Lunch at Michael's: The UN Edition



(image via norman.walsh)

Funny how all that haughty Podhoretzian noxious bullshit about how the United-Nations-is-an irrelevant-joke all but evaporates once the General Assembly convenes (We won't even entertain the UN's useful solution to the Israeli-Hezbollah conflict). Jacksonians and Neocons have an almost hilbilly-like superstition about all things
"international (Averted Gaze)." Even Karl Rove has been slipping the word "international law" as a bugaboo in the rhetoric in the rundown to the 2006 Congressional races, re: The McCain Amendment. As you can imagine, New York's power eateries experienced an upswing in the boldface statesmen quotients yesterday. Our favorite social chronicler David Patrick Columbia hips us to the talent in the room at Michael's on NYSocialdiary:

"It was news-broadcasters� day at Michael�s. The place was jammed. At the main round table in the bay was Lou Dobbs, Wolf Blitzer, Anderson Cooper, Christiane Amanpour, Larry King and a couple of others I didn�t recognize because I rarely watch CNN. At the table across from them was Tom Brokaw, and across from him was Deborah Norville and across from her was Paula Zahn, and next to her was a non-broadcaster, the man who saved New York City from bankruptcy 30 years ago: Felix Rohatyn."

And those intrepid Page Sixxies scout other locales:

"When West 55th Street was turned into a 'frozen zone' Sunday night, and Iraqi President Jalal Talabani arrived for dinner at Circo, the regular patrons rose and gave him a standing ovation.

"'He's one brave son of a bitch,' said one diner.

Talabani, who might not get to see a lot of American movies in Baghdad, never seemed to notice Woody Allen and his wife, Soon-Yi, at a nearby table.

The proverbial swords also were beaten into forks and spoons at Primavera, where Terje Roed-Larsen, the U.N. special envoy to Beirut, who has been highly critical of Israel's incursion into Lebanon, broke bread with Israeli Foreign Minister Tzipi Livni and her predecessor, Silvan Shalom.

"Also at the dinner were Roed-Larsen's wife, Mona Juul, an official in the Norwegian Foreign Affairs Ministry; Qatar Ambassador to the U.N. Nassir Abdulaziz Al-Nasser; former U.S. Ambassador to the U.N. Richard Holbrooke; Manhattan DA Robert Morgenthau; Newsweek heiress Lally Weymouth; plus Charlie Rose, James Tisch and Mike Ovitz.

"'It was insane outside of the restaurant. Israeli Secret Service, American Secret Service, cops with Uzis - you almost had to get a cavity search to get inside,' one witness said."

It's all well and fine to question the effectiveness of a multilateral organization like the United Nations. We do that often, even to the point of This blog's agonizing on whether or not Bolten's brashness might not have its strategic uses. But blasting at the UN's relevance, a la The Sun (who seem blissfully unaware that disgusting Resolution 3379 was revoked), is just plain assy. The United Nations is to the NYSun what Bill Clinton is to the Dick "Clinton stalker" Morris.

Note to AOL: Tara Reid is a Jinx!



AOL is Distributing thier Direct-To-Download Effort. According to Paidcontent:

"... And it is a Tara Reid movie, so it deserves not to get theatrical distribution. AOL is premiering Adam Shapiro�s new horror film, 'Incubus,' online for download (direct-to-download), for $7.99 ($7.99 for purchase, $3.49 for a five-day rental, no burning to a DVD) on its soon-to-be relaunched teen site, AOL Red, starting on Halloween. DVDs will go on sale a month later. Shapiro and his partner decided to go direct to download after they were unable to find a good deal for theatrical release."

Damn. Poor Tara Reid.

Steve O Loved Being With Nicole Ritchie For The Press



In happier days. (image via timeinc)

Why anyone would wanty to fuck the skanky "Jackass" bunch is beyond The Corsair. While we allow that the whole daredevil aspect has not an insignificant amount of charm on the ladies ... why? Why did Nicole Ritchie "hook up" with Steve O? You know he will not be discrete; you know he will do something to embarrass her. Nicole Ritchie's bad life decisions, take 22. According to Marksfriggin:

"Howard asked (Jackass') Bam if he has any pressure on him when he's banging chicks. Steve said he feels some pressure when he's with chicks. He said he never did do Nicole Ritchie but he did jerk off a few times while he was in bed with her. He said she was dead asleep while he was rubbing one out the first time. He was going back and forth thinking about her and other chicks while he was doing that. He said that she was totally awake while he was doing it the other two times he did it though. He thinks that she was into it.

"Steve said he didn't want to offend Nicole in any way because he really wanted to be in the tabloids with her. He said he ended up getting sick and tired of the comments they were posting in the paper about stuff he wasn't really saying about her.

"Robin said she heard that Nicole got Steve off of coke. Steve said he met her while he was on a coke binge and he was having so much fun with her that he got off the coke for a while. He hasn't done coke in over 8 months now. He said he loved being with her but it was just for the press."

Nicole sure knows how to pick her indiscrete, coke-headed, users, n'est-ce pas?

Rome Hartman: Bill Maher Free To Speak




(image via jacneed)

As you know, The Corsair has made it something of a mission to get the incendiary Bill Maher back on network television (And Forrest Whittaker an Oscar for The King of Scotland, more on that later). Since CBS News -- Black Rock to Bill's Black Chicks -- is the epitome of network news prestige, and, of late, willing to take some edgy risks, we thought: What the fuck. Things are looking good, according to the Post:

"Maher claimed on his 'Real Time' HBO show last Friday that CBS asked him to do a 'Free Speech' segment - in which celebrities and everyday folks vent their opinions on a variety of subjects.

