHE is the pop star's favourite.

"'Just over a week ago I got a phone call from Keith asking me to set up a sexy surprise for the boss,' she told us."

Hands for Keith, ladies and gentlemen, for his Herculean labors cleaning the filthy Augean stables that is Usher's Vida Loca. His official title on his tax forms ought to be "Usher's Trim Coordinator"

"'He said Usher was on the set of his new movie, Dying For Dolly, filming up in the hills. He wanted me to go with them to pick him up.

"'Now my feeling is, if your best friend picks a surprise treat for you he's going to pick the one thing he knows you like most."

Definition of Rationalization: A defense mechanism where one believes or states an acceptable explanation for a behavior as opposed to the real explanation.

"'So I went to the Park Hyatt Hotel, got in the back seat of their car, took off all my clothes, put on a white bathrobe and headed for the set."

(An artful pause) Damn.

"'When Usher saw me he was stunned. I had my robe wide open and asked him, Had a hard day?

"He gave me the biggest smile and said, ?Well, actually I did.' Then we proceeded to have our fun on the way back to the hotel.

"He just kept repeating ?This is real nice' over and over. He was happy. I was happy.

"When we got back to the hotel that's how we walked through the lobby?with me wearing nothing but my bathrobe and Usher's manager, Terence, behind us holding my clothes like a butler."

Ladies and gentleman, a thousand studied bows and curtsies for Terence, no -- haha -- not Publius Terentius, Terence, Usher's bitch, the one who holds the hoochie mama's attire (Averted Gaze) while the game is afoot:

"Everyone was staring, but I guess they just figured it was Usher doing his superstar thing. Still, our relationship isn't just about sex."

Definition of Rationalization: A defense mechanism ....

"'Usher's a friend as well. We talk?but never about Naomi.

A defense mechanism ... where one believes or states an acceptable explanation

"'Usher doesn't talk about her because she's not important to him. If she was, he wouldn't be with me.

... for a behavior as opposed to the real explanation.

"'I don't think Naomi's anything more to him than a great photo opportunity.'

"'I mean, even I would go out with her for a photo opportunity!'"

Dear, not to put too fine a point on it, you'd go with Regis Philbin for a photo opportunity.

Update: The Most Cool BabyGirlzBitchbox has a NYPost article on groupies.

Predictions 2005

In 2004 we predicted Howard Stern would not renew his contract with Infinity, that P Diddy would announce a run for mayor, and that Clinton would do a $50 million Oprah-like talk show. Ah well, we got some right and some wrong. Our crystal ball is opaque. Keep that in mind when reading our new 2005 predictions:



Courtney Love will clean herself up and ultimately replace Howard Stern on Infinity radio; meanwhile, the new ultra raunchy Sirius Show will ultimately force ABC to cut their ratings desperate Howard Stern interview show maneuver (ABC has since done better in the ratings).
Howard Dean will win DNC Chair, and tack immediately to the Center, while keeping the far left in tow, via bread-and-circuses to Progressive bloggers.

Arrogant stuffed shirt Al Franken will move closer on deciding to run against Norm Coleman in 2008 (he will run an amazing but lose, Coleman successfully branding Franken a "Harvard media-elite liberal," as Minnesota continues to trend red state)

Johnny Depp wins Best Actor Oscar, despite intense anti-JM Barrie stories appearing in the Old Gray Lady leading up to Academy voting deadlines.

Page Six will debut a popular weekly gossip show on Fox News.

An intense feud in the Senate will brew between Karl Rove's pony, Majority Leader Bill Frist, and John McCain, both running for President in 2008, both spending an incresing amount of time in New Hampshire. The result will be a split between the Moderate Republicans allying with Democrats against the Right in the Senate; talk of a Draft McCain movement within the Democratic Party gain steam.

Letterman will finally trump Leno in the ratings, beginning a new Letterman juggernaut.

The dark, tempestuous, overly-ambitious Andrew Cuomo -- never a sense of pacing and slow progression with this guy; his opera was always all presto and no andante -- will spectacularly implode during an ill-advised campaign for Attorney General, revealing an inner character filled with rage.

Wilmer Valderrama will date a barely legal 18 year old.

Gitte Nielssen and Flavor Flav will get married, but she will abruptly leave him two weeks later, for a Rumanian gypsy. Flav will once again abuse substances, until Chuck D, Terminator X, and Professor Griff stage an intervention, televised on VH1.

A Little of the Old In and Out

In: Bobby and Whitney. A family that punches together, lunches together. And you know Bobby likes his fish, which is his favorite ... uh, dish. According to The Dish:

"Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston made Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs' birthday surprise for girlfriend Kim Porter extra special when they took turns serenading the model.



(image via the freaks at EnigmaticMusings)

"Brown sang along to his hit 'Don't Be Cruel,' while 34-year-old Porter's idol Houston crooned 'Happy Birthday' to the dazed birthday girl at Diddy's club Justin's in Atlanta, Ga., on December 15."

Which must have been confusing to all involved -- Whitney sober, performing; someone else ... "dazed."

