Beautiful actress and cover model Amy Weber is famed for her toned physique shown on various magazine covers and such TV shows as ?CSI?, ?Seventh Heaven?, ?Melrose Place?, ?Silk Stalkings?, MTV?s ?Undressed?, ?Port Charles?, and ?The Tonight Show wit
If Helen was the face that launched a thousand ships, Vida Guerra surely has an ass that launched a thousand subscriptions. We aren?t sure how many FHM readers signed up after seeing lovely Vida?s assets in a 2002 photo with four other girls. She bec
Stacy Marie Fuson knows what it feels like to be a sex symbol as Miss February 1999 and as the current spokes model for St. Pauli Beer.
Any girl can wear a tiny outfit that shows off a fit body, but it takes supreme confidence to storm the modeling world like Blanche Spalding. Blanche is a half-Spanish beauty from Arizona whose 36D-24-34 figure fills a bikini or a pair of tight jeans
Imagine Breanne Ashley walking up to you in her skin-tight Hooter?s waitress uniform, her bountiful cleavage and amazing eyes staring back at you as she asks in her sweet Southern drawl, ?Is there anything I can get for you??
Readers weren?t fooling in April when they named Ariana Sieber as the month?s ?Is She Hot?? contest winner. Despite her shy nature and unavailability ? sorry guys, she?s a wife and mother ? readers fell in love with her Barbie Doll figure and beauti
Donna Feldman is one of those women who make men walk into columns as they gaze at her walking past. Embarrassing for sure, downright dangerous if your girlfriend or wife catches you staring at her.
Look! Up in the Sky! It?s a Bird! It?s a Plane! It?s? a Lingerie Model? Indeed. Model Jessica Byrd made quite an impression standing in the window of Rick Hughes? studio overlooking Woodruff Park in downtown Atlanta. A large crowd of mostly men assem
In May 2005, readers fell in love with Brandy Grace, a Korean-American originally from Indiana. She moved to Miami Beach in search of her modeling dream and eventually found her way to Orange County, Calif., the fabled land of perfect women.
With 90 minutes of performance time per New Day, and allowing for another 90 for wardrobe, hair and makeup, Celine Dion has 21 hours left to stare uneasily, Princess Padmé-style, at the vast Nevada desert through the wall-sized windows of her 179,000 square-foot Caesars suite. Sadly, it's plenty of time to ponder what might be missing from one's life. It would seem the long arm of the 'no child left behind' policy ends at the tray of dirty room service dishes lying outside her door—that is, until now. From E!Online:
""I'm approaching 40 years old, and I have to tend to that," the Grammy-winning singer told Tele 7 Jours. "This frozen embryo that is in New York is my child waiting to be brought to life."
The 37-year-old and her manager husband of nearly 11 years, Rene Angelil, welcomed their first child in 2001. Son Rene-Charles was born after a difficult year in which the singer's struggles to conceive made tabloid headlines.
At the time, Dion revealed that she had another embryo in storage at a New York clinic.
"So, I have a twin," she said, "a laboratory twin." While the two embryos are technically called twins, because they were "conceived at the same time," Dion said the children would not be identical.
"I do not know if it is good forever, but I think it lasts for a very long time," Dion explained at the time. "I will go get it, that's for sure.""
I'm not entirely sure if there is cause for concern when Dion addresses the subject of her already conceived child in terms that sooner evoke, say, condensed milk, but anyone who has seen her post-Katrina Larry King appearance knows that she tends to get a little slipshod in the word-choice department when the subject is particularly close to her heart ("LET DEM TOUCH DOSE TINGS!!!") Our every prayer and hope is with Celine, Rene and their little Dionsicle. May s/he thaw in time for Christmas.
