The Germans really did say it best: Britney Spears' bizarre insistence on padding barefoot through the world's public restrooms is "mercilessly unhygenic." This time, she's added bad manners to her white-trash repertoire, refusing to wait her turn for the bathroom. It's painfully obvious that she's not going to get better if we, the concerned public, don't stage some sort of intervention.
—Either a very good reason to burn down the Beverly Center or to splash a liberal amount of Clorox in your eyes: Fez kissing Lindsay. We warned you. [via witz.org]
—Hollywood Second Acts Dept: Paul Pfeiffer, Esq. [via Thighs Wide Shut]
—Vincent Gallo whines about the "bad publicity" surrounding his blowjob movie, thereby perpetuating The Brown Bunny's seemingly endless bad publicity loop.
—Sometimes the lede's more than enough: Marc Anthony needs you to know that the kid isn't his.
—Does Britney even own shoes anymore? We're fairly certain she can afford a pair of flip-flops.
Writer Kim Morgan muses on her Sunset Gun blog that Without A Paddle is really just about the average straight guy's fear of butt-rape, and so imagines a more logical and fulfilling end to the buddy comedy's trip down the river. So why not? Burt Reynolds is still looking to save his career; he'd probably be up for the edgier climax. We smell some bonus material for the DVD.
1. For those seeking live music: Patti Smith at the Ford Ampitheater, Blake Sennett of The Elected & Rilo Kiley at Spaceland and Joss Stone at House of Blues.
2. For those seeking magic water, red strings, or a chance celebrity encounter: Free introductory lecture at the Kabbalah Center. (Immortality practically guaranteed!)
3. For those seeking quality time for indulging their stalkerish crushes on Sarah Silverman: Ivy League Comedy at the
Hollywood Improv.
What's it going to take finally to convince L.A.'s most fashion-damaged residents to cast their Ugg boots into the streets and free themselves of their ridiculous, furry shackles? How about the trend trickling down to a pro-wrestling event...in Anaheim!
We originally saw this auction for a piece of Britney Spears' disgarded chewing gum on Friday, but were disturbed to discover that the bidding has gone up to $460. Given recent revelations about the pop-stars hygiene practices, we'll officially recommend that you pass on the gum bidding war unless you own a radiation suit and access to a pair of robotic arms. It would be more sanitary to spend your free time rummaging through Santa Monica's trash cans hunting for Spears' bite patterns on some Cheetos, but really, you're about as likely to find a unicorn as a cheese doodle that's survived her wrath.
· Let the strike talk begin anew! The DGA sits down to negotiate with the studios and networks on a new contract, while SAG and the WGA sit by and pray they're not put out of work. [Variety, sub. req'd.]
· David Mamet's teaming with the creator of The Shield for a fucking CBS pilot about anti-terrorists, OK? You know pilots, right? You make the fucking pilot, you get me, then maybe they make it into a fucking show? Pilot. Then the fucking show. That's how it fucking goes. [THR]
· Universal is giving The Munsters a "21st century makeover" for a big-screen version of the TV series. The good news: It will stay true to the original characters. But you knew there was bad news—the Wayans brothers are going to write and produce. [THR]
·Two comedy writers have sold a pitch called Infantile, described as a "an uptight management consultant who never had or desired a real childhood until he takes his 5-year-old nephew to kindergarten one day, turning his adult life upside down.." Watch in the coming weeks as it's offered to and then refused by Jim Carrey, Adam Sandler, Jack Black, and Will Ferrell before it finally winds up starring Rob Schneider. [Variety, sub. req'd.]
· Finally done with vaccuuming up LAT talent, the NYT hires away Variety critic Charles Isherwood. [Variety, sub. req'd.]
Hollywood PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are sent in by readers. Send yours to tips@defamer.com, and let the world know your X-ray vision can penetrate Cameron Diaz's floppy hat and gigantic sunglasses.
—We've always sort of suspected it, but now that it's on a website it's obviously true.
—Some porn (i.e. Huge Man Meat) passes easily through Canada's borders. Some (i.e. Hardcore Horse Explosion) does not.
—No worries, Governor Arnold isn't indulging in any of that girly, Beverly Hills salon crap. He's just stopping by for a gossip session and a cup of cappuccino with his hairdresser. And maybe he throws in a quick bikini wax from time to time, but what's a little manscaping between friends?
—Breaking Olsen Twins news: Mary-Kate now strong enough to carry styrofoam and walk...at the same time!
— Now let's fall all over each other trying to nail down this scoop: Julia Roberts plans on not doing anything for a while.
Chloë Sevigny finally tries to explain what's going on with her involvement in The Brown Bunny, and as it turns out, people just can't understand an artfully-rendered, cinematically meaningful blowjob the way that they should. Said Sevigny, "I knew people would not understand it. It's a shame people write so many things when they haven't seen it. When you see the film, it makes more sense. It's an art film. It should be playing in museums." Well, there's that one museum in Amsterdam, but we're pretty sure they have enough fellatio footage and their movies are probably better plotted. See, there we go again, making judgments without having seen the movie.
A reader passes on a casting breakdown for extras in last Wednesday's Britney Spears video shoot—you know, the one that may or may not have confused people into thinking that she was actually planning a secret wedding ceremony. There's probably some kind of a plan at work here, but at first glance it looks like casting by Mad Libs. "OK, let's have a [Number between 1-100] year old [Ethnicity] man that can [Name of Activity]. Then the [Ethnicity] man suffers a heart attack when Britney [Verb for Sexual Act] the [Ethnicity] in front of [Name of Skeezy Dancer Fiancé]." Casting breakdown after the jump.
It may seem that we're extrapolating a couple of less than favorable opinions into a blanket indictment of Hollywood's sainted penny-pinching class, but that's only because we've yet to receive an incensed rebuttal from the Benevolent Order of Entertainment Industry Business Managers. (Even the worst biz manager is probably better than setting an agent loose with your PIN for ten minutes.). But here's another reader, a former employee of a Big Celebrity, taking a poke:
We were having great time at the Sunset Junction festival, at least until Fred Durst started following us around with a large, hairy individual who was either a) superproducer Rick Rubin or b) a Hell's Angel who drew the worst possible security detail. To be fair, we were sufficiently cracked out on free cans of Sparks (think orange Zima mixed with over-the-counter Tijuana amphetamines) from the Vice store to have hallucinated the Durst sighting or our repeated encounters with Kiefer Sutherland or Rae Dawn Chong. Not everyone is a fan of the festival, however. Seasoned miscreant Richard Rushfield went hatin' on Friday, and reports from some underwhelmed readers are starting to roll in.