"But Maher said he was then told he couldn't discuss religion, his topic of choice.

"'I asked if I could talk about religion, and that was a deal-breaker right from the beginning,' Maher said.

"CBS says that's not true.

"'We didn't say yes and we didn't say no,' 'CBS Evening News' executive producer Rome Hartman told The Post yesterday, pointing out that he didn't deal with Maher directly but through a producer.

"'[Maher] sent word that [religion] is what he wanted to talk about . . . and we sent back two or three ideas for topics we thought might be timely or topical. This was not an attempt to dictate.'

"Maher, in a statement e-mailed to The Post, said, 'If I or my representatives got it wrong about how the 'free speech' segment . . . is, sorry, our bad.'"

Okay, so let's free up that speech, get Maher on the Evening News and, in the fullness of time, have him replace the senile Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes.

Basta!

Nick Lachey Was Bad Too



Porn "star" Jessica Jaymes. (image via buzznet)

Whomever was most at fault in the debacle of the Lachey-Simpson nuptual carwreck, it was always suggested -- vaguely -- among the Gossiping Classes that Jessica simply got tired of Nickie-poo and wanted some of Adam Levine's sweet emo loving (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment). Then, of course, Nick was devastated, and -- we're told -- he's only now just getting over it with fellow onionhead Vanessa Manillo (Averted Gaze).

Not so, dear sweet readers -- not so.

Apparently, Lachey also had a roving eye. He hath lust in his beefy heart. Remember the bachelor party with the buxom porn star Jessica Jaymes? Well. Nick wasn't as innocent as he made himself out to be. An offer was made (but not accepted). According to Marksfriggin:

"Artie said that (porn star Jessica Jaymes) was also at a bachelor party that Nick Lachey attended. She said she couldn't believe that she was going to come out with this... then she said that Nick had propositioned her at the bachelor party. Howard wanted to know exactly what he asked her. She said that Nick sent his body guard over to her and he asked her to get in his limo to go back to his place. Nick never said anything to her himself, he had his bodyguard asking her to do it. She didn't end up doing anything with him because she wasn't interested in him."

Getting turned down by a porn star: Is that more or less embarrassing than releasing worldwide that man-bitch of a whiny-ass song "What's Left of Me." Hmm.

The Corsair Creepy Index

All this talk of Mark Karr lounging in his moist Bankok bungalow -- eew -- reminded us that Creepy is like the new black. Creepy never goes out of style. They are the gift that keeps on giving up the funny. Gawking at creepy people, with their clammy hands and creepy-ass soft girlish chuckles. Here are some Corsair picks for the creepiest celebrities on the radar screen:



(image via nestekkik)

10-- The Catwoman. Why would you fuck up your grill like this, girlfriend? One of he Corsair's cousins from Uganda came to visit this summer and mentioned -- sotto voce -- in a deep Kinyarwandan accent, "The Catwoman." It was then and there we realized that this woman's cosmetic tragedies are international. If a man tells you to make yourself up to look like a feline, the proper response would be to tell him to not let the door hit him where the good Lord done split him.



(image via usatoday)

9-Fred Durst. Rode crappy rap-metal band to an executive position at a label ... Received a blowjob from industry chickenhead "Superhead," then dismissively brushed her off ... Threatened to sue Gawker over sex tape publication, only to send Nick Denton freshly cut flowers from his garden .. The sex tapes show that Durst is hung like a garden variety mushroom.



8-Pam Anderson. Beach blanket bimbo. California has a way of feeding off one's innocence and leaving its residents with dead, Sam Donaldsonish shark eyes (Averted Gaze). Case in point: Pammie, who once had big old saucers as peepers, and now rocks the urban reptile gaze. The Hep C and the sex tape and the multiple marriages in primary-colored bikini's don't help Pam's cause. Her aura is FILTHY (plus, teeming with silicon), and -- quite frankly -- she creeps us out.



7- Jesse Jackson. You are somebody, Jesse: Somebody increasingly fucking creepy *The Corsair shudders*. While we cannot forget Jesse's contribution to the Civil Rights movement, his momunemtal '84 Presidential run (and, his sleeper victory in the Michigan contest that year) his tenaciuous grip onto the scraps of power left unto him long after his relevance -- and expiration date -- has passed creeps us the fuck out.

So does the iligitimate child.

Day-um Jesse, could't you navigate a condom? You know, those inexpensive prophelactics that you lectured urban youths about for beaucoup fucking decades (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment). Counseling Chelsea Clinton during Monica-Gate in the middle of siring a half-brother -- ill-timed -- for the Congressman of Illinois' fifth District wasn't the best move either (Averted Gaze). Pools power with the buffonish Al Sharpton; has a tv show on the "Word" evangelical network along with such hucksters as "Creflo Dollar (Averted Gaze)."



5-Eva LongWhoria. If Eva Longoria applied as much effort to her acting career as she did to pimping out her image, and getting a racy quote in the tabs, she'd be well on her way to giving Cate Blanchette a run for her money. Instead, she is the media whore, par excellence. Have you ever seen Eva Longoria on the red carpet trying to calculate the raciest thing to say apropos of nothing? Her big old dead shark eyes gleam darkly. She feigns listening to the interviewers question as she crafts something sure to make the tabs. It goes a little something like this:

Interviewer: Hi, Eva! What are you wearing?

Eva: Dior (raptors gaze). But when I go home tonight, alone, I'll wear nothing but a smile.

Something creepy in that vain. And -- mirabile dictue -- it gets the cover of Star Magazine.



