The strangest in the Apatow universe is a chain-smoking, hard-drinking, womanizing Everydude who turns each of his humiliating missteps into comedy gold.
I went to a birthday party with Downey, a sit-down affair with maybe about 20 other people, and he spent most of his time with his wife, huddling with her. Other people made a little fuss about him, but he never made a fuss about himself, not even a little. These were Hollywood people, and he seemed content to just be. He’s so wired most of the time, it was nice to see that he can relax and lay off the verbal hijinks.
This post used to start off, “What more can one say? He’s the best.” And, as the story here testifies, I had good reason to think that. Well, I now have a few reasons to think otherwise. I may post more on this later. Or I may not. Meanwhile, the story remains the same.
Sharon invited me into a bed and, after due consideration, in I went. Later, someone got the bright idea I was her new fling: Sharon’s Bed Man Revealed. In my dreams. Anyway, she was a delight to pal around with, full of life and high spirits and haughty, too, which is a combination I tend to favor.
Under the skin of Chuck Palahniuk, America’s most deranged novelist CHUCK PALAHNIUK IS PACKING BOXES, large boxes and small boxes. Into some of the boxes go Whitman’s Samplers, chocolate-covered cherries, necklaces strung by him with beads that spell out the names of the addressees, small rubber ducks, birthday candles, novelty erasers and fake dog poo. […]
Rebecca Gayheart, Neve Campbell, Tori Spelling, S.M. Gellar, etc.
I heard that this story really pissed off Sara Michelle Gellar — and really pleased Tori Spelling. Yeah, well, that’s just as it should be.
Another experiment in the “royal we”. I can’t help myself, as in, from the story:
This is no time to be dwelling on moral decay and the loss of true north. We have our Scream 2 Six to think about. There’s Neve Campbell, Party of Five babe and plucky survivor of the first Scream, who in the sequel is a college freshman pledging a sorority. There are her maniac-dodging sisters on campus: Jada Pinkett, so fine in The Nutty Professor and Will Smith’s flame; Rebecca Gayheart, formerly the face of Noxzema and no doubt still quite creamy; and Sarah Michelle Gellar – Buffy! And then there’s Tori Spelling, who plays Campbell’s character in a movie within the movie (and about whom need we say more?); and, finally, Heather Graham, Boogie Nights’ very own saucy Rollergirl. She is also in the metamovie. It’s called Stab! We refuse to reveal more.
This was my second profile of Wahlberg and my guess is, he wasn’t too happy with it, though in my eyes it’s one big lovefest. In recent months, I’ve run into him several times while out with profile subjects and, grim Wahlberg smile on his lips, he typically says to them, “Be careful. Be very careful.” And then he gives me a hug. I guess that’s the way they do it in Hollywood. Anyway, he’s one of my favorite guys.
Snoop’s Higher Vision For the Doggfather, global domination ain’t nuttin’ but a g-thang
Eva Longoria is TV’s hottest, youngest and least desperate housewife These days, lots of people want a piece of Eva Longoria, who is probably the biggest thing to come out of the biggest must-see water-cooler-type program to arrive on network TV in years: ABC’s weird and warped suburban soap opera, Desperate Housewives. Let’s say she […]
Drinking to forget with the star of 24 — the magazine gave the story a subhed along those lines, naturally, because it hints at the most lurid bits in the piece. I wasn’t happy with it. And wish I’d done the story differently, too. Kiefer deserved better.
The Words of Leonard Carlo: In a little bar out west lives the most profane man in America. And when he speaks, people listen. Not so much because he’s got all that much to say, but because he’s certain he has the right to say it. This is a story about the perils of freedom, to the soul of one man, at one time.
This one is from a long time ago, when the great John Homans was my editor at Details, which was then one of the hottest magazines anywhere and routinely ran longform stories. Got many threats upon its publication — threats of physical violence and lawsuit-type threats. None were carried out. Actually, everything I wrote in the piece was true, as was acknowledged by the bodybuilding buff magazines, which in print begin referring to me as a “pencil necked geek.”
She speaks quickly, melodically, charmingly, volubly, dizzyingly, jumping from thought to thought. Soon she is holding forth on her sleeping habits. “Sometimes when it’s too hot,’’ she says, “I just sleep in my underwear. If it’s colder, I sleep in pajamas. I don’t like to feel closed in. I like no pillows. I like very fluffy beds. I sleep on my stomach and sometimes on my side, but never on my back. Now, if I have my boyfriend with me, I kick him out of bed, because I move around a lot. I’m the worst person. I steal blankets.’’
BEAUTY AND THE BLOG
ARIANNA HUFFINGTON abandoned her right-wing ideals, spawned a wildly
influential liberal Web site and made plenty of enemies along the
way-but she’ll still charm the pants off you.
I’m still too close to this one to say anything about it. I need distance from … the dent! Nonetheless, Nicholson was great to talk to, open and funny and game to go almost any place I wanted to go. More later
I had more fun reporting and writing this story than just about any other. Cowell is a tremendous character. He’s full of surprises and likes nothing more than for you to tangle with him, roll your eyes in his direction, and snort like you really don’t believe a word he’s saying, even when you do.
