Simple Simon

At last, someone has actually watched and paid attention to American Idol and noticed that Simon Cowell is its fatal flaw. Matt Feeney, in Slate, nails Cowell so precisely that, for one disorienting moment, I thought perhaps I'd written the review. Heartening.

One vivid sign of Cowell's floundering: His famous putdowns, which—despite the stagy malice of the intent behind them—are toothless, indeed witless, in their execution. They are, in fact, more consistently cringe-worthy than the singing that provokes them.
It's one thing, and a fairly benign thing at that, to venture a croaking imitation of Luther Vandross or Celine Dion. It's another thing to present yourself as the next great wit-misanthrope, a combination of Oscar Wilde and H.L. Mencken, when your verbal dexterity is more akin to that of Regis Philbin.

Pitt Stop

This is really cool. No, hot. Tomorrow, Thursday, from 7:30 am to 4:20 pm, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston are holding what they coyly call a moving sale but is essentially a major estate sale, at which Hollywood's most It couple will be selling virtually everything. It's free, and la.flavorpill.net has a partial inventory and directions to the event.

What makes this sale cool — aside from the chance to own the golden couple's red fur rug, collection of giant cookie jars crusted with THC crystals, an entire room of vintage pet rocks, the Honey Bear bong from True Romance, the cast from her broken ankle signed by the five other Friends, all her clothes from the series, and his 12 Monkeys wardrobe — is that it's being held at their soon-to-be-former residence. Follow the link to thewebsite, enter password "flavorpill," and get top-secret directions.

Two Other Countries Heard From

"I for one adore Sarah Jessica," wrote Randy in an email he dashed off before bolting out the door for important destinations. "For all the obvious reasons. . . and being gay has nothing to do with it. Well, okay, maybe a little. And, if the face and the brains aren't enough--those legs! She has the best legs in the business. Period."

And then, not long after, this electronic message from Fenton: "And I love Cojo. It takes balls to be that gay that early in the morning."

I stand by my "ewww."

Ewww

In the introduction to its annual "50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers" list, the editors of New York Press claim to have "cast a wide net and caught all manner of frauds, blowhards and bloodsuckers" and that "like the matter of the universe, loathsomeness can be neither created nor destroyed. It can only be more justly reshuffled. If you can't beat all the loathsomeness in the world, we figure, you might as well catalogue it." And catalogue it they did. From Bonnie Fuller, Moby, 50 Cent, and James Lipton to David Cross, Drew Barrymore, and Sophia Coppola. Oddly, no Steven Cojucaro. Oh, wait, he's one of our 50 most loathsome.

13
Sarah Jessica Parker
Actress

WHEN GIRLS THINK another girl is beautiful, but guys know she isn't, call it the Sarah Jessica Parker syndrome. Parker is a dual monument to millennial American female vanity and inanity. Spoiled and groomed to the point of psychosis, Sarah Jessica Parker is the final dead-end in the American feminine odyssey. She dresses like a drag queen, a slave and sometimes a clown. Her hair is bleached and processed literally to the breaking point: A hairdresser revealed that all of Parker's hair once broke off beneath her ears. The actress speaks like an 11-year-old girl and has less to say; lacking utterly in charm, she compensates with screamy clothes and pointy shoes. Now that she is at long last gone, we're hoping new icons will spring up to replace her, and we're hoping they'll be wearing no-name jeans, going light on the eyeliner and reading a newspaper every once in a while.

Tubular Notes

Seth Green, who is WOWing them in Japan and on DVD as the lovable drug-addled sidekick in Party Monster, is set to return as the voice of teenager Chris Griffin on the animated Family Guy sitcom. The hilarious Fox series was infamously canceled two years ago but now will have a second coming thanks to its rating success on the Cartoon Network and impressive sales on DVD. Production begins soon on new episodes, which will air on both the Cartoon Network and Fox. Green is also developing his own animated series for the Cartoon Network, a stop-action sitcom in which superhero action figures struggle to co-exist in a situation satirizing MTV's The Real World. Twenty episodes have been ordered and will begin airing in October on Adult Swim, the network's late-night animation block. Don't forget to wait an hour after eating before watching.

After 15 years, The Simpsons' creator, Matt Groening, will guest-star on his own show, playing himself. The show's writers wrote him in as a joke and he called their bluff. He'll be introduced as the creator of the animated sci-fi series, Futurama, which he is. He couldn't possibly play the creator of the The Simpsons, he says, because "the whole universe would implode." Discuss.     

In the non-animated world, Drea de Matteo, The Sopranos' stool-pigeon Adriana (a ray of light in a show that has become almost too ugly to watch in its penultimate season), has been cast to play sister Gina, a hairdresser and single mother of a 21-year-old son (!), to Matt LeBlanc's Joey Tribbiani, on his Friends spinoff, Joey. Filmjerk.com has more details, but those ubiquitous "TV insiders" say that NBC's Joey won't interfere with de Matteo's obligations to her HBO series' sixth and final season. Ba da fuckin' bing.
    

Cannes Do Three

In her final letter from Cannes, where she's attending the MIPTV conference, Sandra Piha, WOW's international sales director, admits that, yes, she's been in a constant state of party, but she's not the only one. "It seems everyone here shmoozes, boozes, and makes deals 24/7, all under the influence," she says. Hmm, boozing under the influence. Like DWI--drinking while intoxicated. The ultimate. But she was compos mentis when she had to be.