Out: Paris Hilton, Nice to Nuts. Who knew? She fairly radiates emotional stability, no? No -- The Corsair softly chuckles to himself -- so very no. According to that significant cultural artifact, Star:

"Paris' ordeal occurred on Dec. 15, shortly after she and pals entered Swing News on Sunset Boulevard in L.A. around 3:30 p.m. to buy celebrity magazines, according to the clerk on duty.

"'She appeared to be in a good mood and even posed for a picture with me for my celeb scrapbook,' the clerk said. 'But as she was setting some magazines down by the cash register, she saw that we were selling her DVD in our adult magazine section. She went from nice to nuts instantly.'

"Paris, 23, was reportedly concerned some of her 'young fans' who shop at the store might see it and get the wrong impression of her. And she added that she felt betrayed that the store would be selling the DVD even though she shops there 'all of the time.'

"Although the clerk tried to appease Paris by placing the DVD in a cubbyhole, Paris saw the poster for the X-rated movie on the side of an ATM in the shop and began shredding it.

"Her sympathetic friends tried to help by grabbing another Hilton poster, but had to give up as it was chained to the ceiling. As Paris paid for her magazines, she 'reached across the desk and snatched the DVD out of its hiding place,' the clerk said. 'She stuffed it into her purse and declared, I'm taking this and I'm not paying for it.' The clerk said he called the police and filed a victim's report for theft and vandalism.

"If the reminder of her past mistakes was not enough, six days later on Dec. 21, Paris was again subjected to embarrassment. As she signed autographs outside trendy restaurant Koi in L.A., one fan surprised her by asking her to sign what appeared to be a slightly risque picture of herself. With the smile quickly disappearing from her face, Paris tore the photo and got into her car."

In: Independent Film. The holidays were good for the indies, for films where moral issues are cast in ambiguous greys, not black and white; where the subjects are complicated, not one-dimensional hookers with a heart of gold, or stereotype cripples; and the endings don't involve car chases where the good guy gets the straight girl-- fuck that shit, give it to us indiestyle--- According to indieWire:

"Terry George's acclaimed 'Hotel Rwanda' opened on seven screens over the holiday weekend, placing first on the chart. The true-story United Artists release set during the tragic genocide in the central African country of the same name grossed $100,091 for a very solid $14,299 per screen average.

"Nicole Kassell's 'The Woodsman' debuted at six sites, taking in $53,985. The multi-Spirit Awards nominated feature averaged $8,998, placing second on the chart.

"'I'm pretty happy with it and the reviews were pretty good,' commented Newmarket Films chief Bob Berney to indieWIRE yesterday about the film's opening weekend. 'Monday had 50% of Sunday's [gross], which is good. It's tricky opening on the holidays.' Berney continued to say that Sunday was particularly strong in Manhattan, while the numbers were generally 'soft' on Christmas day. 'Holiday movies were strong on Christmas day,' said Berney.

"The film's theme is challenging, as Berney acknowledged, but he said that positive reviews particularly from the Los Angeles Times, NPR and others helped to attract moviegoers. 'It's one of those films where you have to hear it's great,' added Berney who also said he felt the overall specialty box office, aside from 'Sideways,' remained flat for the weekend. Audiences seeing 'The Woodsman' weighted toward the traditional art-house crowd and African-Americans.

"Newmarket plans to add screens in the Bay Area today, and will open the film in ten cities on January 7."

We're not sure, we're still suffering acute cognitive vertigo from all those keg stands on New Years Eve, we may have got it twisted, but did the prexy of Newmarket Films just say that African-Americans and art house crowds prefer films about the humanity of child molesters? Cause that's so wrong.



Out: Kelly Ripa: Too Thin? Can you ever be too thin or too rich, darling? Evidently so. You know our thoughts on this culture which puts waay too much pressure on women's weight, think: Alicia Silverstone (would a bloated James Gandolfini, or, quite frankly, all the male lead gangsters on The Soprano's ever have to do a show called "Fat Actor" to rev up their careers?). According to The National Enquirer:

"Kelly Ripa shocked observers during a holiday getaway with her new stick-thin, bony body!

"And insiders fear she's gone overboard with her weight loss after going through three pregnancies in seven years and battling to save her marriage."

Also on the anorexia tip, or *alleged* anorexia tip (do men ever get anorexia?), the 3AM Girls call Renee Zellwegger "Bridget Bones," which cannot be good (didn't they just blast her for gaining too much weight a la Silverstone?); and a Gawker Stalker pronounced Donatella Versace too-thin by a whisker, or, better yet, a coke fingernail, saying, "She's lost a lot of weight, wonder what 'diet' she's been on. I think seeing her ass in a bikini in US Weekly may have also had something to do with it." Well it can't have helped. Any guesses when male cellulite will be a cover story focus that sustains conversation throughout the year? We thought not ...