4-The Red Hott Creepy Peppers. Anthony Kiedis' long, horsey creepy face and his "Let-Me-Ravage-Your-Teenage-Daughter" smile -- a skeletal rictor -- grants him a space on the Hall of Fame of The Super-Creepy. But his skanky bandmate (very low on the food chain), the appropriately named "Flea," deserves some credit as well. This band likes to: Fuck underage groupies -- as chronicled in his chem-oir Scar Tissue, pose with socks over their cocks (niice), and frequent Amsterdam brothels (not necessarily in that odor).



(image via airamerica)

3-Neil Strauss. Former New York Times music scribbler turned Pick Up artist can teach you, dear reader, how to use mild forms of hypnotism to have sex with psychologically vulnerable women. He studied these techniques under some of the acknowledged masters of Creepy.

Ghosted pornstar Jenna Jameson's biography, managing to insert -- pun entirely intended -- the name of Dostoyevsky.

Coming to a theater near you.



Bottoms up!

2- Superhead. Fucked up doesn't begin to explain why a single mother with a son rapidly approaching school-age would proudly wear the sobriquet -- for all the world to sneer at -- of "Superhead (Averted Gaze)." Is something a music industry joke -- or, in the case of Usher's people -- a music industry gift (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment).



(image via hdbeat)

1- Marc Cuban. Creepiest. Eyes. Ever. We have a recurring nightmare where we are in the middle of some creepy clock on the creepy side of town on an empty street at creepy o'clock. Then we hear a creepy giggle. It's Marc Cuban, creepy billionaire, with the creepy ghostface killing eyes. And he's booking it in our direction, crouched in a runner sprint. He's speaking a Dead Language -- Aksumite? -- really fast.

Obviously, we haul ass in the opposite direction. Shnell. He's still giggling. And gaining speed (holy fuck!).

At this point we wake up in a cold sweat, glad that our imagination is fertile and that Cuban -- creepy-fuck that he is -- is far, far away.

Kudos to CBS



(image via zap2it)

Has someone at Black Rock been reading this blog? According to Bill Maher, CBS offered him a spot last week -- the week we said aloud what a good choice to replace cranky, Methuselan Andy Rooney slot on "60 Minutes" -- on the "Free Speech" segment on Katie Courik's broadcast.

Unfortunately, Maher decided to speak on the radioactive topic of religion (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment). The idea, as you can imagine (potential loss of sponsors at a precarious beginning of the Couric project), was nixed. Leave it to Bill Maher to talk himself out of a shot at ending his Network television exile. Perhaps Bill, like Howard Stern, is better suited to the more libertarian-minded HBO and satellite radio atmosphere.

Still, while we would have loved to see Maher on the Eveving News riffing profanely on the subject of organized religion, we realize that that is goddamn fucking impossible. At least CBS made a solid, and bold offer to give our Modern Day Mark twain another chance at their millions of viewers.

Cheers.

Corsair Classic: Golddigger

Not the cash, oh yes the whole damn stash:

Because We Love Bronques ...



In the beginning it was only his hair that was fake straight.



They're both secretly thinking about Jared Leto.




Immediately after, both wiped their mouths a la Lisa Presley-Jacko and had a simultaneous "yuck"-gasm.

Cathy Horyn: Banned



(image via marymount)

Rare is the time when one so brimming with chic as Carolina Herrera missteps, but misstep she did in banning the Old Grey Lady's respected fashion journo Cathy Horyn. Says Liz Smith:

"This week all the fashionistas can talk about is the beautiful Carolina Herrera's banning Times critic Cathy Horyn from her catwalk. Six months ago Cathy described Carolina's collection as 'remarkably irrelevant.' The svelte and chic Ms. Herrera responded, 'Insult me, and worse, insult the people who work with me, and you are out!'"

Clive Davis Saves The Day



(image via gawker)

Where would the music industry be without Clive Davis, possibly the coolest white dude alive? Akthough the music industry itself is in ther process of a slow, protracted decomposition, Clive -- cool as a cucumber -- is still churning out the hits and salvaging the unsalvageable. From those intrepid Page Sixxies:

"WHITNEY Houston has finally left her husband of 14 years, Bobby Brown. Houston filed for separation from Brown - who is rumored to be having an affair with Karrine 'Superhead' Steffans - last Friday, according to 'Access Hollywood.' In other good news, Houston's last trip to rehab seems to have worked and the diva is actually staying straight. Yesterday, Houston met with Sony BMG head Clive Davis, who is orchestrating her comeback, at the Beverly Hills Hotel and 'sipped tea,' said our spies, who added: 'She looked great!' Houston then accompanied Davis to the Beverly Hilton for the 15th-annual Ella Awards."

Futures in crack paraphernalia were down sharply on the news of the Whitney-Brown breakup.

Corsair Classic

Way ahead of it's time as a police procedural with darkness:

Picture Pages, Picture Pages ...



Vanity Fair's editor Graydon Carter suppresses a particularly disturbing Canadian peasant childhood flashback as a sympathetic Elizabeth Saltzman looks on, serenely. (image via nysocialdiary)



And the Oscar goes to ... Bronques. (image via thecobrasnake)

50 Cent Interrupts Carolina Herrera



(image via taiohi)


Our favorite rapper who has a tour rider that demands Cold Slaw (sp) is at it again, bringing his own special brand of ultraviolence to the tents. There hasn't been this much of hullabaloo since Wintour -- the one who rocked Bob Marley's world -- demanded that they remove the popcorn machines because it reminded her of her natural instincts to actually eat. From NYSocialDiary's guest editor Alexandra Wolfe:

"'Did you hear how 50 Cent almost knocked someone out with a fold-up chair on Friday?' my friend�s voice shrieked from my cell phone as I got out of a taxi in front of the big white Fashion Week tents in Bryant Park.