All right, yes, I have been enjoying the parties in Cannes and haven't talked about working my tail off during the daylight hours. Running around from meeting to meeting, I have noticed that reality TV and celebrity exploitation are themes running through the convention, along with the predictable dramatic programming being offered predominately from the States. Bollywood has a pretty big presence here as well (ask Jason Bryan to do his imitation of a Bollywood film soundtrack-- you'll wet your pants). Also, I've found some really juicy, yummy new stuff for WOW's Shock Video 2005!

When I walked into the Palais yesterday, there was a massive video screen showing Carmen Elektra's body and her voice was beaming through the hall. Funniest thing is she's created an aerobic striptease workout DVD and was supposed to join me and the producers of it (DNA Studio) for dinner last night. She didn't show, but I like being the center of attention at these gatherings anyway, tee hee. Today in the convention center, I noticed a gigantic poster of the WOW feature film, Party Monster! I was like hells ya! As our dear Thairin Smothers would say, "Rock on, tampon!" Of course, Thairin was also one of the producers extraordinaire on WOW's new series, Porno Valley, which has garnered a tremendous amount of interest at MIPTV due to it's huge success in the UK market. It's all about Porno Valley, baby--everyone wants a piece of it!

Alas, tomorrow I leave Cannes and I'm sad because I've met some amazing, energetic, and bright people that I can't wait to see again. In talking with buyers, sellers, and new mates, I've learned that our wonderful company is widely known and recognized around the globe for being a seriously kick-ass company with kick-ass programming. But we all knew that anyway. Bon nuit from Can Can Cannes. Sandy

An Outlet in Your Home

With Will & Grace, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Sex and the City, the Ellen DeGeneres Show, and other queer-friendly TV fare proving to be ratings gold, the idea for an all-gay cable channel makes fabulous sense. It was over a year ago that Viacom, parent to Showtime and MTV, mulled over the idea, then let it die. Now comes a report at gfn.com that Sumner Redstone, Viacom chairman and CEO, has directed Tom Freston, chief executive of MTV Networks, to come up with a plan for just such a network, tentatively named Outlet. And he told investors that if he'd acted on the idea two years ago, the network would be worth billions today. Billions.

In an internal memo to "Staff and Freelancers of Showtime and MTV Networks," Freston writes: "The name Outlet represents the overall mission of the new channel, which is to serve as the premiere media 'outlet' for entertainment and information to the more than 14 million gay and lesbian adults in the United States. Outlet will offer a variety of programming that represents the broad diversity of this community, including films, documentaries and popular series. Outlet will also feature original programming created especially for this channel across all programming genres."

Damita Jo on the Down Low

After extreme efforts to lure A-list celebs to Manhattan's piping hot Spice Market for the party to celebrate the release of Janet Jackson's latest album, the guest list was lukewarm at best. When the most luminous names at a party are Courtney Love and Al Sharpton, it's lucky if it makes the papers. Jackson herself was two hours late, as if even she didn't want to go. (Earlier in the day, guesting on the Letterman show and revealing more skin than she had at the Super Bowl, she'd been coquettishly closed-mouth about Nipplegate, saying repeatedly that she wanted to put the event behind her. Like that's gonna happen.) At Spice Market, she and boyfriend Jermaine Dupri (really, what are the odds that would be his name?), isolated themselves in the VIP room with Betsey Johnson, Patti LaBelle, Lennox Lewis, Jah Rule, L.A. Reid, Brian McKnight, and Ice-T. Although Virgin Records had promised publicists that their hottest clients would receive first-class plane tickets, comp accommodations, limousine service, a basket filled with "luxury goods," and a designer outfit if they attended, all we know is that guests who did show up received a swag bag that included double-sided sticky tape. Get it?

Cannes Do Two

I suppose that we are to suppose that Sandra Piha, our international sales director, is making a lot of business contacts over in France. But in her latest communiqué from the MIPTV conference in Cannes, on the glamorous French Riviera, it appears she's taking in more liquids than meetings, bless her. You be the judge.

I attended the first day of the conference yesterday and my feet need a day at the spa. Worse than that, my head and lungs are feeling the pain after a classic night of partying it up in Cannes. A couple of fun, young boys from UTA, the big talent agency in LA, were kind enough to invite me to a huge dinner of 20, where the wine never stopped flowing and I met up with a slew of interesting people in "the biz." Made a couple of new best friends and after a three-hour dinner, partied it up like a rock star shaking my boot-ay late into the morning at a fab club on rue D'Antibes. Eventually we ended up at the Hotel Martinez, which, of course, is the place for late night cocktails or, in this case, early morning cocktails. At this moment I'm in the process of downing my petit dejeuner with loads of coffee and a lovely chocolate croissant, and now must beautify and get prepped for another day of buying, selling, drinking, and smoking. Off to a yacht party tonight! Au revoir for now mes amis. Sandy

I'm Pretty, Mama

Most of the World of Wonder employees were pushed into this business by their mothers. (Hmm, you'd think one or two of those moms would stop by the office with a cake once in a while.) So the riveting six-part series, Showbiz Moms and Dads, beginning April 13 on Bravo, was an apt project for them to work on. The hourlong episodes show what optimism, hard work, and relentless determination can accomplish when parents act as their children's talent agents, managers, and wranglers. Especially during the tender young auditioning years when it's hard to tell who's crankier, parent or offspring. Supervising producer Todd Radnitz and his WOW crew followed five families all over everywhere as they entered beauty pageants, tried out for TV, and auditioned for movie roles. It was the kids who entered, tried out, and auditioned, that is, but the parents made it possible. And do the parents get any thanks? Do their kids seem grateful? Do they appreciate the hell, the extreme measures, the. . . the sacrifices made to arrange even the most minor go-see?

