Heidi and Spencer find another way to extend their 15 minutes of infamy (damn us for caring), while Rachel Zoe doles out fashion advice to the masses at her book party (ditto on the damning us). Plus, we dish about Anderson Cooper's and Star Jones' new questionable doc jobs!
Which attention sluts do you want first? Fine, we’ll pick for ya. Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt were being their usual me-me-me fiends at the Santa Barbara Polo Club, dressed to the preppy nines, natch. “They asked to be photographed,” said one horrified horsey witness. “The photographer was just shooting the polo players, and [Heidi and Spencer] motioned him over to take their pictures.” Said snapper sadly obliged (in case you’re curious), and that’s how their little impromptu photo session ensued. Just say no next time, dude!
Never one to decline hot bulbs either would be Rachel Zoe, skinny-minny stylist to the stars. The gal, who reportedly once considered herself better than legendary Vogue editrix Anna Wintour, is releasing a book, Style: A to Zoe, so we can all be as bony and bronzed as she. Just kidding (uh, not really), because, although R.Z. has worked with the twig trifecta that is Lindsay, Nicole and Mischa in the past, some of Zoe’s clients aren’t stick thin and Mystic Tanned. Like Emmy Rossum, for ince, who was perky for the party held at Cartier in Beverly Hills. Emmy said she first worked with Rach two years ago on a shoot. “She brings out the best in people,” Emmy piped, all vibrant in semi-see-through white.
We curve-lovin’ types here at Awful would beg to differ, but whatev.
Em also weighed in on whether it’s at all possible to be too thin in Tinseltown. “If that’s their normal, natural body type, then that’s fine,” she kindly allowed. So evasive! “But if people are trying to starve themselves because they think that’s beautiful, I think that’s totally unhealthy and not cool. Being model skinny isn’t sensual and isn’t sexy, and I think any guy would prefer a girl with a little meat on her bones.”
That’s more like it, girlfriend!
(Speaking of the man dept., Emmy opted not to discuss her boyfriend, Justin Siegel, but we did see the two of them together inside.)
Miz Rossum also fessed she’s got quite an appetite herself. “I don’t ever like going to bed feeling hungry,” she enthused. “I eat when I’m nervous, and I eat when I’m not nervous, and I eat when I’m sad, and I eat when I’m happy. So, I always eat!” Okay, that’s enough, Emmy.
Rachel was right behind Emmy on the carpet, in a sparkly gold number and hair teased out the damn wazoo. But the publicist glued to her side was most strict about what we could—and could not—ask the woman of the hour. We were told “only questions about the book and fashion.” No celeb client queries allowed. Uh, what the ef do these idiot flacks think people wanna talk to Zoe about, anyway? Hair tips?
And we really wanted to know if Rachel would be readying LiLo on the red carpet, postrehab. We opted, instead, to ask the pint-size fashionista what she would do if she were Brit-Brit’s stylist. After all, the girl desperately needs one, n'est-ce pas? “I don’t know…I don’t know,” Rachel dodged ‘n’ darted. “I just want Britney to do well.”
We do too, R. No snark about that one.
Who knew Anderson Cooper would one day remind us of Star Jones. Both celebs have quasi-documentaries freshly out—Planet in Peril for Mr. Randy-Andy, and Temptation at Its Worst: Star Jones Examines the Seven Deadly Sins for Ms. Reynolds-No-More. Where does one start?
With the most ridiculous, of course. On its face (never a good idea in Hollywood), having a recovering overeater like Star examine topics such as gluttony would make sense. But then, just remember Ms. J took 276 years to announce she didn’t exactly lose all those pounds by saying no to the fifth slice of fudge pie. So far—and only this one installment is out—the things on Star’s Deadly are about as riveting as S.J.’s investigation of Isaiah Washington’s homophobic rants, i.e., it’s essentially prodding via a minute dildo.
(Although next week’s look into sloth, with its promised analysis of “male gold diggers,” makes me wonder if Al Reynolds will be making an appearance just for some reality-esque, supercheesy excitement? Or is Al just outta the pic, both on camera and off?)
So, when we stopped by the CNN Hollywood premiere of Cooper’s Planet show at Grauman’s last week, our expectations were far higher. After all, isn’t this the guy who repeatedly tackled the horrors of Iraq, not to mention the recalcitrant mayor of New Orleans? Andy to the riveting rescue, please!
As that cosnoop of ours Marc Malkin mentioned last week, Cooper was intensely hands-off regarding his show’s topics, including global warming, poaching endangered animals, raped rainforests, the usual. Not that these aren’t each imperative topics to be addressed—it was just clear, after viewing the boob-tube doc job, that Cooper was probably more interested in the folds of his brow, his jungle wear and his crisp coif than he was in the issues at hand. And then, A.C. admitted as much after the big show, telling us how utterly “annoyed” he was by the creepy-crawly things he encountered while on assignment.
“I hate nature,” he further bitched to us.
Excuse me? Star Jones might as well just announce she’s buying 300 pairs of Louis Vuitton pumps by Thanksgiving, right after her greed installment airs! Come to think of it, Cooper did go awfully easy on Angelina Jolie when he interviewed her, so maybe Star ain’t the only journo actin’ kooky and kissin’ butt round these parts.
Indeed, A.C. was far more festive at the after-do with myriad T-town execs. And for added boyish devilment, Matthew McConaughey and Lance Armstrong gossed round the glistening pool at the Roosevelt, clearly Coop’s chosen speed for snark-infested waters.
Sharkwater Productions / Ron Fehling
Which takes us to the best documentary of them all, certainly since Michael Moore’s genius Sicko. It’s called Sharkwater. It’s out next month, and it was made by a Canadian biologist with great legs named Rob Stewart, a former underwater photographer who discovered—almost by accident—that the world’s shark population has been reduced by about 90 percent, largely due to illegal shark poaching. (Shark's fin soup, anyone? Yech.)
(And where the investigative jobs above ultimately misfire by taking on far too many subjects, Shark zooms in on just one intensely watchable topic.)
And you all must know the Al Gore drill by now: Destroy the ocean’s food chain—much like Earth’s atmosphere—and all hell breaks loose, like Stewart having his life threatened, which you get to see in the flick. Also, Stewart, along with notorious environmental rebel Paul Watson, is friggin’ passionate about the plight he presents. They risk their lives to go undercover at processing plants and they ram poacher’s boats, for ince. Awesome footage.
No beetlephobic lightweights here, trust.