por Ted Casablanca | Traducido por | mié., 6 dic. 2006 8:00 AM
Oh, before we get to such glittery blondie-boobie goings-on as Lance Bass' post-Reichen Big Night Out (L.B.'s so copying the divorcing Brit-Brit there, doncha think?), I've just got to bitch 'bout that other frosted-tipped dude, Leo DiCaprio, in Blood Diamond, opening Friday. Do miss it, whatever you do.
See, not only does Mr. D. try on about 10 diff accents in the story of a South African diamond smuggler (I swear, L.D. goes from cockney to New South Wales in seconds flat), Leonardo's coiffure highlights are so done, so perf, Lance B. will be salivating beyond control when he sees them, I declare.
How the man who was so friggin' bitchin' in The Departed has plummeted to this girlie big-screen level is beyond. Just beyond.
Oh, and having absolutely nothin' to do with the above (it's just that I think of kank-ee nooky whenever I think of Mr. D.), did you know Eastern European sex is the thing right now? Greased-up buttloads of high-ranking T-town movers 'n' shakers are zooming over there by the dozens. Very discreet. Very hush-hush.
And very expensive, if you get my Heidi Fleiss drift...Just thought I'd let everybody know, have no idea why.
VH1's Big in '06 Awards went down Saturday night at Sony Studios in Culver City. And even though the über-sad and shocking news of Lance and Reichen's split hadn't hit the public yet, something seemed to be a bit off.
First, Lance hit the carpet by himself. Reichen was nowhere to be seen, which was très odd, considering how that boy loves to do press.
Yes, Lance braved the carpet all by his lonesome and found mucho weirdo photo ops.
Maybe Lance realized that since he's no longer with Reichen, he needs to step up his less bicepped media power pronto?
How's that workin' for ya, Lance?
Well, I hear Lance did gather the obvious (that he was being used by Reichen, let's face it) much sooner than many of us bitchy fags thought he would. Gotta say, my currently unfrosted head bows in worshipful appreciation of Lance's waking up and smelling the very spiked coffee. Time heals, bro!
Speakin' of prickly media ops, seems Hayden Panettiere knows how to work her flashbulb friends, too. When Paris Hilton sashayed down the carpet, Hayden quickly posed for a pic with her.
Hayden, who's only 17, has partied with Paris in Hell-Ay hot spots before. Funny thing, though: When I asked her last Wednesday at the GQ Men of the Year din about her friendship with Miz Hilton, her response was rather lukewarm.
"I've known Paris a long time," she replied. "And we were never superclose...but we see each other and we say hello."
Evidently close enough to chum it up for the cameras, right, babe?
Seems the teenybopper also picked up Paris' party habits.
Friday night, Hayden hit Republic here in Sunset Strip Slutsville and was seen upstairs in the bar area. Now, to be fair, Republic is also a restaurant, so I asked Hayden what the deal was with her underage appearance there.
"It was a birthday party," she sputtered. "It was an underage birthday party."
'Twas all bubblegum and beehives, I'm sure.
Janice Dickinson, getting pissed off at Pinkberry. J.D. hit Hell-Ay's hottest fro-yo store for her frozen fix—and was most unhappy when the kid behind the counter dared to ask for her name. "Like, everyone should know—Janice Dickinson!" she huffed. "Thank you, Janet," he replied, much to her ire. Oops! Far more under the radar elsewhere was…
James Spader, flyin' first class from New Yawk to the City of Fallen Waistlines on a United flight. James-doll was wearin' a red tee, leather jacket, black jeans, gray fedora and the ubiquitous black glasses. Although he wasn't as portly as my spy expected, he did fuel up for his flight with some Mickey D's value grub in the JFK food court. "He was cramming fries in his mouth by the handful," said a flystander. Yum. Makin' it a family affair was…
Gwen Stefani, Gavin Rossdale and baby Kingston, headin' into the Hell-Ay Zoo. Gwen-babe was all incognito in hat and sunglasses, with her hair pulled back and wearing a red cropped cardigan and cargo pants. "She looked great as usual," said onlookers about the hot mama. The place was über-crowded that Friday, so the Stefani-Rossdales had a zoo escort by their side in case things got too wild.
When Lindsay Lohan's publicist confirmed to the press that Ms. L. was attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings (for whatever purpose), I wasn't surprised.
These morally warped people just don't get it. Makes me think, like, totally, there's something to the mucho folks in town who are currently blabbing that Camp Linds simply made said announcement for publicity's sake.
I mean, what in the world does a decades-old 12-step organization that's saved millions of lives—and depends on anonymity to do its good work—matter when a fretting starlet needs some good press?
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