Although it doesn't premiere for a couple of weeks, the series is already controversial. Brian Lowry in a disgruntled review in Variety calls Showbiz Moms "the scariest, most gut-wrenching production anyone is apt to see," along the lines of "America's Creepiest Home Videos," inadvertently making it sound like must-see TV. The New York Post invoked the memory of JonBenet Ramsey, in part because the series follows Debbie Tye and her precocious four-year-old, Emily (above left), as they make the rounds of kiddie beauty pageants to the tune of $20,000 a year on entry fees, hair, makeup, accommodations, and clothes. Whether the parents are pushing the kids too far, following their own dreams rather than their child's, or just warping young values is up to the viewer. "You be the judge of that," says Radnitz, who comes to the defense of the moms and dads. "Some of the kids enjoy it and some don't. The parents think they're doing the right thing." And perhaps they're being unjustly persecuted. As exec producer Fenton Bailey told Variety, "Learning how to be famous today is more useful than learning Latin."

Recently Dead

Jan Berry, the tragically heroic half of the California surf-music duo, Jan and Dean, died Friday, at 62, after a lifetime of health problems following a catastrophic car crash in 1966. (USA Today)

Early 1964's Dead Man's Curve was a taut mini-symphony, a chilling, lavishly orchestrated, block-by-block account of a race down Sunset Boulevard through Beverly Hills and Bel Air that ends in a tragic crash. Two years later, in a much-belabored but inescapable stroke of irony, Berry crashed his Corvette into a parked truck on a Beverly Hills street. He suffered brain damage and partial paralysis, and the golden boy of California pop spent the rest of his life trying to regain normal speech and mobility.

And Speaking of Bush. . .

Here's why America, if not the world, hates him.

Cannes Do

Sandra Piha, our fab director of international sales (plus rights and clearances), flew to Cannes last week to attend the International Television Programme Market. Essentially, MIPTV is a jardin-variety convention with meetings, conferences, and cocktail parties, except it's in the Palais des Festivals on the glamorous Croisette in Cannes, for Christ's sake, where the smells of J. Lo and Liz Hurley still linger. Sandy is the perfect girl to send because not only is it her job, but she's also a fine-looking WOW representative (see flattering headshot at left) who's fucking brilliant at sales and knows how to enjoy a cocktail or two (as evidenced by her spectacular behavior at Boardner's on St. Patrick's Day). Here are some excerpts from her first Postcard from Cannes:

After 16 hours of flights, layovers, and a $100 taxi ride, I finally got into Cannes on Friday night. Around 10 pm, I found a café down the street from the hotel and, as I waited for a menu, was immediately served a glass of champagne and some munchies--woo hoo. That was followed by a shot of vodka (?!) and more munchies. Is this traditional French fare? I kept waiting for a menu but, instead, an entire bottle of red wine was placed on the table, with some crudités. I was getting drunk. Did they want to get me drunk? Finally, I was given a choice of chicken, steak, or bunny. I chose the chicken. All in all, great first night--and I got two big, wet kisses on each cheek goodbye from the restaurant owner. Ooh la la.

Saturday I had some meetings and in the evening I attended the opening cocktail party. Everyone was getting tipsy. I met up with Richard Propper, president of the International Documentary Association, who then invited me to dinner with him and his brother. Ate up a storm, drank up a storm, and stumbled home around 1am, which is considered absolutely early here. From what I have heard, I am supposed to drink until 4am, sleep 2 or 3 hours, and have the brain cells to formulate a sentence the next day. I shall do my best to fulfill this role.

It's hella expensive here as well. I paid 10 dollars for a pack of cigarettes and 5 dollars for an espresso! I do love that I can smoke absolutely anywhere I please and when I tell people that California is outlawing cigs on the beach they think it's a joke--but then they're not surprised. In talking with a Korean, a Hungarian, and a Brit, the consensus is that the world hates Bush. I said I don't hate it, I just prefer men, ha ha. Anyway, am having fun, working hard, and exhausted! Tally hoo for now. Sandy

But a Pregnant Nun Is Funny

The New York Daily News reports that a smug Bush unwittingly made light of the death of untold numbers of young soldiers when he joked about the search for WMDs in Iraq. "Those weapons of mass destruction have to be here somewhere," the POTUS joked this week at the annual dinner of Washington radio and TV correspondents. "Nope, no weapons over there. Maybe under here," said Bush as he narrated a slide show of him looking for WMDs behind furniture. Not funny. Or so funny that a lot of the correspondents forgot to laugh.

George Medina, 43, of Orange County, who lost a son in Iraq, heard about Bush's remarks when his outraged daughter, an Army sergeant, called him yesterday. "She was very upset," Medina said. "This is disgraceful. He doesn't think of all the families that are suffering. It's unbelievable, how this guy tries to run the country." Medina's 22-year-old son, Spec. Irving Medina, died Nov.14 in Baghdad when an explosive device struck his convoy.

Mystery Fruit

We at WOW thought we knew all the fruits in California, but this one has us, um, stumped. Thairin Smothers just brought it--fresh-picked from a tree in Randy Barbato's yard--into The WOW Report office for inspection. We shrugged. "Post it and see if anyone knows what it is," he said, holding the golf ball-size harvest between thumb and finger. So we photographed it and dissected it and here it is. Jason Bryan was brave enough to taste it. "I don't think it's ripe yet," he said. "It tastes like plant." So, Report readers, please ID. "And we want recipes," said Thairin. Ri-i-i-ight.

