Can’t get enough of the Flavor of Love 2 winner? Satiate your appetite with our daily Deelishis video.
Our love for American Idol’s Jessica Sierra has now turned into a sad, uncomfortable love. You know, it’s like the difference between driving by a car accident and staring at the scene with fascination, and driving by a car accident, staring at it with fascination but then realizing the people in it are seriously f*cked and feeling horrible about it. At first, when she was getting drunk and doing crazy shit we enjoyed it, but then last week – when Jessica got arrested, offered a cop a BJ if he let her off and then puked in a jail cell when he didn’t – we started feeling a little nervous. And now the first screen shot of Jess from her leaked sex tape has been posted by TMZ.com, and it’s made us feel all sorts of sad and yucky. The pic shows Sierra naked in bathtub smoking a cigarette, which is obviously a bad sign. Apparently the tape also has the Idol runner-up getting it on in various positions in a dingy hotel room. Blegh. We can’t stop staring, but we’re not enjoying this wreck at all. The singer is set to star on VH1′s new show Celebrity Rehab, which begins airing in January. Let’s hope that she signs back up for a second season.
Donald Trump’s a Cheap Tipper
The comb-over king didn’t actually tip $10,000 at a California restaurant – it was all a publicity scam thought up by the eatery. Er, you’re fired? [DListed]
John Mayer Back Cuddling with Cam Diaz
Yup, this couple is back to their canoodling ways. Is there anyone or anything this guy won’t get with? [NYDN]
Amy Winehouse: ‘Happy’ About Grammys
Producer pal Mark Ronson says she’s psyched about her 6 Grammy noms (and not much else in her life right now). [People]
Happy Holidays from TomKat!
The Cruise clan sends out their holiday card, minus the cheesy family pic and lengthy letter on everyone’s accomplishments. [Seriously?OMG!WTF?]
Britney: Wigged Out & House Hunting
Yup, just another day in the life of the sane Britney Spears, who went house hunting with a hot realtor while wearing a f*cking wig. [x17]
With only three guys left New York has a big decision on her hands. Who do you think will be in the final two? Who will win it all? Comment now!
I Love New York 2 show page
New York Isn’t Pregnant, But…
Schatar Walks the Dinosaur
BFFs: New York & Lil Mama
Gay, Straight or Buddha?
Interviews: The Entertainer | Mr. Wise | Midget Mac | 20 Pack
What’s not to love about the inmate at a Green Bay, Wisconsin prison who went to court for his right to obtain a pic of Jennifer Aniston to hang in his cell? Er, I guess we can think of one thing – that the prisoner in question, Jevon Jackson, is in jail for murder. But other than that, it’s adorable! He ordered a commercial photo of his lady love, but was prevented from receiving it due to a rule banning inmates from receiving such images. The reason: The facility “adopted the policy in 2006 because of the increasing volume of mail — some 1,500 pieces of mail a day, according to prison officials. The commercially published photos often contained nudity or other forbidden content such as gang symbols, officials told the court.”
Jackson took his captors to court, which unanimously ruled in favor of the prison. Even better, they dissed Aniston in their written opinion on the case, stating that she’s starred in “several forgettable recent films.” At least Jen can take solace in the fact that someone out there loves her enough to battle for her – something Mr. Jolie-Pitt never did. [BostonHerald. Getty]
Jennifer Aniston actor page
One quick wit and a microphone. We know that Perez Hilton slings mud in celebville, gets all rock critic about musical acts he adores, and loves himself some beats. But did you know he was a microphone fiend?
After drinking some funky cold medina, the blue-haired Queen decided to do the theme song to his upcoming 07 wrap-up show. That’s the place where he’s handing out awards in such categories as “Best Africa Spokeswhore” and “Hottest MILF,” so the tune references vajayjay, lady lumps, Xtina, trainwrecks, ankle bracelets, and the rest of the year’s BS.
- Keyshia Cole gets all kinds of pretty in her new video. And she’s doing it for you! [CONRETELOOP]
- Janet Jackson dresses up Matrix-style. Perhaps she hopes that her career’s current downturn is some sort of constructed reality. [Crunk + Disorderly]
- Eva Mendes poses in the buff for PETA’s “I’d Rather Go Naked…” campaign. Frankly, her protest is unlikely to be met with much resistance. [CityRag]
- E.R. turns 300 tonight. That’s not how many years it’s been on, it just feels that way. [Seriously? OMG! WTF?]
- Owen Wilson and Woody Harrleson frolic half-naked in the wilderness. Why wait for a sequel to Brokeback Mountain when you create your own? [Dlisted]
Some gossip stories are too big to forget. We’re counting down the 20 biggest, baddest, most ridiculous and saddest celeb scandals of the year. You’ll get a new one posted every day.
Do you remember where you were when Anna Nicole Smith died? Maybe it’s not as legendary as JFK’s passing, but on that fateful day time stood still long enough for the world to wonder, “what the f*ck just happened to that poor woman?” The Wal-Mart clerked turned pin-up turned reality star suffered an accidental overdose in her Florida hotel room on February 8th after ingesting a toxic mix of sleeping pills and other prescription drugs. She was just 39-years old. Her death marked a sad finale to a life marred with scandal and tragedy, like the lengthy court battle over her ex-husband’s millions and the death of her twenty-year old son Daniel just days after her daughter with Larry Birkhead was born. Though her antics often left audiences perplexed (and titilated), it’s hard to watch an infomercial and not miss her hooting, “Trim Spa, baby!” We hope that the road proves less bumpy for her little girl Dannilynn, if only because we’re sick of hearing Larry King babble on about Anna’s life, death and legacy.
