By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
The opening of the new OM Yoga Center (yes, I'm searching for new arenas of entertainment) brought out a you-can't-make-this-shit-up mix of pushy paparazzi with cell phones and tranquil spiritualists with crocheted caps and beatific grins. The grins won, but only after you choked on a lot of incense and aggressively positive sprite action. ("Everyone here is a God!" I heard one pert pixie in floral jeans chirp as I dropped to my knees.)
First, you slid barefoot on rose petals past the "ashtanga curious" to sit on floor pillows in the place's Earth studioother rooms were modestly named Sun, Sky, and Forestwhere an advanced student performed an interpretive dance, followed by the talented Rain Phoenix emerging in a black shroud to sing introspective tunes with her band, Paper Cranes. (Yes, Rain had left Sky and circumvented Forest to come to Earth.) My legs had fallen asleep from the lotus position, and when I tried to stand up after the show, I knocked into one of the peaceniks, who lovingly screamed, "Take off your shoes!" I defiantly kept them on and crawled in pain to Rain (a friend of the publicist), who seemed more content than her deeply melancholy lyrics would suggestthe opposite of the smiley faces who act bouncy to cover pain. Is she a big yogini? "I'm avid," Rain said, adding, "every two months. I don't like crowds, so I rent a video and do it alone!" (Well, I'm sure everyone at home is a god, too.)
For the house-leaving bunch, OM offers a slew of more-innocent-than-they-sound workshops like "Upside Down: Inversions!" and "Open Your Hips." As director Cyndi Lee told the crowd, "Some people come here to tighten their butts, some want to loosen their shoulders." I want to loosen my butt!
To do so, I left Earth and headed toward Soho for filmmaker Larry Clark's surprise 60th birthday party, where I reveled in the rich, racy crowd (including John Waters, who told me he wanted Anthony Hopkins to star in Hairspray because he'd bring so much dignity. I had no idea that would be a plus). No one sat pretzel-like on the floor, but I did see some blissfully happy people anyway. "This is what keeps me young!" exulted Clark, embracing girlfriend Tiffany Limos, who is young. Limos co-stars in Clark's upcoming Ken Park, which has autoerotic asphyxiation and a cum shot, which should take it even beyond an NC (no cum) rating. By the fruit kebabs, Limos told me that before he was massively famous, Eminemtried out for a lead in the film, but he was actually too old and buff for it. No wonder he's so bitter. (More delightful sidebar: Limos recently sat on Brad Renfro's lap for an Interview shoot by Bruce Weber, and I hear Brad became noticeably aroused in the crotch. If it had gone any farther, the scene probably could have been added to Ken Park.)
While we're pushing boundaries, nothing could have been gayer than those good old Golden Globe Awards, and not just because all the women are obviously going to the same surgeons as trannies, thereby making the sex-change recipients all the more convincing. It was a lavender lovefest, mainly because the big winners were The Hours (the most sapphic film ever made) and Chicago (a light-in-the-loafers tuner by gays who've sprinkled in a lesbian prison matron and a star performance by Herb Ritts's best friend Richard Gere). The evening's yay-gay highlight was The Hours' producer Scott Rudin pledging his devotion to Broadway publicist John Barlow, though the antsy, don't-tell-'cause-we-won't-kvell media seemed to avoid picking up on this. (Well, I won't. Barlow tells me, "When Scott said, 'Honey, wherever you are is where I want to be,' I mouthed up at him, 'Me too!' ") The sisterly support only waned when Ed Harris and Dennis Quaidwho both play "that way"canceled each other out. Oh, and when that scary guy from The Shield won.
Want to push sexual issues back a few years again? Well, Harper's Bazaarwhose editors just denied plopping Kate Winslet's head on a skinnier bodymay have similarly put Tom Ford into another biological setup. Ford's open about his longtime boyfriend, but an article in the current issue claims he "flirted outrageously" with actress Emmanuelle Seignerbackstage at some fashion show, "sparking rumors that the designer and [Seigner] might be up to something." Whatexchanging outfits?
Sexualities blended more convincingly at SBNY, the gay cruise bar, which was suddenly filled with plus-sized women dancing for their lives as part of a "Who Wants to Be a Glamazon?" contest. The event"American Idol meets Lane Bryant"was an attempt by the snazzily choreographed large-gal ensemble to find a replacement for the departed World Famous B*O*B*, who told me she thought it would be fun to be in a group, but ultimately decided otherwise. (She's nice, though; don't call her Miss Ross.) As a judge, I helped weigh the chances of five talented fatties, who sang everything from Dixie Chicks to Dreamgirls, all while doing upside-down inversions and opening their hips. The final round had three finalists being asked how they'd make over Lara Flynn Boyle, prompting one contestant to reply, "I'd strap her down and force-feed her a thousand Big Macs and if she didn't take them, I'd just shoot her." She won in the biggest way possible.