Jesus is God, Read the Warrant

Yet another "coincident" has occurred in a theater showing The Passion of the Christ. In this reality series where it seems God Himself is saying "You're fired" every week, a man in Houston, Texas, was so moved by the bloody flogging and flaying of Jesus that he confessed to the January murder of a woman he believed to be pregnant with his child. The coroner had already ruled the woman's death--by hanging--a suicide. It's believed the man felt that in order to be redeemed he would have to confess his sin and do his time. Which will probably be life, minus the two hours time served watching the movie.

Meet the Parent

John Baxter's biography of Robert DeNiro, DeNiro: A Biography (cute title), reveals that the Mean Streets star's father was v. v. gay. Bob Sr., an expressionist painter, often strayed from his partner, poet Robert Duncan, to get it on with the likes of Jackson Pollack and Tennessee Williams. So, um, how. . .? During the war, he experimented with straight sex and produced Bobby Jr. with painter Virginia Admiral. It happens. This new information technically allows for a Robert DeNiro festival on Showtime's new, not-yet-announced Movies for Guys Who Like Guys, a show hosted by E!'s Steve Kmetko, with a panel of four gay men commenting on films with gay themes or subtexts. It would be the "sister" show to the network's Queer As Folk and The L Word. But, hey, The Apesheet had the idea two years ago.

Recently Dead

Claus Josef Riedel, former president of the Tyrolean Alps-based company, Riedel Crystal, died last week at 79 of a heart attack, in Genoa. Known as "the professor of glass," Riedel spent his years in the company experimenting with the relationship between the shape of a wineglass--including its thickness, the shape of its bell, and the diameter of its rim--and the taste of the wine served from it. He was a glass act.

Recognizing that different parts of the tongue are sensitive to different taste sensations, the company's chardonnay and cabernet sauvignon glasses are said to direct the wine to the center of the tongue, thus developing a balance of fruit and acidity; the company's Riesling and pinot noir glasses highlight the wine's fruit and sweetness by moving it to the tip of the tongue. (LA Times)

And His Bird Can Sing

Apparently, whinin' Simon Cowell gave the finger to appallin' Paula Abdul on a recent ep of American Idol. I don't watch, but Reuters reports that it happened. She said something and he disapproved, then rested his face on his extended finger, in that way he has of resting his face on his fingers. Fox considered cutting it, then didn't, then wished it had. Simon denies everything.

Contrary to suggestions that he was directing an insult to fellow judge Paula Abdul by putting his middle finger to the side of his face during Tuesday's broadcast, Cowell denied flipping her the proverbial bird on prime-time TV. "I certainly would never make a gesture like that toward Paula or on national television," Cowell said. "Sometimes I lean on my index finger. Sometimes a different finger. Sometimes two at the same time, or, God help me, even the whole hand. I never even thought about it until now."

Fantasia Barrino (above) looks to be the winner, with votes totaling eight, from Gabriel Rotello, Moye Ishimoto, James St. James, Thairin Smothers, Jason Bryan, Randy Barbato, Nicole Flowers, and House of Clues casting director Brian Stinson.

Smooth crooner John Stevens came in second with three votes, from Todd Radnitz, Mary Ann Heagerty, and me (OK, I've seen it a couple of times).

And there was one vote each for George Huff (Lea Stenson), La Toya London (Robin Nelson), Jasmine Trias (Jim Galasso), Amy Adams (Eduardo Magana), Justin Guarini (James Conant), "Seacrest out" (Angela Rae Berg), and William Hung (Fenton Bailey).

Circuit Breaker

An Atlanta man has been charged with murder and practicing medicine without a license after one of the men he injected with industrial-grade silicone died. Stephen Oneal Thomas, who lives as a woman, had been holding pumping parties, during which he would inject silicone into the cheeks, lips, breasts, and buttocks of his transgendered guests so they would appear more feminine. Transfixing.

"I do know there are people who sort of make the circuit, pumping people with silicone," said Dallas Denny of Gender Education & Advocacy, a support group for transgendered people. Industrial-grade silicone is not sterile and can cause extensive tissue damage when absorbed into the bloodstream. Most of the material injected can be bought at Home Depot and is often mixed with paraffin, oil or even peanut butter. The injections are often given in a hotel room or in the back of a bar.

Nothing to Sneeze At

How do people think up great ideas that make them, like, really rich? Like, how did someone come up with the ingenious, time-saving concept of combining and packaging salt and pepper in the same container? Turns out it was so simple, you're going to hate yourself for not thinking of it first. Or not.

"I was eating eggs and hashbrowns one day," recalls James Banker. "I was shaking away at the pepper shaker and thought, 'This is dumb.'" So he expanded the holes on his pepper shaker, added salt and fell in love. "I was hooked," James says. "I thought . . .SPEPPER!!" James got on the phone with his older brother Nathan to tell him of his new big idea. Nathan said, "Well James, you are my brother and I love you. but I'm sure someone has thought of this already. . . ."

The Curse of The Passion

I've lost count. How many is this now? Ironic latest victim: Mel Gibson's slasher flick struck an unsuspecting Presbyterian pastor, giving him a violent heart attack as he sat at a screening with his wife, two children, and 270 members of his congregation, in Belo Horizonte, Brazil. He was 43. His wife noticed he was dead when he didn't respond when she spoke to him. He'd have fared better at a Courtney Love concert. (news24.com)

The pastor's friends said his death was a coincidence and had nothing to do with the violent scenes showing Jesus being savagely beaten by Roman legionnaires.