In: The Wowies. We heart World of Wonder, and lament -- terribly -- that they no longer do those awesomely disturbing Michael Alig interviews, The Corsair's only solace since HBO cancelled Oz, but they do give us their year-end Wowies, among which:

"Most retarded performance: Adrien Brody in The Village

"Best Linda Lovelace impression: Chlo� Sevigny in The Brown Bunny

"Lawsuit that's a bit of a stretch: Sharon Stone suing her plastic surgeon who didn't perform a procedure on her

"Cleverest gossip column: Michael Musto's 'La Dolce Musto'"

More here.

Out: 50 Cent Watches. Nothing is cast in stone, but Fitty may want to go with a new name, something more swishy, as a luxury brand named '50 Cent Watches,' well, it just doesn't do it for us. Surely they are bulletproof, though, and that no doubt counts for something (Averted Gaze). According to Fashionweekdaily, "50 Cent apparently has adopted the ever-popular high/low mantra that brought success to Isaac Mizrahi and Karl Lagerfeld by teaming up with Jacob the Jeweler to produce a line of watches that will range from $200 to sky?s the limit."

In: Michael Musto's Felix Awards. How can you not love Musto when he delivers lines like this, "Best Omission (of 2004): Aren't you glad Ray stopped before 'We Are the World'?"

In: Gallo: The Whine. Vincent Gallo gets another vaguely underage star to do sexual things on camera, and Uncle Grambo has it all here.

Anna Nicole Inheritance Looking Grim

And so, true believer, here we are, in the hour of the wolf (The Corsair sits in a complicated zazen posture), In the room the women come and go/Talking of Michaelangelo, and all that; newly svelte high school dropout and former fry cook at -- ahem -- Jim's Krispy Fried Chicken (Averted Gaze), Anna Nicole Smith will now have to take the case to U.S.'s Supreme Court -- a Scalia-Rehnquist Court, to be sure (then again, the pornish Clarence Thomas is on the High Court)-- if she still wants her big fat J Howard Marshall inheritance money, according to The Dish:



"Busty Anna Nicole Smith's new year will start off on a sour note -- a U.S. Federal Court of Appeals has overturned a previous federal court decision to award her millions in her late husband J Howard Marshall's will.

"In 2002, a federal court in California awarded Smith over $88 million from the deceased oil tycoon's estate, but the cash has been held-up as Marshall's family fought the decision.
And now it looks as if Smith will only get a fraction of the cash she expected. Instead, a Texas court has ruled the cash will go to Marshall's son, according to showbiz news program 'Entertainment Tonight.'

" ... The model married 89-year-old Marshall in 1994. He died less than a year later."

Of, we can imagine, great, great joy. The Corsair is not advocating she get all $88 million, that would be patently unfair and humiliating to his children, his true family, who loved him, but did not give him mindblowing blowjobs -- at least we hope not; No, don't give her the full settlement, but give her a taste, you know he wanted her to have some ... and she worked for it, you know she did.

The Simpsons Can Burp the Alphabet

Just when you thought you heard everything you wanted to ever hear about The Simpson Family, that trailer park royalty that done made good, along comes another chestnut so compelling, so suffused with "the good stuff," that, well, you do the math, cause even a claret swilling fox hunter like The Corsair was intrigued beyond all measure:



According to Ananova, via FemaleFirst:

"(Ashlee Simpson), who stars in her own MTV reality TV show, The Ashlee Simpson Show, says she loves showing of her special talent. She said: 'When I burp the alphabet, my favourite letter is G. It is an open consonant and it is at the beginning when my wind is strong."

Her wind is strong, quite nice to know, but her acid reflux is stronger. Forced belching actually exacerbates acid reflux, people, if, indeed, Ashlee ever actually had the dread disease -- which is certainly debatable -- this according to the Nexium site:

"Burping is common. In fact, many people burp or pass gas 14 to 23 times a day. But if you have acid reflux disease, frequent burping can force out more than gas and unwanted air. It can also force stomach acid into the esophagus, which can irritate the lining of your esophagus and provoke your symptoms.

"Burping is a part of everyone's life. But, there are basic things you can do to help decrease your urge to burp."

Decrease, Ashlee (The Corsair shields his face); decrease! But Ashlee isn't having any of it:

"'My worst letter is S. It is a closed consonant and at the end when I am out of wind.'"

(An artful pause on The Corsair's part) Recapture the wind, Ashlee, recapture the wind!

But that is a side issue and need not detain us ...

"The 19-year-old star also admitted that older sister Jessica also shares the same talent reports Femalefirst.co.uk.

"She told America's New York Post newspaper: 'Jessica burps the alphabet better than me. She has better wind and she is a much louder belcher.'"

Of course she has better wind, as Joe Simpson is quoted in Page Six, via GQ, as saying oh-so-smarmily:

"Jessica's father was even more effusive about her bodacious balcony. 'Jessica never tries to be sexy,' he told GQ. 'She just is sexy. If you put her in a T-shirt or you put her in a bustier, she's sexy in both. She's got double Ds! You can't cover those suckers up.'"

And lo, what mighty wind that which those "suckers" issue forth ...