�'What? Why?' I asked, straining to hear her as I walked through the crowd of clackedy-clack fashion editors and socialites on their way into the Carolina Herrera show Monday morning at 10am.

�'He was at the Baby Phat show and some guy was sitting in the seat next to him, and 50 Cent wanted one of his friends to sit there. The guy wouldn�t move so 50 Cent picked up his chair and was about to hit him with it when security came!'

�'This was during a fashion show?' I asked, incredulous.

�'Yup,' she confirmed. 'And because of that the show had to start an hour and 15 minutes late.'"

Ashton Kutcher on Marc Jacobs



The Corsair managed to obtain -- wink, wink -- Ashton Kutcher's notes from the Marc Jacobs Show that he allegedly will publish in Harper's Bazaar. Read with an open mind:

"Fashionweek Diary, Take 1:

"Demi -- I call her Dummy -- hooked up this gig where I write for Glenda Bailey's Harper's Bazaar, which she says is like the hungry man's Vogue, so that I can class my image up a bit. And shit. For realsies. So I told Dummy, Hey -- Dummy: I'm a classy dude. Then I scratched my crotch. She told me of course I was, sweetie, then fed me some yummy candy bars and rubbed my tummy, convincing me that this would be a growing experience. Whatevs.

So here I am at Marc Jacobs. Imagine me, a country boy, sitting with all these sophisticated cats and GI Jane, watching fashion.

"Dummy keeps whispering in my ear things like 'write Floral,' or, 'use Elegant,' as the models keep walking by. They're totally Hott. Dummy just pinched me and told me to pay attention. My attention span is really short, so writing and listening and looking is kinda complex. That, and I can't spell. But that's okay, Dummy says, she'll do the "heavy lifting" for me, just like Cameron does for Justin, all I have to do is jot down some impressions and she'll form them into complete thoughts, because Mommy, I mean Dummy, says all I really need to do is look good and stay on the A-List, she'll take care of the rest.

"I keep thinking that, like, it would make such a great Punk'd to have the stage just fall apart so that the models fall through. Not that, like, I'd want anyone hurt, it would just make for great tv. If they cried that would be a plus. Then I could come out and be all like 'Yo, you got Punk'd, Supermodel!!!' And then I could hug them up and totally feel them up -- I'd be all up in that bitch -- but Dummy wouldn't know because it was, like, part of my job and shit.

"Dummy keeps whispering things like, 'pay attention,' and 'does baby need a burping.' She's all considerate and shit, not like Brittany Murphy, who, like, was a fucking psychopath.

"Anyhoo: Floral, Elegant. Dummy can fill in the rest. I'm checking out all the sweet ass.

"Hope the Olsen Twins are at the After Party.

"Later."

Dear Lindsay Lohan: Please Wear Underwear



(image via perezhilton)

Dear Lindsay Lohan: You're wonderful supporting role in Altman's Prairie Home Companion and, no doubt, your much-anticipated role in "Bobby" has initiated talk among those that matter that you might actually have a wonderful career ahead of you.

But somewhere on the road to Oscar something went terribly awry. That, my dear, would be your bald, fuzzless coochie.

Wholly inapprpriate, Linds. Read our lips: we don't want to see yours. Perhaps you felt the need to prove that you do not indeed have a "fire-crotch." Well, that point has been made amply.

Now. Could you please desist? Please put on some undergarments. Put some curtains on your beef curtains.

Charmed, I'm Sure,
The Corsair

New posts daily here.

And Now a Word From Nigel Tufnel

Picture Pages, Picture Pages ...



Jennifer Garner brazenly whores herself for the greater glory of Starbucks. (image via aol)



Demi Moore spells the really, really hard words while newly minted Haper's Bazaar reporter and pseudo-actor Ashton Kutcher does the best he can with his limited faculties. (image via aol)

Kirsten Dunst: "Jake Was the Love of My Life"



She's not so bad that Kirsten Dunst, or, as our gregarious blog pal Perez Hilton calls her Kirsten Drunkst. From the extremely downmarket Newsoftheworld:

"Kirsten Dunst bent over Brokebackwards trying to spice up her love life with Hollywood actor Jake Gyllenhaal.

"'The sexy Spiderman star romped all over the place with her Brokeback Mountain man � but now she sadly admits it couldn't save their three-year relationship.

"Kirsten, who plays the title role in new blockbuster Marie Antoinette, said: 'Jake and I couldn't last. He's a stay-at-home boy and I'm an out-on-the-town girl.

"'We tried to spice things up � we had sex in cars, in the bathroom and even by the sea. The only place we didn't have the guts to try was in a walkway in a hotel because we thought we might get kicked out if we were caught.

"'I'm so young, he's so young and I just keep thinking now I need to be on my own.'

"But Kirsten opened her heart to talk of her secret sadness at the break-up and her hopes for the future.

"'Jake was the love of my life,' she said. 'He was, is and always will be.'"

More (Newsoftheworld)

Why Can't Bill Maher Replace Andy Rooney?



(image via jacneed)

We rather like the anemic-looking Bill Maher, despite -- or perhgaps in spite of -- the frequent visits to the Playboy Mansion to consort with bunnies of ill-repute, the masturbation into a pillow before his shows (as he was rumored to do in his ABC "Politically Correct" days"), his well-known penchant for "dark meat," and the messy social life (Averted Gaze). Perhaps because of this, Bill Maher's sense of humor is merciless; we need a merciless comedian in America's Hour of Empire. He is our Court Fool, our Mark Twain, Jon Stewart without the looks or charm, but with a double doese of righteous anger (The Corsair sparks up a Macanudo).

