By Alex Distefano
By Scott Snowden
By Anna Merlan
By Steve Almond
By Jena Ardell
By Jon Campbell
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Tessa Stuart
As for slightly more opulent talent shows like the MTV Video Music Awards, can I tell you what the real definition of original is? Original is a one-named real-life Bratz doll humping the stage as a de rigueur rapper-for-hire runs out to lend some quick, angry credibility. I can never get enough of that scenario! But let me drop the sarcasm for a second and join the chorus of titillated tongue waggers who said that Madonna's kisses with Britney and Christina were the sexiest, most shocking, most provocative things to turn up on MTV in decades. Oh my God, it was simply the most eye-opening, alarming, thrilling, fantastic happening in all of TV history! In fact, the smooches were so spontaneous, heartfelt, and most of all, artful, I think they changed minds, lifted hearts, dropped jaws, and with shattering openness and honesty, moved society forward a few thousand years. KiddingI fell asleep halfway through. (The Page Six photo of Ingrid Casares with her hand on Paris Hilton's ass was way more resonant.)
Anyway, I woke up in time to scan that new tome about Calvin Klein, which is the wackiest mystery book since Where's Waldo? I searched high and low for the word gay and came up empty, though there were several coy references to the designer having "danced at Studio 54." Why on God's gay earth are biographers still so antsy on this subject? The divorcé himself seems more open than before, and even goes to gay clubs, Fire Island, and for all I know, "Butt-Pirates of the Caribbean." His complex sexuality infuses his life, his work, and his merchandising. But the book? Noooo!
The kookiest twist is that Rufus Wainwright's New York Times remarks about his "gay hell" days (on crystal meth) were linked so enthusiastically by Matt Drudge. I told that to the singer at Beige and he rolled his eyes and said, "Clearly, I've got some work to do."
But the most predictable outrage is that Sharon Osbourne's imminent talk show just used me to ferret out contacts for a program they were doing, while leading me on to think I'd be a guest, then, after getting what they needed, became totally incommunicado in typical sleaze-TV fashion. This show has already been pegged a stinkfest in the making by the Post, but Iwho'd actually given it good pressdidn't want to believe it because I like funky Sharon so much. Alas, now I'm convinced it's headed for the karmic toilet along with that Holly Hunter dinner and Duran Duran's inevitable angry rap album.
SPECIAL TO THE WEB:
Remember when I told you about the Oscar curse on actors relationships? To wit: When the seemingly more featherweight member of a star couple suddenly gets nominated for an Academy Award, theres trouble in paradise, and its hard to ever recover from it. Ethan Hawke was nominated in 01. I rest my case.