Comedian Sarah Silverman, to whom every dweeby straight aspiring male stand-up has rubbed one out at least once, has made a career out of jokes involving testicle licking, incest and racial slurs...and you should hear her when she works blue (*rimshot*)! The current New Yorker devotes their minimum 19,000 words to the subject of all things Silverman, and, amazingly, almost no insights are offered, beyond the fact that Sarah is a cute Jewish chick with a mischievous potty mouth. As for accusations that some of her material is racist, the source of its humor is, beyond its shock value, her own imperceived racism. The result is that she is the butt of the joke, not the minority in question. I suppose the same argument could have been made for Dice Clay back in the day, but let's face it, who ever rubbed one out to that not funny asshole?
So with nothing controversial or interesting to really say about her, why, you may ask, am I writing this post?
Because we get to snoop around her apartment!
Silverman rents a small apartment near Miracle Mile in Los Angeles. The living-room walls are striated with yellow paint, and decorated idiosyncratically: an antiqued photograph of her grandmother, her nana, who died five years ago at the age of eighty-eight; a sombrero; some abstract studies painted by her sister Laura and rescued from the trash. There is a cobalt-blue velvet couch and a silvery-pink armchair; the coffee table is mint-green, glass-topped, chipped. She has a little oil painting of her boyfriend, Jimmy Kimmel, made by a security guard for the late-night talk show he hosts on ABC, and a painting of a male nude by Anna Nicole Smith. In her office, formerly a dining room, with a faux-Tiffany stained-glass light fixture, are stacks of papers covered in notes: “Sarah Silverman’s Tushy Party,” “stubbed my vagina.” Pictures of her cleaning lady’s baby granddaughter, and of herself running a red light, as documented by a traffic-surveillance camera, are tacked to a bulletin board.
My mom once asked me to send her a photo of myself in LA, and I sent her one of me running a red light in a rented convertible Mustang. I don't know if that puts my sensibilities on some kind of even comic plane with Ms. Silverman, but I will say that I too love Chinks.
Also of note, somewhat selfishly I should add, the article quotes this bit, which she delivered on Weekend Update during her brief SNL stint in the mid 90s (bolding, italics and underlining mine):
Well, Kevin, I guess the most important event of this past week was, of course, the wedding of my sister, Susan Silverman, to Yosef Abramowitz. It was a really neat wedding, too, you know, ’cause they took each other’s last names and hyphenated it. So now my sister’s name is Susan Silverman-Abramowitz. But they’re thinking of shortening it to just “Jews.”
Wait a second! That's fucking racist!
I've had some crappy T.A.'s in my time -- McGill U. Intro to Philosophy, Frito breath, graded everything B-, you know who you are -- but this is ridiculous. Madonna (or, after hearing her new single, should I say MadABBA?) gatecrashed a cinema class at Hunter College, who minutes before had viewed a screening of her new tour documentary, I'm Going to Tell You A Secret (I still think Tampax on the Dancefloor pops better.) In a completely unrelated turn of events, mtvU cameras were there to capture the entire thing for their series, Stand In, which you will never, ever see, because you are old and flabby and will die pretty soon you aren't in the network's target demo:
"Asked by a student what drove her to succeed, the 47-year-old pop star said, "It's one of those things you can't really answer. You're either hungry and determined to make it, or you're not. I know a lot of people who, when they got rejected, they accepted what people said about them. I never did that."
Madonna, who was raised a Roman Catholic, said she was led toward Jewish mysticism following a spiritual quest that began when she had children.
"Being a celebrity, you can get very caught up and seduced into believing and thinking that what you do is the most important thing in the world and get very attached to material things," she said. "I'm guilty of that and I'm still guilty of that, but hopefully I'm becoming less attached." "
Funny, Queen Esther, but being a nobody, I get very caught up and seduced by you putting on your silly little costumes, prancing around like a slut onstage and terrorizing fey backup dancers with threats of sticking poles up their asses. If that makes me guilty, then stick me on a burning cross and fuck me, guilty I do be!
