From American Idol's newest stripper candidate, David Hernandez, to Kristen Bell’s strutterella b-f Dax Shepard, the naughty dudes sure are doin’ it for themselves today! Plus, Russell Crowe shocks and Ellen ‘n’ Portia get knocked!
Such typical double-standard silliness, per usual, going on over at American Idol, our fave ridiculously overblown boob-tube pastime. Catch the breathless brouhaha over contestant David Hernandez’s lap-dance stripping past? Of course you did. I mean, who cares about Hillary Clinton’s political uncertainty (besides moi) when you can have David nude gyrating for lustful old men in an Arizona gay strip club, eh? News day no-brainer there, babes.
And even though Idol sources insist that David’s safe on the show and won’t be dismissed à la poor Frenchie, who got the ax for her naked website strutting, the outcry you’ve just been witnessing for the past 30 hours is possibly sexist, so say network sources pissed at some of the hoopla.
“The question of whether or not [Hernandez] should even be let go is vaguely offensive,” bitched an Idol mover ‘n’ shaker who has seen more than a few questionable things jiggle behind the scenes on the Fox offering (Corey and Paula’s alleged relationship, anybody?). “Because this outcry, I promise you, would not be happening to the same degree if David was caught dancing at Chippendales. It smacks of homophobia.”
True enough. We’re sure more than a few slobbering femme AI fans would be quite turned on by the more traditionally hetero beefcake possibility on David’s part, but the question does remain: If Antonella almost got let go for nude Internet pictures and Frenchie did get the heave-ho, should Davey-babe’s danglin’ privates in men faces at some nudie joint in the desert not get the same scrutiny?
We Idol aficionados here at AT say...no way! David, not to mention the damn show, needs more of a friggin’ edge, for heaven’s sake. I mean, in an age when a damn stripper can get an Oscar for writing a genius movie (as Diablo Cody did with Juno, natch), we say taking it all off is divinely de rigueur!
(Simon, this unasked-for memo does not include the judges, sorry.)
Played some mean-ass poker at the World Poker Tour Celeb Invitational this past weekend. Was too fun, but alas, ultimately as deflating as David Hernandez’s first Idol efforts, when he just stood there onstage like he was Britney or something.
Ron Livingston, Carrie’s old Sex and the City b-f, was big-stacked next to me and playin’ fine, despite bitching about not being included in the Sex movie. Camryn Manheim’s BFF gal, Suzanne, took me out, the heathen, but not before telling me about the home game she plays in with a bunch of power babes, including Cheryl Hines, Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi.
“Cheryl’s cook fixes us a great dinner, and then we all play,” said Suzanne, eyes twinkling at the comfy, caloric thought. "Who’s the best?" I asked. "Cheryl," fessed S. “She’s a really great player.” And without even prompting (perhaps she just knew it was on this bitch’s mind?), Suzanne added, “But Ellen and Portia aren’t very good.
“They really can’t play,” she smirked. Well, not at poker, maybe. But one must admit, they have beautiful high-stakes pusses for other activities, such as dog-removal sitches and such.
Chris Cooper and Patricia Clarkson, at the Royal Palm in Miami, in town promoting their flick Married Life at the Miami International Film Festival. Coops and Clarks both kept it simple in jeans, he in a jacket and she in a black sweater and boots—hey, lady and gent, you’re in hot 'n' humid Florida! What’s with all the winter wear? Hope they stopped by a tourist-trap T-shirt shop and dropped some dough on short-sleeve Disney duds. C2 spilled to our source that he’s costarring in I Love New York, the Big Apple version of Paris, Je T’aime. Think he’ll star in Scarlett Johansson’s segment? Would love to see an acclaimed actor in ScarJo’s directorial debut...but we bet she’ll just cast Ryan Reynolds, trust. Spending some equally cozy time in a not so quiet city was...
Russell Crowe, dining with wife Danielle Spencer and a few other friends at Blowfish Sushi in Bev Hills. Seems like every other week Russ & fam are flying back and forth from Sydney to the States, no? That’s a whole lotta frequent-flier miles over the Pacific, trust. Crowe kept it low-key in a black jacket and jeans, hiding his unruly heap of hair in a ponytail. R.C. stepped away from the table to smoke, prolly trying to keep his indulgent urges at bay so he could soon slide back into his long-ago Gladiator size. The Blowfish servers say Crowe-babe’s a regular at the joint, not to mention a great tipper. Wow, finally some good gab for this often terribly behaved Kiwi. More chilled, too, under some sunny Miami skies was...
Foto Pollex/Action Press/ZUMAPress.com
Nathan Fillion, strolling down Lincoln Road, looking less than dapper in a pair of ill-fitting jeans and blah blue shirt. The Serenity and Desperate Housewives babe was stockier than Desk SoBe expected (and apparently sans stylist), but his butch mane of man-hair, expertly tousled by the wayward wind, greatly made up for his fashion shortcomings. Nate-cakes held hands with a beautiful brunette in a short pink sundress. Sorry, hons, looks like this lad’s spoken for. Someone we wish we’d never speak of sportin’ around down South was...
Brooke Hogan, who knows how to mourn her parents' public divorce and her li'l bro’s potential prison charges—frolicking with some fellas in Ef-Hell-Ay, ‘course! BrookeHo soaked up some cancer rays at the 12th Street Beach, relaxing with four guy pals on the homo-friendly sand. The usually ultrablond babe toned it down to a more eye-friendly strawberry shade of locks and donned a blue and green bikini, modestly keeping her shorts on, a stunner! We’re just overjoyed she wasn’t wearing those deranged denim chaps. The quintet enjoyed the tunes coming from the nearby Winter Party Festival, while B.H. was thrilled to pose for photos. Surprised a soul even recognized the girl.
Kooky comedians choose their careers in comedy ‘cause they need to constantly complain about something. Never seen a stand-up who was supersatisfied with life, have ya? Don’t count on it. ‘Course, most of them were born that way, but that’s another story.
It seems like every funnyperson has less and less to bitch about nowadays—million-dollar paychecks, hit sitcoms and every A-list actress salivating over their every step. Doesn’t seem quite fair to grumble onstage while behind the scenes you’re rolling in a big pile of money with a luscious lady.
Dax Shepard, it appears, knows how to keep everyone from ex Kate Hudson to current cutie Kristen Bell following close behind, and it ain’t his sense of humor. The Punk’d punk, we hear, takes up every opportunity given to him to celebrate his abnormally sized appendage, say those who have X-changed in a variety of fashions with the dude.
Krissy B’s slowly becoming the belle of the H-town ball, espesh with her own Judd Apatow flick, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, coming out this year. Girl’s on her way to becoming the next Katherine Heigl rom-com staple (hopefully without the nicotine addiction). K.B. shouldn’t waste her time with an obvious dude like Dax, who thinks scoping out the private parts is any way to maintain a realistic relaysh. There are tons more loyal lads out there, higher on the scumbucket ladder, too. They may not be bigger than your current squeeze, Kris, but they sure as hell are better, trust.