The awesome actress Ann Magnuson on Papermag.com leads us to a juicy Maher Op-Ed:

"Even at the time I thought Grayden Carter's quote about 9/11 signalling 'the end of irony' was absurd. Bill Maher tackles the subject with his usual wit and alacrity in an op-ed piece that appeared in Sunday's LA Times ...

"...I always felt that in the months after 9/11, while "Politically Incorrect" was still on the air but struggling for sponsors and referred to, not inaccurately, as "Dead Show Walking," we did some of our best work. The country had decided it was going to try to be a little bit serious for a while, and that liberated us to book guests with more gravitas and less Pauly Shore. In addition, I found it liberating to go through the fire of being fired and then realize afterward that there was a whole half a country out there that did not think truth was like wine: It does not get better with age. "Don Corleone is a man who insists on hearing bad news immediately," Tom Hagen says in 'The Godfather.' I agree.

"A couple of years ago, a congressman named Bachus from East Jesus, Ala., tried to get some traction nationally by demanding that HBO, the network I'm with now, fire me for saying of the U.S. military's recruitment problems that "we've picked all the low-lying Lynndie England fruit."

"But by 2004, that dog wasn't hunting even a little. Even my detractors knew that I was just keeping it real and not attacking our troops. And it helped that, a few weeks later, Gen. Barry McCaffrey, that Patton of the Gulf War and former drug czar, said basically the same thing: "We're reaching the bottom of the barrel."

"Which just goes to show you: Where do left and right meet? At the truth."

Bill Maher stunned me last week when he got the astonishingly ambitious Bibi Netanyahu, essentially Israel's Prime Minister elect, on his show. That's juice. He turned getting fired from ABC -- which would essentially be the end of most comedians careers -- into one of the most amazing and libertarian triumphs of the spirit in the history of showbiz. I truly wish Maher would replace Andy Rooney -- and not Jon Stewart -- on CBS's 60 Minutes when the time comes.

Tara Subkoff: Still Watching Channel Zero



"I don't think I can handle/
She goes channel to channel/Cold lookin' for that hero/
She watch channel zero"
Public Enemy, She Watch Channel Zero


Tara Subkoff, what can we -- sigh -- say about Tara Subkoff? She was a promising player on the New York scene once upon a time. She married well, yes she did; yes she did. (Crickets) She did the costuming for Life Aquatic. She is the bantamweight behind Imitation of Christ (Averted Gaze).

Another year, another pan of Tara's ultra-pretentious Imitation of Christ label at the tents. Plus ca change; plus la meme chose.

Danica Lo of the NYPost busts a cap in Tara Subkoff's detumescent ass:

"THE jury's still out on the best collection of Fashion Week. But for sheer spectacle, we have a winner - Sunday's Imitation of Christ show. Tara Subkoff's takes-itself-very-seriously label either makes you want to immediately to blow a month's rent on one of her looks, or gouge your eyeballs out with the heels of your stilettos.
This season Subkoff bought hard into the '90s trend. She went concept all the way, holding her show in a wayward abandoned warehouse (wait for it) under a bridge, in the middle of nowhere west Chelsea. You half expected spectators to break out in songs from 'Rent.'

"Still, Scarlett Johansson turned up to see the new 'collection' - a very loosely defined word for Subkoff. Any sense of cohesiveness seemed lost somewhere between her extensive run-of-show notes and the catwalk.

"Instead, let's just call this a 'bunch of clothes' (culled from the rails at the Salvation Army like so many designers do these days) that were hurled down the runway on the backs of some East Village types - friends of Subkoff who may or may not have had previous 'modeling' experience."

Oh, sweet Jesus no, No,

Well, yes. (NYPost)

Camilla al-Fayed Loves Phillip Lim



(image via hellomagazine)

Fashionweek means never having to say you're sorry. Seriously though, as the fashionista's who, in essence, believe the Toronto film festival to be for amateurs invade New York, this item caught our fancy, namely because it involves the comely Camilla al-Fayed, the future mother of the Corsair's children. According to Fashionweekdaily:

"Camilla Al Fayed loves Phillip Lim�s work so much she missed watching the final moments of the U.S. Open Federer vs. Roddick match in order to make it on time to the show. 'I want to see more of him; I want to bring him to London and Harrods,' she said, clad in her version of a tennis outfit: Stella McCartney top, Vivienne Westwood bottom, and Louboutin heels. She first became familiar with Lim�s work via Net-A-Porter, or what she calls, 'her shopping destination.'"

We endeavor mightily in the near future with all our worldly strength to change Camilla from a Vivienne Westwood bottom to -- The Corsair sips a glass of Chateau du Brel, The "Black Wine" of Cahors -- a Corsair bottom (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment).

Basta!

99 Out of 100 Tyrants Prefer Bill Richardson



(image via freenewmexican)

If Tyrants and dictators had a club, Bill Richardson would be cooling out not in the VIP room. That would be for lightweights like Robert Mugabe. No, The Governor of New Mexico would be behind the roped off table at the back of the VIP section. V-VIP; that's just how he rolls. Endangered species would be opn the menu, like Cheetah steaks with Chateau Margeau, or something like that.

For some reason the amiable former UN Ambassador is beloved by some of the nastiest characters on this planet. His hyper-thymotic, super-aggressive ambition frightens even them. African strongmen, Korean fascists -- they all love him; he's one of their own.

Now, National Geographic Reporter Salopek was releaed with a little help from the Governor of New Mexico. Says FreeNewMexico:

"'The president of Sudan agreed Friday to release an American journalist and two Chadians who were jailed on charges of espionage after meeting with New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson.