After the jump, this week’s America’s Most Smartest Model eliminated contestant (well, one of them, anyway), talks his good buddy Pickel, Mary Alice’s advice and why he’ll always be “nice, little Brett.”
Thousands of discs were released this year, but only 20 could make the final cut. With the most scientific of instruments (headphones, and sometimes CD players) we whittled down this year’s releases, and each Thursday for the three weeks we’ll deliver to you five of our faves. Let us know what we missed, and what you loved.
There’s only so many times you can listen to the umpteenth Eddie Vedder- or Chris Cornell-style crooner before vowing to shred your flannel. That, as it turns out, might be hasty: For every 3,000th 3 Doors Down, there’s at least one Dax Riggs, a manly man’s musician who’s got a throat as crusty and damaged as the BQE and miles of bad road behind him. (At one performance earlier this year in New York, Riggs, shirtless and sweating and wearing guy-liner, but not in the Ashlee-Simpson-is-my-lady way, limited his banter to the following: “Magic is real.” That night, it was true.) Composed of short, filthy little songs, his low-octave growl and piercing shrieks make for cathartic relief from the radio. Songs like “Demon Tied to a Chair in my Brain,” “Dog-Headed Whore” and the utterly brilliant “Didn’t Know Yet What I Would Know When I Was Bleedin’” — as fine a use for the future-perfect as any — evoke the presence of a real artist, someone who absolutely will not stop until he’s been exorcised completely. Fans of southern rock, take note. Please.
There are a lot of reasons to dislike Ryan Adams. He’s the voice-mail-leaving, journalist-harassing, actress-dating enfant terrible of the alt-country world, a musician whose profound self-seriousness is rivaled only by his market-flooding output (three albums in 2006). But a funny thing happened with Easy Tiger: Adams got on the quality-control (and off the heroin and cocaine speedballs), took his own advice (referenced in his album title) and returned to his Heartbreaker roots, arguably what he does best. In abandoning his forays into AM radio with Gold and rock with Rock N Roll — hollow exercises — Adams has returned to emotionally wrought alt-rock, evidenced by the cracks in his voice and his display of his vulnerable upper registers. On “The Sun Also Sets” Adams wavers between moan and growl, a sob caught in his throat as he outlines how easily relationships fall into disrepair. The sunny “Two Hearts” belies the impending disappointment of a budding relationship, and Adams can’t resist a nod at irony when he summons a guitar solo by speaking its name on the inscrutable arena-rocker “Halloween Head.” Hell, we even forgive him the Sheryl Crow duet on “Two.” We’re just glad to have him back.
Abbey Lincoln, Abbey Sings Abbey (VERVE)
The earthy jazz singer turned plenty of heads when she ditched her usual piano-bass-drums outfit and took up with Bob Dylan’s guitarist, Larry Campbell. But one person’s heresy is another’s revitalization, and the philosophical tunes that Lincoln’s known for not only fit right into the bluesy riffs and twangy peals, they resounded anew. Whether she’s singing about the way the world is falling down or questioning the wisdom of God’s judiciousness, she lets her 77-year-old rasp expose a song’s sentiment and sensuality. The way it slides between this melancholy program’s accordions and dobros is a joy.
When biography threatens to eclipse an artist’s work, the results are invariably poor. Between Jack White’s super-model marriage, Meg White’s incipient breakdown, major major-label expectations and the collective begging of indie U.S.A. desperate for something important, it’s little wonder that 2007 was the year that the White Stripes began to implode. That said, the candy-colored Detroit duo’s sixth studio album was a thoroughly engrossing affair, an ADD-suffering collection of songs that ran the gamut from the ridiculous (“Conquest”) to the sublime (“300 M.P.H. Torrential Outpour Blues”) to the classic (“You Don’t Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You’re Told)).” There’s no denying that the album’s overall vision feels muddy, but then, that doesn’t seem to be the point: Rather, Jack and Meg are trying their best to put a smile on your face, and at that, this entry into their catalog is entirely successful. Yes, the spoken-word bit in “Rag and Bone” becomes tiresome, and the bagpipes elsewhere are grating, but the exuberance with which the two approach their work is infectious, and the courageous way they build their material (and, in the case of Jack, their facial hair) is an inspiration. Anyone who claimed that Get Behind Me Satan would be remembered as their “weird” record ought to polish their crystal ball.
Volta isn’t Björk‘s most-forward thinking achievement, and that’s exactly why it’s such a breath of fresh air. The future, it would seem, has caught up with the reliably sci-fi Icelandic songstress, and so on Volta, she splashes in the streams of her memory. References dating back to her Sugarcubes day litter Volta‘s brass-and-beats framework, and, somewhat paradoxically, the result is Björk’s most cohesive album since her 1997 masterpiece, Homogenic. Volta reaches a gorgeous peak with “The Dull Flame of Desire,” a duet with Antony and the Johnsons‘ Antony Hegarty that smolders and finally ignites thanks to Brian Chippendale’s pummeling drums. Future, past, present? Who cares when you have music that’s this transcendent?