NBC has purchased two pilots about the backstage shenanigans at a Saturday Night Live-type sketch comedy show, because God knows just one could never adequately relay how boring a green room full of not-funny people in celebrity lookalike makeup could be. First was a half-hour still-untitled comedy from Tina Fey, from the point of view of the show's female head writer (where does she come up with her cuh-razy ideas?!), the other, a bidding war and $21 million later, an hour-long drama from Aaron Sorkin called Studio 7 on the Sunset Strip
(gee, I wonder if there will be long tracking shots of people with accute verbal diarrhea speed-walking down hallways?) The New York Post smells a Clash of the Titans, with Lorne Michaels in the Harry Hamlin Perseus role, holding Tina Fey's severed snakehaired head in the face of Sorkin's monstrous, sea-dwelling Kraken (phew, that was one geeky-assed run-on metaphor):
There is a legitimate question about who had the idea first.
Sorkin mentioned a behind-the-scenes-at-"SNL" show during a 2003 interview on the "Charlie Rose" show.
"I hope it's going to be what 'Larry Sanders' did with . . . talk shows," he said then. "I would like to do that with late-night sketch comedy — with 'Saturday Night Live' in other words."
Also two years ago, Fey signed a new deal with "SNL" that included specifics about starring in a prime-time series for NBC.
Last week, Lorne Michaels, the head honcho at "SNL" and producer of the new Fey series, declined a request from The Post to talk about the Sorkin series — an indication that he was already upset about the competing series.
Meanwhile, Fey and her husband had their first baby last month — an arrival that may have played a role in the network's decision.
In an e-mail yesterday, an NBC spokesman said: "We're proceeding with the Tina Fey comedy and are excited about it." But he could not answer questions about whether the network intended to air two series based on "SNL."
Being the snoopy little shit I am, I hopped right onto Studio System to see what I could find out about the two series. The Sorkin show had some interesting development notes:
DEVELOPMENT: Originally in development for 2004-2005, project rolled over to 2006-2007 once NBC became attached after a bidding war.
NBC made a 13-episode commitment, including the pilot.
Deal terms between NBC and Warner Bros. TV include guaranteed production of the pilot; a spot on the 2006-2007 schedule between 9 pm and 11 pm Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday; and a four and a half-year commitment between network and studio instead of the usual seven.
Should NBC decide not to order the project to series, it would pay Warner Bros. TV a mid-seven figure penalty.
From the sounds of that deal, I think Michaels can once again kiss his primetime pet project goodbye, and bury the frisky little fighter in the backyard alongside The Tracy Morgan Show.
Gawker provides a sneak peek at New York magazine's next cover, which features a goy's eye view of Larry David's shiny, white yarmulke-stand. And in bold black letters, the head upon his head reads 'THE JEWISH BRAIN.' 
There are exactly three ways to get me to pay newsstand prices for a magazine:
As for the "controversial new study" referred to in the deck, I can't comment as I have yet to lay eyes on it despite an exhaustive (read: Googled "smart+jew" once) investigation. But it doesn't take a Jewnius to notice a recurring pattern throughout history:
Take from that what you will. I got a full tank of gas in my sinmobile and a year til the next atonement fill up. See ya, suckas!
Towleroad offers a brilliantly grim morality play about the combined destructive qualities of powdered donuts and birthdays in this side-by-side of Boy George arriving at Heathrow, with 16 years elapsing between the two photos. Two days before the picture on the right was snapped, he was arraigned on drug charges after NYPD cops answered a call he placed to report a burglary and found 13 separate 8-ball bags of blow by his computer.
Question: I know the Leigh Bowery Broadway musical thing was a bust, but is that Divine biopic still kicking around? I have some casting ideas.
It's early, I'm half asleep, this could totally just be the tail end of that recurring dream where I seduce the little Mexican fry cook at Pollo a la Brassa, but I THOUGHT what I just read on abcnew.com is that
"The soap opera "Days of Our Lives" will celebrate its 40th anniversary by airing the world premiere of the Rolling Stones video "Streets of Love."
"I can't imagine a more exciting way to celebrate the 40th landmark year of 'Days of Our Lives' than with the Rolling Stones," Sheraton Kalouria, senior vice president, NBC Daytime Programs, said in a statement.