In many ways, he’s an interviewer’s dream: open, friendly, not given to taking offense at intrusive questions. It took a while to get him to open up, but once he got going, he basically interviewed himself, asking himself the same kinds of questions I would have asked. A good guy.
This is one of my most favorite stories ever, in terms of lots of things but mainly structure. I used the royal “we” to write it, since the first person and I have never been on agreeable terms, and caught a lot of flak for doing so. What did Q & T think of the piece? Quentin hated it, or at least his publicist did (see freaked-out letter). As to Uma, how could she not think I’m the swellest guy ever?
I got word that Owen, at least, wasn’t thrilled by this one. It seems that I didn’t spend enough time in the story talking about his versatility as an actor. As it happens, however, I am not a film critic, so his versatility, whatever it may be, is not something I thought I could honestly address. As a film-goer, I did feel comfortable saying that he seems to play the same character lots of times; maybe that’s what he really took exception to. In any case, I hope he doesn’t think I was trying to get even with him for how badly he trounced me in foosball. I walked into the game thinking I was pretty good but he beat me fair and square. And I didn’t even mind his gloating. It was well earned.
I went, I saw, I hung out with. One thing I liked about him, he took care of me while I was in his orbit. Most of them don’t.
QUEEN OF MEAN
How did a pudgy TV addict from Miami become the most hated man in Hollywood?
This is the first longish story I’ve done in RS in a while. So far, it’s been all over the JFK-assassination blogs but not one mainstream news organization has picked up on it. Hmmm. BTW / as noted in the piece, I attended high school with St. John Hunt. He was a great guy then and seems to be the same now, despite his decades of meth madness. It was
Mickey Rourke used to be the next Brando, but then everything went to hell. Now he wants another chance
Got a call from Twain’s manager, the great Jon Landau, after the story ran. He told me he truly loved the piece and that it was the most insightful writing on the singer to date (yeah, yeah) but that he was sure she would either hate it or be deeply conflicted about it. Never heard one way or the other, however, which is par for the course.
Bob Saget is relaxing on the beach in Miami, shaded from the sun and heat by a cabana and letting his head spin. Once, everybody thought he was Mr. Wholesome, a reputation based on his role as the goody-two-shoes dad on TV’s Full House (also starring those Olsen twins) and the grinning, cheeseball host of […]
A decade ago, the hottest screenwriter in Hollywood up and vanished. Now he’s back HOT COMEBACK YOU PROBABLY DON’T know who Shane Black is, but he lives in Los Angeles, in a humongous mansion of the French château style, fourteen great-big, dimly lit rooms in all, where he can shuffle around for days on end […]
It didn’t last long. And it didn’t end well. But at least I left with my shirt.
WITH A HEART FULL OF NAPALM, HE TERRORIZED AND REVOLUTIONIZED THE WORLD OF ROCK & ROLL NOTHING MAKES SENSE UNLESS YOU KNOW WHO IGGY POP WAS. BACK THEN, RIGHT around 1969, while the rest of the world was going psychedelic, he presided over quite some reign of perverted rock & roll terror. He would slather […]
Chloë Sevigny talks sex, drugs, fashion and her useless brush with Oscar EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE, IT SEEMS LIKE A GOOD IDEA TO check in with wispy, ultra-happening, Oscar-nominated, New York-living actress Chloë Sevigny, 28, and see what’s up with her, because a lot often is. This time, she’s found oking a Parliament at […]
Before Mystery, before Neil Strauss, before any of those conniving seducers, there was Ross Jeffries. This is him and these are his horndog students.
“Rump steak,” she said brightly. “I’ve always liked the sound of that. Is it really the rump? I guess that’s why they call it that. It’s the ass. It tastes like ass.” She laughed at her own train of thought. She ordered a beef tenderloin, cooked medium, as well as a cucumber salad and avocado dip; and then, with all that to look forward to, launched into a brief account of how she got here in the first place.
CHRIS FARLEY 1864-1997 The last time I saw chris farley was early last summer, in the middle of the night, at the Sky Bar, a breezy, cool, happening joint on Sunset Boulevard, in L.A. He eased on out of his limo as big as ever, in black engineer’s boots, a black suit and a spread-collar […]
Denis Leary vents his rage onstage so he doesn’t have to deal with it
in real life. Is this any way for a normal person to behave?
Not long ago, this piece was a top-
five finalist at the National
Magazine Awards, which is the
magazine racket’s equivalent to the
Oscars. The piece ran before the
advent of the Osbournes’ TV show
and, in fact, paved the way for the
show. Did they ever thank me with
a nice fat cash gift? Hell no! That’s
gratitude for you.
