As a reporter of celebrity sleaze, I may certainly be an epicenter of pop cultural esoterica, but I'm always skeptical of the latest "big thing." It took me one whole year to catch my first episode of "The Sopranos," and I haven't even taken the wrapper off my copy of Santana's "Supernatural." I just reflect trends; I don't have to become part of them, right? Well, not until I fell head over heels, like the rest of America, for "Survivor," the CBS "Gilligan's Island"-meets-"Real World" game show that's so positively addictive I'm actually beginning to look at the rats on the Manhattan sidewalks in a scrumptious new light. The concept of having to vote a person off the island not only gives this show an intense, riveting tension, it also allows us to revisit all those terrible popularity crises we used to have as kids. Could you imagine how much more stressful high school would have been had were we allowed to vote one person out of our class a week?

We're only three weeks into this tropical adventure, and I'm already abuzz with questions and mysteries:

That wacky Tagi Tribe -- Was it dumb luck or a strategic plan to put the most volatile personalities on one team? While the Tagi Tribe was mulling over such difficulties as Dirk's religious beliefs, Rudy's stubborn personality and Richard's homosexuality, the Pagong Tribe was rolling in a mud volcano, working a Congo line and laughing as merrily as a cast of J. Crew models!

Kelly -- The sexiest castaway in my opinion, though I'm not really sure why. Could it be that I'm partial to river guides? (Is there a great demand for this occupation? ) Or could it be because she has unwillingly won the heart of the Christian dairy farmer?

Greg and Colleen -- They seem like a cute couple, but really, what's gonna happen when they are forced to expel one another off the island? Can love survive losing a million dollars and being publicly humiliated on national television? (Personally, I'm miffed. Why can't Greg be the gay one? Why must the token island homosexual be Richard -- he's irritating, arrogant and horribly dressed. Who wants to see him covered seductively in mud?) And, most importantly, have Greg and Colleen been having sex off-camera, and if so, why OFF-CAMERA?!

The Camera Men -- Think they ever felt guilty, watching these sad sacks fight for rat meat while they went back to their air-conditioned trailers to eat Snickers bars and drink Coke? "Can we speed up this fishing for manta ray scene, people? I've got a pot roast in the oven and "Millionaire" is on at eight!"

Shafted

Catch "Shaft" this weekend? While certainly a decent air-conditioned escape during this dust-dry season of uninteresting summer films, the Samuel L. Jackson vehicle does have its share of ridiculous, albeit well-dressed, absurdities. For instance, it appears that Christian Bale is not only playing the same character he portrayed in "American Psycho," but it also seems as though scenes from "Psycho" have been spliced into "Shaft"! And isn't it funny that police brutality in real life is harshly criticized, while in the world of film, it seems positively glamorous? Nothing's hotter than smacking civilians garbed in Armani!

Oh, and what is up with Vanessa Williams' gravelly complexion?!

Well, these issues weren't addressed last Wednesday at the star-studded New York premiere of the film in the cavernous Ziegfeld Theater, but Vanessa did, in fact, run out halfway through the film. Couldn't stomach the over-the-top gun play? No, seems the ex-Miss America had a more important calling: to breast-feed her baby Sasha back in her hotel!

Meanwhile, Steve Buscemi was being breast-fed compliments at the premiere, by no less than "The View" battlehorse, Starr Jones. The Post reports that the sassy TV hostess was Starry-eyed over the gangly hepcat movie star and proclaimed she was his "biggest fan!" (Shades of Kathy Bates in "Misery," no?) The terminally cool actor presumably responded graciously and nervously, especially to Starr's comment that he was "the weirdest white boy in the world!"

The Lowe Down

Compiling celebrity troubles for a gossip column just hasn't been the same since Rob Lowe decided to become respectable a few years back. Well, I'm happy to report that Robbie is back in trouble and back in the headlines! During a break from filming a new movie in Cleveland, the "West Wing" hottie and some compatriots decided to investigate the city's rich topless bar scene. In fact, the group was apparently so enamored of one fine blouse-restricted establishment that the group was seen leaving with one of the dancers. Unfortunately, they were seen not only by other patrons of the sleaze house but by sleaze factory Star Magazine, who plastered the headline "Rob Lowe's Sex Scandal With Stripper" in its greasy pages.

So did the maturing Brat Packer indulge in a little infidelity? Absolutely not, says his publicist and, more telling, the stripper herself, Liz Brisbee, who eloquently proclaims, "I would have loved to have done Rob. He's real hot. But I did it with one of his assistants." Liz, in this world, you take whatever the good Lord throws at you!

So, Sheryl Lowe, the Robsters wife, can rest easy. Unless, of course, she wonders what Rob was doing in a strip club in the first place...

Sky Miles

How did you celebrate your mate's last birthday? If you were Sky Nellor, you threw him out of a plane! Sky's man in question is the broodingly sexy Adrien Brody (the punk stripper of "Summer Of Sam), and Sky, perhaps living up to her name, surprised her boyfriend by driving him to an airfield and announcing that she bought him sky diving lessons, which would begin momentarily.