The "Streets of Love" video will air Tuesday. "Days of Our Lives" will use the song as a soundtrack to some scenes for the next four weeks.
"Days of Our Lives" premiered on Nov. 8, 1965.
"With 'Days of Our Lives' also celebrating its 40th anniversary … the show was the perfect vehicle for promoting the Rolling Stones and their latest single," said Randy Miller, Virgin Records' executive vice president, marketing."
Yes! How utterly logical! Like animal rights and Martha Stewart, it's one of those fits so natural, effortless and beschert you wonder why it took forty years to happen. And I understand batshit-crazy Days show runner James E. Reilly has plans to weave the moss-gathering foursome into his current plotline: Mick plays a woman masquerading as a man who also happens to be a serial killer, but just when you think all your favorite Stones members are dead, WHOOP! They're not! They were just living on a supernatural island where dolls come alive.
Except Keith. He's actually dead. But you knew that aready.
Apple just whipped it out, and it may look small, but trust me on this one. It's a grower:
"Apple Computer Inc. on Wednesday introduced a version of its market-leading iPod that also plays videos and unveiled a deal with Walt Disney Co. to sell television shows like "Desperate Housewives" after their first broadcast.
Steve Jobs said the ABC deal was a turning point in bringing television to the Web."I think this is really pretty big and I think it's just the beginning," Jobs said in an interview.[...]
The entire first season of "Desperate Housewives" and "Lost" will be available immediately. The television shows are only available in the United States and cost $1.99 per episode, without commercials."
Kevin Reilly reacted to the news by sitting under his desk in a fetal position, rocking back and forth and crying. He then looked up "Apple" in the White Pages and gave them a call. After 15 minutes begging them to syndicate Fear Factor on iTunes, the voice on the other end calmly explained they were in fact Apple One temp agency. Reilly paused, wiped the snot from his nose, and asked if he could perhaps come in for a typing test.
It's Hillarymania all over again!(Assuming there ever was anything approaching a 'mania' related to Hillary Clinton in the past.)
For someone who's not running for the White House, Hillary Clinton will certainly look like a presidential contender Thursday as she embarks on a swing through Hollywood.
Democrats in the entertainment industry, who started the year fatigued and frustrated following their unsuccessful effort to elect John Kerry, have been emboldened by recent political setbacks for President George W. Bush and other Republicans, and they're planning no fewer than three fund-raisers during the New York senator's West Coast trip.
Events include a $500-per-person reception at the home of Rob Reiner and a $1,000-per-person brunch hosted by film producers Bruce Cohen and Dan Jinks. Television producer Marta Kauffman will also welcome Clinton to her home for a fund-raiser.
Coin raised on this trip will go to Clinton's 2006 re-election campaign in New York. But speculation on a presidential bid is picking up momentum.
The invitation to the Reiner event made its way to my desk, so I thought I'd share (click to enlarge):
$500 bucks gets you a "Late Night dessert reception," which could be the priciest Jell-O® Pudding in a Cloud™ you ever enjoyed. I'm also confused about "Late Night." Seeing as it starts at nine, it doesn't seem really so late at night that it would require referring to it as such. The capitalization further confuses things: is it perhaps sanctioned by David Letterman's show? I'll leave you scratching your head to those Hillarimponderables, as I also point out the very, very fine print at the very, very bottom:
"Contributions to Friends of Hillary are not tax deductible for federal income tax Purposes."
Got that? And beneath, in even finer print:
"Anyone who refers to Mr. Reiner, either directly or indirectly, as 'Meathead' will be immediately asked to leave."
Did you happen to catch Nip/Tuck last night? My Zankou Chicken shawarma plate-inhaling routine was rudely interrupted by another one of their beyond-gross Daisy: Story of a Facelift hommages, only this time the cringe-o-factor was increased exponentially as the patient was awake and completely immobile for her procedure (the repairing of two massive self-induced facial gashes). Her inner monologue ran along the lines of: "STOP IT! STOP THAT! I'M AWAKE! THAT BURNS! STOP CUTTING INTO MY FACE! OWWW!!"