"Chicago Tribune journalist Paul Salopek, who lives in Columbus, N.M., and his driver and interpreter will be released today.

"Richardson told CNN by telephone that he is to pick up Salopek today and 'bring him home.'"

Or, to paraphrase Ray Liotta's Henry Hill in Goodfellas, "One day the kids from the neighborhood carried my mother's groceries all the way home. You know why? It was outta respect."

Picture Pages, Picture Pages ...



Lil Kim's cosmetically ravaged face suggests not so much plastic surgery so much as Plastique surgery. (image via thecobrasnake)



Now, if only Theodora Richards had an IV syringe full of smack sticking out of her forearem she'd be the splitting image of Daddy, pre-blood transfusion. (image via style)



Andre Leon Talley does his best impersonation of Lootin' Lenny from "Good Times." (image via style)

Flavio Briatone is an Ass



(image via grandprix)

Flavio Briatore, who has all but abandoned his only child with supermodel Heidi Klum, Leni, is being a dickhead yet again. Using a loophole he is avoiding the new luxury yacht taxes in Sardinia. According to Luxist:

"Where do would you go to fight a yacht tax? How about a nightclub called Billionaire. The club, owned by serial modelizer and Formula One manager Flavio Briatore, was the setting for a new debate in Sardinia. Briatore is protesting new taxes for the megarich yacht owners who flock to Sardinia's ports. New laws charge owners of megayachts for port usage, charge fees on larger private planes each time they land and levy large taxes on those with large second homes on the island."

While we do not necesarily disagress with the sentiment of these impromtu taxes used to cash in on Sardinia's hotness as a destination for the wealthy, there are other ways -- media and political ways -- for a billionaire to go on this. Then again, consider how he behaved with Klum and it seems he was just being a dickhead as usual.

Will Katzenberg Take Over Paramount?



(image via avashow)

Studio Mogul Peter "Uberguber" Guber, tanned and rested from his end-of-summer haitus in Hawaii, which he practically owns was back with his pal, the amiable Variety honcho Peter Bart to, among other things, speculate that Jeff "The Midget" Katzenberg might take over the prestigous Paramount studios from the increasingly radioactive Brad "Waddaya Mean You're Firing Tom Cruise, Sumner" Grey. Somewhere Michael Eisner is dying just a little bit.

In addition, James Carville --?! -- the Washingtonian mastermind of the successful '92 Clinton campaign made an appearance. He is, apparently, the Executive Producer of "All the Presidents Men," Sean Penn's latest Oscar vehicle, though he is the first to note, "I'm not even sure what an Executive Producer does."

Join the club, Playboy.

We'll go out on a limb, though, that it involves collecting a lusty paycheck and some glory while attaching your name to a project and, generally, being on-call for bedazzling snatches of advice on script and, by the by, casting suggestions. And as far as cast goes, Carville, a notorious womanizer pre-Mary "The Dark Lady" Matalin, noted that having a Hollywood connection brings out in DC a lot of friends who have daughter that "would be just right for a part. (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment)"

Good to know that Carville, who according to the semi-fictional "Primary Colors" by then New York Magazine political columnist Joe Klein, used to call his '92 political groupie conquests "muffins," is not getting into the casting couch business anytime soon if the conservative Matalin has anything to say about it.

Wild Horses Can't Be Tamed .. And Neither Can Pat Buchanan



(image via billmon)

After Patrick Buchanan's incendiary defense of accused Nazi John Demjanjuk and his consistent blasting of the AIRPC we're fairly sure that his name is officially off the short list for B'Nai Brith Man of the Year (Averted Gaze). But Buchanan is not wholly scurrilous. He is a nostalgic, righteous Archie Bunker type of Id-man. Pat Buchanan longs for the day when "the nigra" would unquestioniningly fetch him his tall Mint julep without sass and women only saught after positions as schoolteachers and governesses.

So we weren't surprised to find that Pat Buchanan's nostalgic paleoconservatism encompasses the horse, whose power embodies American industry and vitality. John Wayne would be proud.

Perhaps symbolic of the differences between Paris and DC, the Freanch -- and Belgians -- have been known, although rarely, to munch the horseflesh. You say tomato ... Steak and potatos Buchanan was, to be sure, horrified. So when last week Congress passes a meaningless piece of legislation designed to frustrate those Frenchies from stocking Whole Foods shelves with rib-eye steaks of Our Friend Flika, well, Buchanan had to speak up on the McLaughlin group:

John McLaughlin: Do you think eating the horse is like eating the bald eagle?

Pat Buchanan: Yes, and I don't think you do something like that unless you're starving to death.

... Abandoned on the prairie in a Heart od Darkness scenario as the Mohicans surround his carriage pounding their war drums. Pat Buchanan will of course not be breaking bread and "cheval" with Horse Muncherer Karl Lagerfeld anytime soon.

Corsair Classic

The Corsair goddam loves this song. The sonic equivalent of comfort food:

Wild at Heart

This whole world's wild at heart and weird on top:

Separated at Birth?



John Travolta in drag (image via dlisted via justjared)



Monica Lewinsky (image via softpedia)


Claim to Fame:
Travolta played Bill Clinton in Primary Colors
Lewinsky "played" Bill Clinton with a gap dress the primary color of which was blue.

We report, you decide ...

The Gang Of Three



(image via whitehouse.gov)

In the political vacuum of the lack of negotiations between the Democrats on the Senate Armed Services Committee and the Bush Administration on the treatment of emeny combattants in light of Hamden v. Rumsfeld -- which, astonishingly, weds American military conduct in times of war to the Geneva Accords, or, in fine, International Law -- comes what The Corsair likes to call: As Three, or, Senator Warner, Senator McCain, and Senator Lindsay Graham. All are Southern; all are Moderate; and, most importantly, all have smashing heads of Senator Hair (The Corsair sips a subtle Chateau Petrus 2002).