Had Adrien been begging for such a spontaneous and dangerous gift? Not exactly, but he proved a good sport and satisfied his gal by agreeing to leap, with one exception: she had to leap first. Either they had remarkable sex afterwards, or they've broken up. I'll get back to you on that one, dears...

SEEN!

--Am I always cooped up here at the HoJo cocktail lounge in Times Square? Why no! I fancy myself to be the occasional deejay in my spare time, and just this week (under the pseudonym Johnny Bubbles), I hosted an evening of tunes at chic Brooklyn loungespot Halcyon while New York public access queen Brini Maxwell held a Tupperware party. (You read that right, folks. TUPPERWARE.) But that's not the real story! Two nights later, Quentin Tarentino made an appearance, perusing the joint's funky d»cor and purchasing an armload of records. Unfortunately, I wasn't working, for certainly I would have walked up to him and begged him to stop acting.

--No need to travel all the way to Brooklyn to bask in celebrity. Over in Tribeca, at the tiny French eatery Les Gamins, Sarah Jessica Parker with her shy hubby Matthew Broderick delighted in a meal while keeping her sunglasses on the entire time. Later that night, my spy crept into hot little Thai restaurant Rain and managed to rub shoulders with Matchbox Twenty hottie, Rob Thomas. Spicy!

--These days, you're as likely to see Monica Lewinsky in the West Village as you are to see a Starbucks or a gay pride float! She was last seen at the quaint little eatery The Grey Dog having breakfast with a friend and fawning over a passerby's friendly new puppy. And, no, I did not ask what the Monica was eating. I say, let's leave the girl's waistline alone, once and for all!

--The still intimidating Naomi Campbell, still working through her temper issues, debuted her new fragrance at a party in Grand Central Station which drew the likes of Billy Zane, Kyle MacLachlan, Stephanie Seymour and Daddy Le Puff (sans Jenny Lopez). Harvey Weinstein also arrived and was chased around the party by hairdresser for the stars Christian, who's aggressive coif suggestions brought on the security guards.

--Hot Flatiron dance spot Centro-Fly got a taste of star power Friday night with partiers Moby and Chloe Sevigny, who looked simply smashing as always

G-Mail

The mailbag is buzzing all about Alicia Silverstone this week, my friends ...

"Gregoire, I just thought I'd correct the insinuation that Silverstone, [Woody] Harrelson, and their significant others were doing cocaine and dressing it up as some sort of fake "religious" ceremony. The traditional usage of these leaves is in fact no more mindbending than, and every bit as religious as, the consumption of the sacramental wine and bread of the Catholic Church. Coca leaf, a medicinal tea leaf, is the central sacrament of Incan culture. The falsehood that there is no difference between the leaf and the refined chemical derived from it is Euro-American political condescension toward Native America, an intentional confusion. If you would like to know more truth about drugs, go to drugwar.com or any number of other great sites. I know this isn't the response to this column you were expecting. I just can't stand to let misinformation be." -- Diamondhard

Darling, calm down! How could a self-respecting gossip columnist let a Woody Harrelson-chewing-foreign-leaves story go past without a slight implication of irrepute? I'd have implied it even if it were a religious ceremony involving Advil! Certainly, nobody really thinks Alicia and the gang are burgeoning crackheads, do they?

"Gregoire, you are the best gossip columnist EVER, but about Alicia Silverstone: are you, kidding? You say: 'she's never looked better according to my spies.' Hast thou not seen her BANGS? She was scaring me staring out from the front cover of Parade on May 28, dressed all in pink with her hands clasped by her face a la one's senior photo from high school, and her HORRENDOUS bangs and streaked hair all covering her once sweet face. Then this morning she was on Later Today, again with the bangs so horrid I could barely recognize the Clueless cutie, and her HUMUNGOUS mouth drenched in a sticky pink gloss!" -- Taryn

First off, thanks for the compliment, but really I'm only the best virtual gossip columnist. (I have nothing on my idol Ted Casablanca.) Second of all, darling, you've totally read me. She does have the scariest hair on the planet right now. Whatever happened to that beautiful, tumbling blonde mane of hers? Maybe Christian can chase after her instead of Harvey Weinstein...

Next week, it's Game Time at the G-Spot, as I give you your very own home version of "Survivor" -- don't worry, love, it won't involve insect larvae -- and tantalize you further with the Gregoire event of the summer: an entertainment spectacle so big, it'll take two coasts just to contain it! Here's a hint: seen any celebrities lately? Well, some of my top spies have... and they're having an argument about who's better at spotting the glitterati in their natural habitat. Starting next week, we'll settle this thing like we used to back home!

Until I'm voted off the island,

Gregoire

Back to Main G-Spot | Next Date

[breakupgirl.net]
advice | comics | animation | personals | play
gossip | to do | guest | list | about us

Breakup Girl created by Lynn Harris & Chris Kalb
©2003 Just Friends Productions, Inc.