Beyond disturbing. And, unsurprisingly, based on a hot new malpractice movement! The phenomenon's becoming a phenomenon, and it's called Anesthesia Awareness. Web sites begging people to share their experiences are popping up, such as www.anesthesiaawareness.com. From their FAQ:
I'VE NEVER HEARD OF ANESTHESIA AWARENESS. WHY NOT? Anesthesia Awareness has been one of the best-kept secrets in anesthesia, and was, at one time, one of the least-known phenomena in the medical or legal fields in general. As a result of the work of this Campaign, much media attention has been given to this problem, and slowly, the public is learning to be "aware of awareness." Yet recent studies indicate awareness is reported 100 times per working day, and we know that under-reportage may be as much as a third. Pediatric cases may occur 4-6 times as often. Those figures work out to a minimum 28,000 - 46,000 times per year in the US alone! From my own experience and the feedback of over 2500 phone contacts with awareness victims, it seems the anesthesia community is in deep denial of the number of times awareness occurs, frequently denies patient reports of the problem, many times fails to make the incidents known to the surgeon or other hospital caretakers, and certainly grossly underestimates the depth and the duration of the devastating psychological aftereffects of anesthesia awareness -- most often Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
It's a massive cover-up! In fact, I think it happened to me once! I was at the dentist and the hygienist was scraping plaque off my teeth and I was aware of every single second of it. Horrifying.
Never missing a disturbing fad it can't co-opt into a thriller starring Mark Wahlberg, Hollywood has already more than taken notice of AA, with Nip/Tuck beating everyone to the unanesthetised punch. A feature titled Awake, with AA as its primary plot, is in production, starring Hayden Christiensen (the new Mark Wahlberg? Let's see: stiff acting, white, ripped, had sex with Calvin Klein to jumpstart career...yup) and Jessica "Bet My Last Five Bucks There's A Spongebath Scene" Alba.
Last night's Entertainment Tonight had a first-look at George Clooney's new feature, Syriana. I have no fucking clue what it's about and I could care less; much, much, much, much, MUCH much more importantly, LeCloons packed on what looks like a good fifty pounds and grew a full beard. It was like Anthony Michael Hall and Robert Downey Jr. first laying eyes on their Kelly LeBrockian creation. It's as if my id, libido and subconscious had a guys' weekend in Vegas, scored big at the tables and decided to treat themselves to a meal at Craftsteak and the hooker of their dreams. And are you ready for the clincher? His character's name is *drumroll*
Robert Baer.
Okay, now you're just fucking with me, right?
Hello, my adorable shmendricks! Every one!
Enough with the taunting e-mails. For the last time, NO I do not have writer's block/constipation/ menopause/ etc. Nor has my mind become 'a once fertile, now dessicated womb filled with twigs and worm-eaten crabapples.' My mind, and for that matter Nicole Kidman's biological clock, are both deeply offended.
The fact is that I have been on holiday, visiting friends and family in Montreal (a city that, as they French say, is 'da shit.' Seriously! Check it out.). Furthermore, I'm as prolific and creative as ever! Just because I'm not weighing in on the the latest Lohan Paparraccident or waxing horrific at the thought of a platoon of Tom Cruise-headed tadpoles flying out of a turkey baster to storm Katie Holmes' Guadalcanal does not mean I've 'lost my touch' or had a 'spontaneous lobotomy' or I 'applied to law school' or any other such doom n' gloomy scenario.
That said, God I've missed you. I really have. Katie Holmes is pregnant with Tom Cruise's baby? Jesus Christ. Literally! I'm seeing modified manger scenes, maybe some active volcanoes in the background (note to self: baking soda and red food coloring!). Sunday school teachers chuckling knowingly and saying: "Now, now children. You can't ALL be Emperor Xenu in the holiday pageant." Heartwarming stuff. Really.
