Throw a Dawg a Boner

We think twice about Josh Hartnett's hump habits at the Resurrecting the Champ premiere, while Sam Jackson gives Lindsay Lohan and her wasted set some advice on life in the high lane. Plus, find out what J.Lo pays for puss upkeep 'n' what Anderson Cooper has up his shorts that everybody wants!

Josh Hartnett wasn’t at the Tinseltown premiere of his new flick Resurrecting the Champ, but the sex-ay stud was, I s'pose, there in spirit. When director Rod Lurie stood up to introduce the film, he explained Josh was overseas in China.

“He said he’s making a film, but I think he just ran out of women here in the U.S.,” Rod joked. That was a joke, right Rod?

Hmmm...If the director’s makin’ cracks about your lusty lothario ways, J-man, maybe all those rumors about bein’ a hard-won horn dog are true?

Small-screen siren Teri Hatcher, whose character tries unsuccessfully to seduce Josh in said flick, did make it to the premiere, but she was in no mood for carpet chitchat. After doin’ a quickie dash down the line sans beau Stephen Kaye, Ter-bear ducked out before the credits even started to roll. So very Paris, eh?

Resurrecting star Samuel L. Jackson did stick around for the shindig, along with Mike Tyson and David Schwimmer, of all random party-hearty hons. Sam totally transforms himself to play his homeless character, Champ, and admitted he had a lot of help in the hair and makeup dept.

“I can’t grow that much hair,” he fessed when we asked if the salt ‘n’ pepper dreads he sported were his.

Speakin’ of frazzled sitches, we were itchin’ to know if Sammy had any advice for peeps tryin’ to get sober in Hollywood. I mean, is that an appropriate chatter subject these friggin’ days, or what? And besides, this A-list actor—in real life, mind you—overdosed on coke, hit rehab and went on to play a crackhead in Jungle Fever two weeks later.

“No, not really,” Samuel laughed, before sorta deciding to pass on the chance to preach to the inebriated babes o’ the land. “They’ve gotta want to get sober...wanting to do it for yourself is the right reason—not wanting to do it for someone else or stay outta the papers or for someone else’s gain. You gotta do it for yourself.” 

Are you listening, Lindsay Lohan?

Jennifer Lopez, I’m told by those who coif the hon within an in inch of her overly manicured existence, runs up hair ‘n’ makeup bills of more than 5,000 smackers per day when she’s shooting her pro projects. And she doesn’t even slap at those who put too much pancake on her puss anymore! Nice!

Meryl Streep, have I got a project for you! Not that you need another damn Oscar, or anything. Know how Ed Harris got nominated for his bitchin’ performance as the midcentury genius painter in Pollack? Well, San Francisco's de Young Museum is putting together a long overdue retrospective on sculptor Louise Nevelson, the New York artist just as famous for her false eyelashes, limo rides and fur capes as she was for her exquisitely feminine steel and wood assemblages. Nevelson, natch, was never really taken as seriously as her male contemporaries, like Calder, Smith and de Kooning, because, ‘course, she had a vagina and she liked to be dramatic. As if Pollack didn’t? (The drama biz, at least.) And we know from The Devil Wears Prada Meryl sure can handle the funky-ass fashions!

Anderson Cooper, just wanna warn ya: The boys in Manhattan’s David Barton gym are on a mission, I’ve been informed, to sidle up to you at the urinals every time you go for a little relief, in case you hadn’t noticed, which, I’m certain, is an impossibility. Take it as a compliment, you little CNN cutie! Last time I heard there was such a package-peeking explosion in New Yawk, it was aimed at the hunk who may rest in peace, JFK Jr. So, take the compliment already, babe.