No three Senators of the Republic -- perhaps ever -- are more expert and articulate on the perilous series of issues issues pertaining to military law and coersion. Senator McCain, of course, of the famous McCain military clan, a former Naval Captain, and a victim of torture as a prisoner of war in North Vietnam for 5 1/2 years; Senator Graham, a military lawyer turned Senator; and, finally, Senator Warner of Virginia Hunt Country, a former Secretary of the Navy -- and, particularly pertaining to the subject of torture -- he was married to Elizabeth Taylor in those ... boozy, bloated years (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment).

The Gang of Fourteen -- those merry few, now whittled down by the irresistable gravitational pull of annual legislative elections, to Three (Lieberman and Chaffee in for the fights of their lives; the Senate as partisan as ever), bravely fights against the overpowering of Bill of Rights under Vice President Cheney's leviathanous "unitary Executive" theories of Government, no doubt gained from a lifetime of back-room Presidential appointments and a bare minimum of public service representing the Great State of motherfucking Wyoming (Averted Gaze).

Keep on rocking in the free world, Gang of Three.

The Freston Fiasco, Take 1



(image via gawker)

The scene of the crime. It's like a scene in a goddamn Otto Preminger flick. Black and white. A shriek. Sumner, Methuselan, looking more than a little rickety, holding the smoking gun. His smile is more a skeletal ricktor. Producers who will speak on the record, but ask not to be identified because they work frequently with Paramount. The beloved Tom Freston, bloodied. Les Moonves, enveloped in shadows, chiaroscuro: Only his Cheshire smile in evidence. Over in the corner, that's the previously inscrutable Brad Grey, scared fucking shitless.

Just what the fuck was Sumner Redstone thinking?

Everyone likes Tom Freston. Freston is like a Rorsach test. If you don't like Tom Freston, you're probably an asshole. As head of the newly minted Viacom spinoff for only eight months he should have been given a little bit of slack in turning things around.

So, of course, Viacom shares, which Sumner always trains his laserlike gaze on, are plummeting. Is Redstone exhibiting signs of senility?

And then there was Bill Carter's piece in The New York Times where Sumner was quoted as saying he was "practically crying"

Please. The Old buzzard wasn't crying. He's physically incapable. His tear ducts ceased functioning during The Enlightenment. If Sumner even tried to wax lachrymose, he would only emit ash.

MySpace has been the cause of many a break up -- for cheating, etc -- but now it has the singular achievement of breaking up one of the most potentially powerful media marriages. You see, Sumner never quite forgave Freston for losing out on Myspace to Newscorp. It rankled the grisly veteran. Redstone tried to forgive but he didn't have it in him.

Whatever the case, Tom Freston won't have to worry about finding a new job. Not that he needs much help landing with that $60 million Golden parachute.

Blacula: Dracula's Soul Brother



How cool is this trailer?

Anderson Cooper, Secret Agent Man



(image via sfu.edu)

Had we been casting for the newest James Bond we might have went with the diminutive but substantial Anderson Cooper, clearly the most interesting man in any room. And that's before RadarOnline revealed he interned at the CIA's Langley headquarters:

"Anderson Cooper has long traded on his biography, carving a niche for himself as the most human of news anchors. But there's one aspect of his past that the silver-haired CNN star has never made public: the months he spent training for a career with the Central Intelligence Agency.




Following his sophomore and junior years at Yale�a well-known recruiting ground for the CIA�Cooper spent his summers interning at the agency's monolithic headquarters in Langley, Virginia, in a program for students interested in intelligence work. His involvement with the agency ended there, and he chose not to pursue a job with the agency after graduation, according to a CNN spokeswoman, who confirms details of Cooper's CIA involvement to Radar.

"'Whatever summer jobs or internships our anchors had in college couldn't be less consequential,' she adds. He has kept the experience a secret, sources say, out of concern that, if widely known, it might compromise his ability to travel in foreign countries and even possibly put him at greater risk from terrorists.

"'He doesn't want to be any more of a target than he already is,' says one Anderson confidante. On the other hand, as Bob Woodruff and others have learned, American journalists are already prime targets in the world's conflict zones, and are typically accused of having CIA ties even where none exist. And by not disclosing his training before now, Cooper has arguably made it into a potential issue. 'It creates the appearance of something smelly there,' says a former CNN official who knows Cooper."

"Cooper, Anderson ... Cooper." We guestimate that this choice nugget -- relayed at a cocktail party, in a dry raconteur manner -- should increase the amount of sweet ass Cooper is getting by factor of, oh, say: 8.

Katie Scores



(image via drudgereport)

Though not the buxom "Naked News" that Master of the Universe Les Moonves threatened us with, Katie trounced the competition. Whether or not Katie can hold onto the commanding lead is up in the air, but she scored big time on her debut, or, as DrudgiePoo writes in all caps:

"9.1 RATING/17 SHARE FOR FIRST COURIC 'EVENING NEWS' IN OVERNIGHTS... CBS BROADCAST EASILY TOPS ABC 'WORLD NEWS' 5.7/11 AND NBC 'NIGHTLY' 5.3/10... MORE... COURIC SCORED 7.7/14 IN NYC; 5.8/11 L.A.; 4.9/11 CHICAGO [SECOND PLACE BEHIND ABC'S 8.8/19]; 9.8./16 IN PHILLY [SECOND PLACE BEHIND ABC'S 11.6/19]; 8.4/16 BOSTON; 4.8/13 SAN FRAN; 7.2/15 DALLAS... MORE..."

