NY Mirror


Fizzy model-slash-actress Rebecca Romijn-Stamos has a hot lezzie scene in the upcoming movie Femme Fatale, and the girl truly did her research; in the April issue of Elle, she revealed that she’s not a stranger to sapphic encounters in life, either. Well, I hear the potpourri hit the fan after that revelation. Spies say that since then, Rebecca’s reps have been trying to keep the gay press from talking to her—which would be bizarre, since Rebecca seems très queer-friendly and her husband bumps and grinds it in Cabaret! Asked about these whisperings, Rebecca’s flack—Lewis Kay of Bragman Nyman Cafarelli—told me, “We’re not keeping her away from any type of publication.” He strangely also didn’t seem sure if there had been any gay requests for interviews, but I know of at least two, one of which he’d already turned down. (A movie publicist e-mailed the interested editor with, “Heard back from Lewis, who told us to stop bringing him requests from the gay press.”) This from a mostly gay-owned firm that won a GLAAD Fairness Award for “combating discrimination based on sexual orientation.” For shame!

Wesley Snipes is sure talking. In fact, a whole new Snipes met me over nachos at Noche, one who was oozing charm and accessibility. (The old Wesley was a tiny bit aloof to those like me—but that was before all those nasty tabloid stories about tax problems and a love child.) My new best pal, W.S. liked me even more because I didn’t bring up the tabloid stories. (I know those rags are caca—I know it every Friday, when I run to the newsstand and devour them.) Instead, I asked him about his prison-boxing movie, Undisputed, about which he admitted, “After a boxing training session, you’re completely drained of aggression. You can barely lift your arm.” Honey, I can barely lift it before a boxing training session.

As for larger battles, Snipes surprisingly told me he hasn’t encountered a lot of racism in the biz. When I informed him that the king of papas Michael Jackson claims his record wasn’t promoted enough because he’s black, the actor said, “And that wasn’t a joke? And everyone didn’t break out laughing? Maybe he’s on such a different level now that he knows things we don’t know and sees things we don’t see. Maybe he has to go in the back door of hotels and we don’t even know about it!” He broke down into bust-out hysterics at this point and we bonded even more tightly.

Sombering up for a finale, Snipes said he wouldn’t mind doing a TV series, adding that he’s a big fan of Oz. When I suggested that he shouldn’t get typed doing prison projects—that’s my future—he cutely said, “It’s an example, not a life’s goal.” Fine—don’t hit me!

Drag star Flotilla DeBarge knows from racist stereotypes; she mercilessly mocks them in her Fez act, which is brimming with good old zip a dee doo dah. Wearing a “plantation couture” ensemble studded with watermelon patterns, Flo gives out fried chicken to the audience in between singing “Old Man River” to a cotton plant to help it keep on rolling. In a more thoughtful tone, Flo remembers her childhood on the bayou (“that’s French for swamp”) and her eventual development into a “heifer” with “a peanut butter pussy—it’s brown, smooth, and easy to spread.” Best of all are her references to other Afro divas, like when she bitches, “I’m sweatin’ like Whitney Houston going through customs,” and adds, “I came here looking like Halle Berry, but I’m gonna leave looking like Chuck Berry.” That’s probably better than Fred “Rerun” Berry.

A total fruit salad, Sultana reveled in her Egyptian culture at her birthday party at Lips, where the plus-sized drag performer belly-danced around the room like a spinning plate of baba ghanoush. By day, Sultana works at an uptown jewelry joint, so there were lots of cashiers and salesgirls at the bash, and you couldn’t tell them from the cross-dressers. It was shocking and wild, with lots of eyeball appeal, capped off by Yvonne Lamé‘s manically fake-titted “Rose’s Turn” from Gypsy.

The second gayest musical ever, Hairspray, is such a smash everyone’s already speculating about who’ll be in the replacement cast (in addition to the inevitable Joey Fatone). Some wags are gurgling about how cutely gimmicky it would be to have female stars play Edna (now done in drag by Harvey Fierstein), but I have four words for them: Ally Sheedy as Hedwig. Forget it! Besides, a woman playing a woman is not all that gimmicky! Get someone with a peanut butter pussy!

Back to Lips—or at least lips—I hear Mick Jagger is pissed at Allen Grubman, who arranged for Sam Waksal to pay big bucks to get the rocker to attend a party—the one where Mick and Sam were shot together (with a camera). Nowadays, the picture horrifies Mick every time it turns up, which is a lot, honey. I guess he likes to be seen with jailbait, but not jailbirds.

Little birdies tell me that Gene DiNino (of the Roxy and Eugene fame) and departing Roxy staffer Andrew Griggs are both vying to open new clubs in the West Twenties. Put me on all four lists! And while we’re out partying, let me help you decode what all those club-hopping self-promoters—you know, the ones who spill a drink all over you as they tell you how great they’re doing—are really saying. Since I apparently have a sign on my head that says, “Start spewing your résumé now,” I’m definitely the one to perform the translation. And so: “I’m doing a movie” usually means “I have to return it to Tower by midnight.” “I worked with Edie Falco” means “She ordered a club sandwich. What a tipper!” “I’ve been dabbling in photography” means “A tourist asked me to take his picture.” “I’m doing some modeling” means “I jumped into the picture with him.” “I just got a book deal” means “Oprah‘s offering half-price memberships.” “I just spent two hours with some hotshot producers” means “I finally saw the Mel Brooks musical.” “I’ve been taking exciting creative chances” means “I’ve been sticking my dick into glory holes.” And “Big things are happening, but I can’t talk about them right now” means “Nothing whatsoever’s happening. I’m bluffing, honey!”

And there’s horn-tooting of a more personal nature, like “I’m seeing someone,” which generally means a drug counselor. “I’m seeing several people” means “I find myself passed out in the middle of five-ways downstairs at Urge every night.” “Everyone wants me!” most likely refers to collection agencies. And “I have a famous boyfriend” means “but Josh Hartnett just got a restraining order.”

Oh wait, stop the kooky conversation, stop everything—another closet-slammer’s just come in through the back door. Max Von Essen, the hottie who’ll co-star on Broadway in Dance of the Vampires, was pitched to a gay magazine, whose editors were excited by the prospect, only to later be told, “Sorry. Max spoke to his manager and said he shouldn’t do the story.” The actor—who played Mary Sunshine in a tour of Chicago and pranced about in Liza Minnelli in Concert—either thinks such a mag would be redundant or he has the same handlers as Rebecca whatsername. Fuck them all. I’m completely drained of aggression! Let’s plug it up and dance—to Whitney’s new song, “You Light Up My Pipe . . . er, Life.”