Oh, before we get to impossibly silly doodads in H-town, wanted share some underwear goss, fresh from Desk Chappaqua. You know that's where the Clintons hang, right? Of course you did.
Here's the dish: Hillary is telling her good amigas she def wants to run for Prez to fill the next vacancy of that Oval Office gig (no surprise), and ya want to know what she most wants to help her endure the challenges, pitfalls and unending pain of campaigning?
A good book? Good assistant? Good man?
None of the above.
"What you really need out there," blabbed Bill's long-suffering wife (don't even try and figure out that masochistic arrangement, please), when Senator C. was gabbing recently with buds about her expected run, "is a good bra."
No merde, Madam C.!
Further scuttlebutt from Desk C. includes the townwide impression that Billy C. has not stopped flirting with the female citizenship one bit—if anything, it's increased. But get this:
"Even still, [Bill and Hillary] seem more in love than ever."
Could somebody, quick, get me something to puke in? I'd rather sing the glories of TomKat's wedding, already.Kate Winslet and Patrick Wilson, stars of Little Children, were toasted at a cocktail party hosted by Hollywood Life mag Wednesday night. The carpet and event were refreshingly low-key for this function, as only a few reporters were there doing interviews. One of them happened to be Cheryl Woodcock, from The Insider. And as I waited for my talk turn with Kate and Pat, couldn't help but notice they seemed a tad…uncomfortable with Cheryl's interview approach. First, she kept forgetting the name of the flick—guess she hasn't seen it. "It's called Small Children, right? I keep getting confused," she asked Kate's repper. Um, wrong.
Then came the forced, faux lovefest. "I need to hug this woman!" C.W. gushed as she ended the interview with Kate and beamed for the camera during said embrace. And the gal gets no props for originality, 'cause she did the same thing when Patty-poo came her way. "Give me a hug!" she cooed before starting the work stuff, making sure the camera captured this apparently priceless moment.
But an even more perfecto momento was when C.W. asked if Pat was thinking about starting a family, after he mentioned his wife-unit. "I already have," he replied. "We actually have a son."
Talk about stiletto-in-mouth time!
I mean, you know us press types just live to ask stars if they're having babies 'n' all, but if you're gonna go there, at least be sure they don't have any kiddies running around already.
Oh, I'm prolly just bitter 'cause—per usual—every site in the world is claiming to have confirmed Jaime Pressly's preggers story first, when, in fact, Cristina Gibson and I so had that, like, before C. Woodcock and I both needed Botox.
Also on the overly exposed front, Kate's had a ton of nekkid scenes before, so I wondered if it was a relief that her costar, taut-assed Mr. W., had to get buck naked in this par-tick flick.
"I have to be honest," Kate confessed. "It doesn't get any easier. I still have that awful moment of panic right before, but it is just part of the job. And it's not porn...You're not actually having sex with somebody, so you put your acting hats on and do your best."
Not exactly answering the query, but hell, I'll take it!
One of the themes in the brilliantly disturbing Little Children is infidelity, something all too familiar in this incestuous town. I asked Kate if she had any idea why monogamy is so damn hard to achieve here. "I have no idea," she said. "I don't live here."
Ouch! Nice one, babe.
See, K.W. keeps a low profile across the pond in London and even managed to stay outta the tabs after doing Titanic, which is, like, no small feat. I asked if she avoids the spotlight intentionally.
"It is intentional, yes—it absolutely is," she confirmed. "I feel like acting is my job, and it's a very, very important part of my life, but it's not my life. The world of celebrity, I think, is something that's very much dictated and formulated by magazines, and I choose to steer clear of that world a little bit. I try to not seek out those moments when I might be overly photographed, perhaps unnecessarily."
Lindsay Lohan, are you listening?
That dude who simply lives to swim in the public soup of curiosity, Reichen L. (ya know, Lance B.'s whatev-unit) was asked by my Desk SoBe the other day just how, exactly, he feels about some folks making it their mission to out celebs?
Said chesty R.: "Well, it's called a 'Lancing' now—that's what they're calling it. But, I tell you, none of that pressure played a part in Lance's coming out—and it's important that none of that take away from this big event in Lance's life at all."
Lancing? I had seen that term used elsewhere, but Reichen's actually tossing it around as if he believes his b-f is the first dude ever to be outted. Like this is some kind of difficult sitch unique to him?
Sorta sounds like a guy who'd hook up with another guy just to get some attention, huh?
Disbelieving P.S.: Lance Bass woulda been in the closet until Justin Timberlake's grandkids were getting their 50th hair-ironing, if L. 'n' R. hadn't been pushed into declaring their...adoration for each other. My opinion, nothing more.