Gone to Pot Rodney Dangerfield finally gets a little respect You may be wondering what Rodney Dangerfield, at the age of eighty-two, after nearly a lifetime in the business of making other people laugh, is up to these days. Mainly, he’s bathrobed and hanging out in his airy, ultradeluxe twenty-first-floor apartment in Los Angeles, smoking […]
In which we take on the challenge and learn much about sex, swearing, male losers, female bonding, babe-on-babe action and kissing with too much tongue ONE SUNNY DAY, ACTRESSES CAMERON Diaz, Christina Applegate and Selma Blair converge on an unsuspecting little bistro and bakery in West Hollywood, where they belch a lot, cuss a lot, […]
I hear that Bay called a friend after reading this one and asked her if she thought he needed to go see a shrink. The answer, I have not heard.
This was actually an RS cover story and probably one of the worst sellers in the history of the magazine. It’s not because people hate Argento, of couse, but because, at the time, nobody knew who the hell she was. And they still don’t.
Meanwhile, this was one of my early experiments in using the so-called royal we, which I did in order to avoid having to use the dreaded “I” word. This, too, probably held back a few issues from being sold. Oddly, the story was a rush job that I reported over the phone but presented as if I were right there, in the hotel room with her, as she said things like, “Yes, I have many wet dreams, all the time, very sexual dreams. They are the best. Recently, I had one about a love I’d had, and actually the sex with him wasn’t really great. But in the dream he was very good. So maybe I was trying to help him in some way.” Hot. Very, very hot.
This is the second story I’ve done about Tori Spelling. She gets a lot of heat, but I like her (though, as you’ll see if you read my eBay story, I did skip out early during a lunch with her so I could go on an old-calculator hunt in L.A.’s 2nd-hand shops. Hey, you’ve got to have your priorities!)
Because of this piece, I was known for a while as Poison Pen Hedegaard at Tara Reid’s talent agency. As I told her rep, I tried three times to talk to Reid before the story went to press, to discuss the nature of her part in it and whether a/ this really reflected the true Tara or b/ she’d been out of her mind just that night and maybe I ought to tone it down. My calls were not returned. What could I do? At least I tried.
Word got back to me that in general the Rock was okay with the story — though he could have done without the mention of his morning erection. Go figure.
Andy Dick just wants a little love, but he’ll settle for a lot of sex Out in hollywood, what Andy Dick could really use is some relief from the ladies. He should have on his mind his weekly MTV program, The Andy Dick Show, which features short, lunatic films, mostly starring humorous Andy-played characters such […]
How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Y2K Bug. Living by the words in this piece cost me $250,000 at the time. Right now, it’s probably well over a million, minimum. Garffff!
Three bullwhips, twenty rolls of bubble wrap, four croquet mallets, two flesh-colored thongs, two pairs of size-sixty pants, one jockstrap and cup, two plastic babies, one briefcase with several thousand volts of built-in shock power, one first-aid kit and one straitjacket are pushed to the side of a Holiday Inn hotel room in West Chester, Pennsylvania, where P.J. Clapp is about to start his working day. These things are the raw materials of his trade. Soon he will transform them into “magic,’’ as he sometimes calls what he does, and soon thereafter this magic will find its way to the public, by way of MTV, on the show Jackass.
WHAT SHALL SHE WEAR today? She shall wear shapely buttock-accentuating
trousers, a sleeveless cowl-neck sweater (the better to show off her
shoulders, the bones and hollows there that she swears are her best
physical asset) and leg-lengthening high heels. Also, she shall style
her hair so that it achieves that saucy flip and height for which it is
famous and that has almost come to seem like a moral obligation: She is
never seen without it. She will, at times, apply beige lipstick …
The life & times of the number-one party animal at the number-one party school.
The story’s main character, Bert, used the piece to get himself a life. First, he used it to become a standup comic in New York, then he took it to Los Angeles and got some kind of 6-figure deal with Will Smith’s production company. Last I heard, he was a performer on some FX show. Go, Bert!
The Tom Green on MTV’s Tom Green Show (the Tom Green with the funny faces, the obnoxious voice and the pratfalls; the one who humps dead moose, sucks cow teats, cons his grandmother into licking vibrators, eats human hair, etc., ad nauseam) is not precisely the same Tom Green who ambles around MTV’s Tom Green […]
“My favorite thing when I was dating women,” he says, “if there was ever a question of your place or mine, it was always your place. I’m very inquisitive about women. I love nothing better than being in their lair, in their bedroom, and shutting their door and whatever their ritual was — I love being seduced by a woman and seeing how they wanted to attract me, what it was like in their place, how they made love in their space, how they made breakfast in their place, what their place was like. I’m unbelievably inquisitive about all of that. And I would fall in love with the differences in the lair, I think, as much as anything.”
There, behind a door, rests a cumbersome-looking metallic contraption. It is often said to be an early example of a gynecological chair, the point obviously being to suggest that Glover, in addition to his volcano obsession, also might have some other, less-savory interests. But the chair, it seems, is not what it is thought to be.
“It’s just not,” Glover says, sounding aggrieved. “It’s just an old medical chair I got for probably $100 at the Salvation Army in Santa Monica nineteen years ago. That’s all it is. If it was a gynecological table, it would have stirrups on it.”« go back — keep looking »