Waiting to Inhale

It's no longer legal to light up a cigarette on California beaches. No more lying back on the sand, blowing smoke rings around the sun, flicking ash into your navel. With anti-smoking activists storming the coastline like angry villagers with torches, smoking in a salty wet bikini is becoming a nostalgic experience. In September, Solana Beach was the first California town to outlaw beach smoking. Last week, San Clemente just said no to butts while swimming. And, if all goes according to plan, Santa Monica will stub out the activity on Tuesday, passing a law that would also criminalize smoking at bus stops and the Santa Monica Pier amusement park. San Diego and the Beaches of Hermosa, Manhattan, Huntington, and Newport are soon to follow. (Aw, no more Newports in Newport.) (csmonitor.com)

A routine beach cleanup produced 6,300 butts in one hour at the 1.5-mile-long Solana Beach. Months later, a more formal cleanup garnered 230 pounds of refuse, 60 percent of which consisted of wet cigarette butts. Cigarette butts do not biodegrade, and they contain 200 known poisons, 63 of which are shown to cause cancer. Wayne Eggleston, a city council member who opposes the ban, says more cigarette butts wash up from storm drains or are flicked by passing drivers than are left by smokers in the sand. And, he says, if officials wanted to get serious about litter, they would prohibit soda cans and candy wrappers, which he says present far more of a problem.

Say What?

On American television there are words you can't say. On UK telly there are words you can't show. Vee-TV, the program for the hearing-impaired on Britain's Channel 4, has dropped certain signs it considers non-PC, says the Chicago Sun-Times. Gone are the signs for "Jewish," in which a hand mimes a hooked nose; for "gay," a flick of a limp wrist; and "Chinese," in which the index fingertips pull the eyes into a slant. Another lost sign is the one for "Indian," a finger pointing to a spot in the middle of the forehead.

The sign for Jewish was connected to a stereotypical Jewish nose, but now it's a hand sign that mimics the shape of the menorah. The sign for Indian is now a mime of the triangular shape of the subcontinent; Chinese is the right hand traveling from the signer's heart across his chest horizontally, then down towards his hip, mimicking the tunic worn in China, and the sign for gay is an upright thumb on one hand in the palm of the other, wobbling from side to side.

That's Hot

Whitney has left the building. After only five days of "serious" rehab, "she felt the walls were closing in on her," a source told the NY Daily News. Houston rented space in Atlanta after exiting the facility and will attempt to dry out on her own. Shouldn't be a problem. Her spiritual adviser, Prince Asiel Ben Israel, blames her addiction to pesky prescription drugs ("one to stay up and one to lay down") on the demands made by the press and her public. Oh, so it's my fault.

Andy Roddick was spotted looking "miserable" at a sports party at Prive in New York a couple of nights ago, giving female admires the tennis elbow. He appeared "down and crabby" and "kept checking his phone for messages," the Daily News reports. Supposedly, he's upset over his split with Mandy Moore, but wasn't it he who dumped she because he was "sick of the Hollywood thing"?

US Weekly says that Britney Spears is holed up with Colin Farrell at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Or he with her. But "It's just a fling," a bigmouth close to Farrell tells the mag. "Colin is being careful not to let Britney get too attached to him." Always the gentleman.

Freak-spawners Joe and Katherine Jackson may be divorced. According to papers dug up by the CBS newzak show, Entertainment Tonight, Katherine filed for divorce in 1973 and 1982, and threw in a restraining order for good measure. Jackson reps deny everything. It really doesn't matter now anyway; the damage has already been done.

Conjoin in the Fun

Dr. Mercuruous Prospero and his gallery of twinned lovelies. This guy's fetish site reads like Vincent Price narrating a Roger Corman film. Damaging.

Hello there.  You may refer to me as Doctor Mercurious Prospero, a connosieur of a particular taste.  Siamese twins, conjoined twins -- call them what you will.  I think of the beauties you will find here as works to be perused and appreciated. Some of you at this point are no doubt wondering  how long I've had padded wallpaper.  Rest assured, I am as sane as these troubled times permit me to be.  True, my sexual tastes may be a bit bizarre -- not to mention extremely hard to find in real life -- but I do not believe it is any reason to cause alarm.

Homo on the Range

Lynne Cheney's paperback novel, Sisters, may have been too hot for the US when it was published in Canada back in 1981, but. . . no, it still is. The cover blurb hawks it as the story of a "strong and beautiful woman who broke all the rules of the American Frontier." And a book that broke all the rules for the wife of the future vice president of the United States, it would turn out. Recently rediscovered and excerpted on whitehouse.org, Sisters is a surprisingly frank, well-written saga (part Little Women, part Girls in Prison) of the American West, "where," the frontispiece informs, "women were forced to band together for the strength they needed and at times for the love they wanted." That's right: lesbianism! Hot, sweet, Vivid lesbianism. "I don't remember the plot," Cheney told a NY Times reporter when the subject of Sisters came up recently. The book is very down on hetero relationships and could be a minor embarrassment for Bush and the boys during the anti gay marriage movement.

The note was short. "Helen, my joy and my beloved," it began: Why do we stay? I have no reason beyond a few pupils who would miss me briefly, and your life would be infinitely better away from him. Let us go away together, away from the anger and imperatives of men. We shall find ourselves a secluded bower where they dare not venture. There will be only the two of us, and we shall linger through long afternoons of sweet retirement. In the evenings I shall read to you while you work your cross-stitch in the firelight. And then we shall go to bed, our bed, my dearest girl. . . .