What do we make of this? Well, Couric got the equivalent of millions of dollars worth of free advertising in the media, so we can't make too much of it. Will -- as the Elder brother of the New York media establishment Kurt Andersen framed it -- authenticity win over gravitas.

Competence -- theme no doubt Hillary Clinton will be using in her 2008 Presidential campaign came up, from, of all places, Alessandra Stanley. Stanley, you'll remember, so brutally spanked Katie on her shapely kneecaps that for the rest of her tenure at Today, we thought she was paraplegic.

We'll keep you informed of developments in this story.

Picture Pages, Picture Pages ...



Harry Morton, owner of Pink Taco, grabbing a robust Lohanned-full of Pink Tata. (image via justjared)



Fabian Basabe and his --ahem -- wife, starring in the new vehicle, "Driving Miss Beardy"(image via NYsocialdiary)



Jared Leto, doing his part to further Guyliner Awareness Month. (image via NySocialDiary)

It's The Immigration, Stupid



(image via illegalaliens)

Pat Buchanan's apelike ascention to the zenith of the Amazon booklist -- gorrilla strength, natch -- and the possible loss of the House of Representatives of the Republican Party combine to form the political "Perfect Storm," or, as Pat might have it, with his beady eyes and redneck, the perfect "El Nino," ifyuhknowwhuddahmean (wink, wink, nod, nod). Oh, we know what he means.

Allow us to explain.

With the possibility -- according to the Cook Political Report and other political barometers -- of the loss of the House and a net gain of, oh, three or more Senate seats, Republicans are more desperate for some rays of sunshine than Owen Wilson after You, Me, and Dupree(Averted Gaze). Enter: The Invasion of the Brown people, or, as the late great Senator Pat Moynihan might have said "Boob-bait-for-Bubba." Never mind that Karl Rove, Leonine, in a twilight principled moment, allowed anti-nativist warnings to find their way in the State of the Union Address. Karl Roive's time has passed; the blush is off the Rove.

And so, sadly, we enter into baser times where the politicos appeal to our lower natures, our vestigial reptile brain stem. Thank you, Pat Buchanan, for introducing a discordant B-flat sharp into an almost harmonious American Symphony.

But Liza Had Herpes (Or, Liza with an "H")



(image via thisislondon)

The "revelation" that Liza Minelli caught a social disease -- didn't she spend the entire 70s in a Studio 54 coke haze, cocktail glass half-empty on the arm of Halston? -- is not much of a revelation. Considering she once fooled around with the smoulderingly filthy Geraldo Rivera (Averted Gaze; Eeew), she's lucky that's the only bug she caught in that freewheeling decade of smarm. Anyhoo (The Corsair sips Chateaux D'Yquem), according to ThisisLondon:

"Liza Minnelli had herpes and did not tell her husband about it until after they were married, it was claimed yesterday.

"The 60-year-old actress caught the sexually transmitted disease before meeting David Gest but kept it quiet at first, his lawyers alleged.

"It is the latest twist in their bitter divorce battle which has been raging since they split in July 2003.

"'David was devastated when he found this out a year after they had been together and six months after they were married,' an insider told the New York Post.

"The Hollywood producer never contracted the disease but his lawyers said they intend to make Minnelli's medical condition a major issue in the divorce.'"

Please. The medical condition that cooled Gest off of the marriage was not herpes, it is called vagina. Thank you.

Sharon Stone's Pinkish Mist



Know that Sharon Stone was considered such an ass that the crew on "Basic Instinct" took turns urinating in her bathwater for a scene. (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment) Know also that along with those yellowing waters, Sharon -- knows as vaguely batshit wacky -- traffics in .. pinkish mists. (Averted Gaze) Rupert Everett's way-too-candid memoir recaps how Sharon gets "possessed" in her roles. From the Daily Mail:

"'The first time was on the film Casino.' Now she was speaking so softly that I could hardly hear and had to crane forward.

"Always speak as quietly as possible. It draws the listener in and makes you look riveting as well as beautiful to the onlooking fans.

"Because, make no mistake: Sharon's career was a 24/7 affair. She didn't have to be on a sound stage to be filming. The world was her camera and her alarm clock was the clapperboard.

"It was legendary stuff and I adored it. 'Marty left the mad scene for last,' she continued. 'You remember, when my character has that total meltdown?' 'How could I forget? It was brilliant,' I replied, thinking back to Martin Scorsese's mobster film.

"'Well, she came inside me while I was in the trailer before the scene.' I giggled awkwardly. Sharon gave me a withering glare. 'I was, like, completely possessed. She was right there. I was her. Bobby could tell straightaway. He said to Marty, 'How much film do you have?' And Marty said, "We got a full mag!'

"'So just keep rolling,' Bobby told him. 'Trust me.' He knew. Bobby knew. 'And when Marty said 'Action', I blacked out. I have no recollection. She took over. At the end of the scene I was on the ground. I couldn't move and Marty said: 'Don't touch her. Leave her for a few minutes.'

"The thing was, if you watched Casino, Sharon's performance was possessed. It was on a level few actors achieve, so it was difficult to know what to think. Maybe she was invaded by the dead. Maybe Martin Scorsese and Robert De Niro believed it too.

"'There was a pinkish mist over me' Sharon continued."

No; no; no. Considering her "work" in suck smelly productions as (s)Catwoman, Slither, Beautiful Joe, and the thorougly disreputable Basic Instinct Two the mists were probably more STINKish than pinkish.

We will pass over in cacophanous silence the fact that Marty Scorcese calls his film the bellicose "mags."