He Believes He Can Sing

William Hung, the American Idol reject and inexplicable cult personality, has a record deal (the album drops April 6) and an EP currently available exclusively from iTunes Music Store. I know; I don't get it either. The EP, Inspiration, features five songs delivered in the signature inscrutable tone-deaf styling fans have come to love from Hung, including covers of "Rocket Man," "I Believe I Can Fly," and "She Bangs." Also available, the Simon Cowell Talking Bobblehead, which should be activated after each of Hung's selections--and then destroyed.

The Little Tramp

It was a smattering of B-listers that showed up for a "celebration of Janet Jackson's career achievements" at Morton's in LA over the weekend. Not exactly the heavies she wants and is willing to pay for at her upcoming CD release party in New York. In its coverage of the Morton's do, the LA Times boldfaced the likes of Soul Food's Rockmond Dunbar, The Help's Antonio Sabato Jr., the Hilton parents, Don Cornelius, Jermaine Jackson, and fledgling actress Kiera Chaplin (at left), whose theatrical-literary lineage is top shelf (if she says so herself), while her career's a bit speed rack.

I'm the granddaughter of Charlie Chaplin and the great-granddaughter of Eugene O'Neill. I have a T-shirt line and I also created a reality show, Scavenger. It's a scavenger hunt, very sexy and wild, boys against the girls.

Dudley Did Right

A Nevada rancher's refusal to tell a deputy sheriff his name led to a Supreme Court argument yesterday on whether people are legally obligated to identify themselves when the police have suspicion but lack probable cause necessary for an arrest. A Nevada state law requires people to identify themselves to the police if stopped under circumstances which reasonably indicate the person has committed, is committing, or is about to commit a crime. "A name itself is a neutral fact" that's neither incriminating nor an undue invasion of privacy, said Nevada's senior deputy attorney general. Four years ago, reports the New York Times, the rancher, Dudley Hibbel, was stopped on a country road by a deputy sheriff investigating a passing motorist's report that a man in the truck had been hitting a woman.

Mr. Hiibel's adult daughter was in the cab of the truck. The deputy asked Mr. Hiibel 11 times for identification. Mr. Hiibel, saying he had done nothing wrong, refused to give his name and challenged Deputy Dove to arrest him. Eventually, the deputy did arrest him. Mr. Hiibel was never charged with any criminal offense beyond his refusal to identify himself. Lawyers for Hiibel raised two constitutional challenges to the identification requirement: that it amounts to an illegal search under the Fourth Amendment and that it compels self-incrimination in violation of the Fifth Amendment. The Bush administration joined the state in defending the statute.

This Post's for Me

I'm putting this song, the Eagles of Death Metal's "I Only Want You," here so I'll always know where to find it. Foo Fighter Dave Grohl calls it "quite possibly the catchiest party record to hit the shelves in the last 20 years." Queen of the Stone Age Josh Homme is on drums. You can click on the song if you wanna get happy, I don't care; this post's for me.

You'd Think They'd Be Glad Damita

How many millions made such a fuss over her only a few months ago? And now Janet Jackson has to bribe celebrities to come to a party? Last week, Virgin Records sent out a memo to publicists, asking them--cajoling them, really--to try to get their A-list clients to attend a party for the release of Jackson's new album, Damita Jo, held at the fab Spice Market in Manhattan's luxurious meat-packing district. The v. v. hottest of the stars who attend have been promised first-class round-trip tickets, comp accommodations, limousine service to and from the event, a basket filled with "luxury goods," and a designer outfit. (No CD? Yeah, maybe that's not such a draw, considering the lukewarm response two of its singles have already received on the radio.) But don't swagger just yet, stars: According to the memo, all swag will be evaluated on a case-by-case basis, which means that some celebrities will not feel so hot. Regular schlubs will get only hors d'oeuvres and cocktails.

So who's this Damita Jo anyway? Fox News seems to think it's Ms. Jackson's middle name. Maybe. But I'm thinking the title could be some kind of homage to the late singer-actress Damita Jo DeBlanc, who had hits in 1960 and '61 with "I'll Save the Last Dance for You" and "I'll Be There." If she hadn't died in 1998, she'd probably go to Janet's party--with her plus-one lawyer in tow.

Sex Act of Congress

People are always being urged to write to their congressmen. Recently, they've written letters like this and this. But in Congress, they've come up with a Clean Airways Act and have written a bill to "amend section 1464 of title 18, United States Code, to provide for the punishment of certain profane broadcasts, and for other purposes." The bill defines as profane a slew of words you hear around the house, as well as their "verb, adjective, gerund, participle, and infinitive forms." Plus hyphenated compounds of same.

Eighteen months ago, on the Golden Globes telecast, U2 frontman Bono got away with saying "fucking brilliant" when accepting an award for his band because "fucking" didn't "describe sexual or excretory organs or activities." That was way too good to be true; since it's now one of the prohibited words used in its participial or adjectival form, FCC chief Michael Powell has reopened the case to reverse the decision to let it go. The New York Times' Frank Rich telephoned Bono in Dublin to get his response.

I never meant to be offensive. That language was genuine exuberance. It was a great moment for our band. If you're Irish, you love language, and if you do, you're going to fall on the occasional expletive; it's the percussive side of language. For me, it is preposterous to have good, conservative people whom I like and respect taking on an expletive while the right to pack heavy ammo goes by. It says something eloquent, if not pretty, about where we are.

Goth Is in the Details

It's been percolating in the youthful Japanese fashion subculture since 1999, but has come above ground only recently. The Elegant Gothic Lolita (EGL) is a rigid, rule-driven style in which young girls dress much like Victorian dolls. The typical Gothic Lolita ensemble (seen on the streets of Tokyo and Osaka) might be a frilly, knee-length black baby-doll skirt pouffed out with crinolines, a ruffled blouse, an apron, lace gloves, knee-high stockings, outsized platform Mary Janes, a tiny bonnet, a large handbag, and, usually, a parasol. It's a deathly, childlike look that's both festive and melancholic, innocent and sexual--and coming to your neighborhood! Morbid Outlook explains it all. Ominous.

Headdresses are a must. Mostly in black or black and white. A small rectangular headband headdress made of ruffles, ribbons, and lace. Can be worn with a bow under the chin. It is worn at the crown of the head, just above where bangs are. Can be used to hold hairpieces in. Sometimes the headpiece can extend over the forehead like a small bonnet, this happens most often in white. A small top hat worn askew on the head is sometimes seen.

Screen Gems

What's gonna be on TV in the next year or two? These sound like parodies, but they're "done deals" for real, according to scriptsales.com. They're probably a lot better when measured diagonally.

Title:  Desperate Housewives
Log Line: Centers on the sexy, insidious, and secretive lives of the inhabitants of a neighborhood cul-de-sac.
Writer: Marc Cherry and Chuck Pratt
Agent:  n/a
Buyer:  ABC
Price:  n/a
Genre:  Drama -Offbeat Comedy
Logged:  3/9/04
More:  Marc Cherry and Chuck Pratt will executive produce.

Title: The Core of Zachary Haimes
Log Line: A young scientist's brain tumor causes him to develop ESP.
Writer: Joel Fields
Agent: n/a
Buyer: Universal TV
Price:  n/a
Genre:  Sci-fi Fantasy
Logged: 3/9/04
More: Joel Fields and Bull's Eye Entertainment's Tom Nunan will executive produce.

Title:  Big Love
Log Line: Set in the world of bigamy.
Writer: Will Schaffer and Mark V. Olsen
Agent:  CAA (Schaffer)
Buyer:  HBO
Price:  n/a
Genre: Drama
Logged:  3/9/04
More: Will Schaffer, Mark V. Olsen and Playtone Productions' Tom Hanks & Gary Goetzman to executive produce.

Title:  MC Hammer Project
Log Line: After departing from the music business, a man focuses more on his new "family" lifestyle - not broke but not rich either. They have to adjust to not being in the same tax bracket and the kids have to adjust to having their father home every day.
Writer: Devon Shepard
Agent:  Lee Dinstman & Matt Ochacher of Agency for the Performing Arts and atty. Adam Caller
Buyer:  Warner Bros. TV
Price:   n/a
Genre:  Comedy
Logged:  3/9/04
More:  Devon Shepard to produce.

I Know He Is But What Is Jacko?

Pee-wee's Pornhouse? Say it isn't so, Pee. In November, 2001, police seized 30,000 images from Paul Reubens' computers and erotic photo collection, some of which featured minors with their genitals exposed. In a court hearing on Thursday, the former Mr. Herman acknowledged having 170 images of minors engaged in sex acts and on Friday pleaded guilty through his attorney to possession of obscene materials with the intent to distribute. A misdemeanor charge of child pornography was dropped. Reubens was put on three years probation and fined $100; he's required to enter a counseling program and is prohibited from unsupervised contact with minors. He also must register as a sex offender for the duration of his probation. It's v. sad. Remember when he saved those snakes from the burning pet shop? “Taking responsibility by calling a few images in this collection ’obscene’ and paying a $100 fine seemed like the sanest way to make it end,” Reubens said. (msnbc)

“That mischaracterizes the art collection seized,” Reubens’ lawyer, Blair Berk, said Friday. “If that means a black-and-white tintype from 1901 with a young man of indeterminate, 17- to 19-year-old age, laying on the beach after having gone skinny-dipping ... then they got it.”

Friday Fun Corner

If you haven't already downloaded Danger Mouse's The Grey Album, by all means do so here, thanks to the ballsy illegal-art.org. Invigorating.

DJ Danger Mouse remixed the vocals from Jay-Z's The Black Album and the Beatles' White Album and called his creation The Grey Album. He sent about 3,000 promo copies out, and was soon served with a cease-and-desist notice from EMI, who owns the rights to the White Album master. Danger Mouse complied with EMI's order, but Stay Free! (sponsors of the Illegal Art Exhibit) and other fans and activists continued distributing the record over the Internet. EMI sent legal threats to many of us as well but has since backed down, at least for the time being.

***

Trudy the bag lady in the Jane Wagner-Lily Tomlin prize-winning play, The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe, has trouble distinguishing between Campbell's Soup as soup and Campbell's Soup as art. Here, the Web site einsteinshrugged.co.uk challenges you to determine the difference between soup and puke. Mm, mm, good. Art.

***

In the Beatles' 1964 film, A Hard Day's Night, Paul McCartney's grandfather was a famously "clean old man." The actor who played him was anything but. Wilfred Brambell, the star of the popular British sitcom, Steptoe and Son (the blueprint for Sanford and Son), was a closeted homosexual, whose shenanigans put queens half his age to shame. But as a British homo (Bromo?), he was in distinguished company.

Brambell was gay and an alcoholic, notorious for his outrageous behaviour (on one infamous occasion he exposed himself to a woman at a party). He routinely told adoring fans who met him in the street to "fuck off." Brambell, fearful of fans' reactions in a less permissive time, worked hard to keep his sexuality a secret. Once or twice a year, he disappeared to Hong Kong to party with the colony's top English-language broadcaster, whom many believed was his lover. On one trip he brought a young Malayan man back with him to London to be his "valet." Flying back at the end of [a] tour, he urinated in the captain's cabin thinking it was the toilet, was restrained and thrown off the plane in Singapore.

All You Need Is Love

First, there's this photo going around of Courtney Love dispensing healthy nourishment at the Wendy's in New York's Union Square (proof that she's a fit mother who should have custody of her daughter). Then there's the New York Times account of Love's adventures following her appearance on the Letterman Show leading to her arrest on assault and reckless endangerment charges. Some excerpts:

Ms. Love and her band then went to Plaid, in the East Village, for an unadvertised performance to promote her new solo album. By the time the band arrived at the club, after midnight, news of Ms. Love's mood had preceded her. "You might not want to stand there," someone told Michael Musto, the gossip columnist for The Village Voice. "This is where she's coming through, and she's kind of on a tear tonight." When she arrived, Mr. Musto said, she asked where the stage was, even though it was clearly visible.

The police said that while performing at Plaid, she hit an audience member, identified by officials as Gregory Burgett, 23, of Kentucky, with a microphone stand. The owner of the nightclub said Mr. Burgett was cut on the brow and received three staples at Cabrini Medical Center.

Several people who were at the Plaid concert said they had noticed nothing amiss. "I was in the V.I.P. area, and Boy George was wearing a very big hat, and I couldn't see over him," one person said.

The spokeswoman for Plaid said that the stage was very small and that the mike stand fell, or was knocked over. "It wasn't like she hurled it at people." Mr. Musto, too, said he did not believe Ms. Love meant to hurt anyone. "It was just kind of a punky gesture."

IQ4U

What starts out really fun and ends up severely depressing? The home IQ test! Yay, let's take it.

Our Classic IQ Test is the most thorough and scientifically accurate IQ Test on the Web. Previously offered only to corporations, schools, and certified professionals — it's now available to you from Tickle. It's free, private and developed by PhDs. "This test was fun," says Charissa of Colorado Springs, CO. "I scored a 122 and found out my special skills are in art and language."

Holed Up At Late Show

This is a priceless, clip 'n' save recap of Courtney Love's visit to David Letterman's Late Show last night, brought to you by blogster The Grizz over at whatevs (dot org). Read it and seep.

soon after sitting down, love stood up and started singing "Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling," before standing up on Letterman's desk and performing a psuedo-Drew Barrymore strip tease for him. "Oh Drew, you had it," Love said as she climbed atop Dave's desk and proceeded to flash him. It should be noted that Letterman didn't look nearly as excited to see Love's tatts as he did Drew's. soon after, after screaming "DID I BREAST FEED? DID I BREAST FEED?" Love wondered aloud, "am i being weird like Jennifer Tilly?"

What Does R. Kelly Prefer?

In Manila, in the Philippines, a country believed to have the fourth highest number of child prostitutes in the world, a billboard went up that advertised Napoleon brandy with the slogan "Have you tasted a 15-year-old?" Naturally, women's groups and the archdiocese of Manila complained and the billboard was removed. But Distilieria Limtuaco, the company that makes the product, is suing Manila's advertising board, claiming the slogan was just a clever way to sell brandy that's aged in oak for 15 years. I guess "Have you tasted 15-year-old brandy?" was already taken.

“It was a correct ad,“ according to Karen De Asis. “It did not go against regimented rules. [However] in the outside world, an ad may be okay, but might not fit well with the beliefs of people.” Dr. De Asis, a professor at the De La Salle University Graduate School of Business, was referring to the advertising mess pouring into the Napoleon Brandy billboard advertisement containing the tagline “Nakatikim ka na ba ng kinse anyos?” (The Manila Times)

Green Day

Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day, if you remember. If you don't, there's probably a litany of things you needed to forget. Some of the WOWers here were jonesing all day to take advantage of the holiday that causes even the most dedicated AA sponsor to relapse. Because, even though they're highly professional by day, the staff of World of Wonder are fucking artists at night. So, as dusk began to fall across the Hollywood sign, they dashed the hundred yards to Boardner's, the little bar across the street. High jinks ensued. With the emphasis on "high."

I didn't go, but those who did (and were able to show up for work today) say, "Good times." Tom Wolf admits he "drank for seven hours straight," which is probably not a record for him. Jason Bryan's friend ("some random guy," says Tom) put the moves on Sandra Piha, who went "for one or two drinks" and stayed till one in the morning and isn't here today. Later, as luck (of the Irish?) would have it, the Wonder crew, including Devon Schneider, Robin Nelson, Ed Magana, and Terrance Austin, was just settling into the historic pub for their tenth round when four members of the LA Derby Dolls, a team of fierce rolling divas, joined them. Hadda "Bad" Day is the Doll they most remember. Perhaps because when one of the WOW girls, feeling appropriately green, was vomiting outside in the alley, Hadda was heard to declare, "I don't care if she is puking, I'll still make out with her." Good times.

As a child, Hadda was hospitalized for excessive optimism. Through many years of intense therapy and electroshock treatments, she was "cured," perhaps too well. Sunrises became sunsets, light became darkness, kittens became puppies and each new day was greeted with