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It’s always great to see celebrities giving back to the community, and at yesterday’s A Time For Heroes Celebrity Carnival, Mischa Barton showed off her love for literacy.
The former “OC” babe sported a Giambattista Vall dress and Christian Louboutin heels as she made her way through the charity event to benefit the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation.
She has a hot new reality show beaming over the airwaves, and her ex-husband Charlie Sheen recently remarried… Translation: Denise Richards has a lot going on!
The “Wild Things” beauty was spotted at the A Time For Heroes Celebrity Carnival to benefit the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation held yesterday at the Wadsworth Theater.
Gawker publisher Nick Denton has his own very funny online imitator, Nick Guido Denton, aka Fake Nick Denton, who real Denton said in this comment no one should "out." But Gawker also has a video magician named Richard Blakeley, who sits awake, late at night, making charts and probably drinking too much coffee, trying to figure out who the hell Nick Guido Denton is, and going slowly insane. He has developed a number of theories and possible candidates, and once told me "I am like Kevin Costner in JFK." Blakeley apparently couldn't bear to keep the truth from the American people any longer and has finally floated his own very detailed theory about who is pretending to be Nick Denton, which is presented here in distilled format, along with a brief video of Blakeley trying to explain it:
The real question is "Why?" isn't it? The "how" is just scenery for the suckers. It keeps people guessing like a parlor game, but it prevents them from asking the most important question - Why? Why imitate Denton? Who benefitted? Who has the power to cover it up?
Richard Blakeley: Fake Nick Denton Is Alex Balk Of Radar Magazine
Well known for her generosity, Shakira continued on with her charitable ways by attending last night’s “A Heart For Children” telethon gala in Berlin.
Dressed in a gorgeous red dress, the Colombian sensation not only showed up for the festivities, but she even took to the stage for the worthy cause.
Vegan temple of soy mediocrity Zen Palate on Union Square is being replaced by a Jeffrey Chodorow backed Fatty Crab offshoot. NYU kids living in Carlyle, U-Hall and the Palladium will have to find some other place to get gooey overly sweet chunks of seitan to quench their munchies after smoking copious amounts of pot even though what they really want is a cheeseburger from Veselka but this cute hippie girl from Bethesda, MD who they're trying to get with and who is the whole reason they're smoking pot in the first place—though it makes them horribly paranoid and they have a ConWest paper due tomorrow—is, duh, also a vegan. [NYT]
Correction: Dudes, don't wig out. Fatty Crab is replacing the Zen Palate on 77th and Broadway. My bad. Blaze away!
New York's a bitch sometimes. One day you're a famed theater director, the next you're moving to Florida due to age and infirmity and selling everything inside your Union Square apartment. That's Tom O'Horgan's story, who was profiled in the Times last week and whose Broadway credits include "Jesus Christ Superstar," "Hair," and "Inner City." I went to 840 Broadway, which was stuffed full of theater relics and rare instruments, armed with $100 of our coworker Josh Stein's money.
There was a $25 entrance fee, which is like, fair enough, really, considering that you're opening your place to the riffraff. The money went to an Alzheimer's foundation.
The elevator opened right into the apartment, which featured a wall of windows, and Mark Cohen, O'Horgan's former lover and current caretaker, was inside, directing traffic, explaining to someone, "The new owner is going to gut the place." Presumably he meant Zach Braff, who just bought the place for $3.2 million, did he.
"What's this tambourine?" I asked, picking up a large instrument shaped like a Jesus-fish.
"It's a sistrum," he said. "The fish is a sistrum from 'Jesus Christ Superstar'—they held it over their heads during the 'Hosanna' scene."
"Tom loved sistrums," he said.
It's strange, observing someone's life entirely from their possessions. The music room's walls were lined with stringed and woodwind instruments and one wall was filled with photographs (not for sale) of past productions. The rest was mostly puppets (already sold), props from shows, a stuffed platypus, a ceramic platypus on wheels, various saber-tooth fossilized skulls, and books (Asimov, "The Da Vinci Code" on audiobook, "Beowulf," and "The Leatherman's Handbook").
A guy headed toward the elevator with a six-foot-tall bubble-wrapped object made of wood. "It's a tromba marina," he said. "Old Renaissance instrument. Actually quite rare. It uses only one string."
I purchased a Venetian bird mask for Josh for $50. One of Tom's friends followed me to the door: "Oh, so you got that, huh? It's so simple and elegant. I actually had my eye on it, but... I'm glad you got it." He gazed at the bird mask for the last time and I held onto my box a little tighter.
So everybody's cracking up these days, streaking through Times Square and being carted off to Bellevue! Heck, we know. Some days it's all we can do not to rip off our clothes and run screaming through The Deuce. But what's the famous hospital like, especially for the uninsured loon? I went on a visit to their urgent care unit, accompanied only by persistent anxiety problems and creative-underclass rage.
The waiting room is much as you might expect! It is a microcosm of hell, and can induce a total break in reality for paranoid schizophrenics. It's crawling with police, not for security purposes per se but because so many of the patients are in custody. Two cops escorted an emaciated man to the bathroom, uncuffed him, and waited outside the door.
People in the waiting room screamed at each other in a medley of languages. A totally mental fellow started a shoving match with a male nurse and was subdued by force. A Dominican woman stood up and announced that "somebody" has stolen her cell phone. Sure, honey.
They make you wait a long time in order, I suspect, to break you down. This process of weeding out the weak means that about three hours into my visit, I had time to first question and then accept my own mortality. Whether or not I would get seen in the next six hours—well, did it even matter? Someday we are all going to die. This is actually a very helpful treatment!
The loony bin area is named, Orwell-style, the Mental Hygiene Clinic. Because mental cleanliness is next to mental Godliness.
The doctor performed a series of reality tests on me. "Can you tell me what this is?" he asked, holding up a pen.
It was a pen.
"Good. What's the similarity between a tiger and a mosquito?" he asked.
Stumped! "Uh, they're both animals?" I said.
"Good!" he said with a beaming smile, and scribbled something on my chart.
He then asked if I had a roommate, whether or not that roommate is a boy or a girl, and then asked if I was "intimate with" said roommate. I guess I passed that test?
Here are my helpful hints. One is, do not really bother going. You are probably crazy and should just get an expensive Upper West Side psychopharmacologist and some pills.
Two, if they assign you a shrink at Bellevue? And you find him or her kind of cute? Ask for a new one, because it's insanely distracting and it won't help in the slightest.
This "amazing" and fabulous opportunity of a lifetime—an auctioned-off internship at Harper's Bazaar—raises money for Bette Midler's New York Restoration Project. So blame The Divine Miss M for reinforcing the Haves' capability to purchase their credentials, at the same time as she raises money to restore neglected parks in economically-depressed 'hoods. Ah, the jaw-dropping irony. Or perhaps not so much—look who's a sponsor at the $50K-$99K level! Why, it's none other than the Hearst Corporation, parent publisher of Harpers Bazaar!
Funny, that.
Unfortunately, much of that dough was probably donated in-kind to the charity, meaning less cash for trees, more opportunities like this one for the Serena van der Woodsens of the world who can afford it.
The current bid is $625, but the auction's not over until the 8th! You have so many more chances to degrade your intellect and ability until then! Of course, you'll have to outsmart one eager-beaver, who—totally unchallenged&mdash outbid him- or herself five times in three hours on Tuesday (LC? Is that you?)
The assigned value of your experience peering at the fashion closet for four weeks from 200 feet back is $1,500. How many saplings would that buy you, Ms. Midler?
How will the rich kid plutocrats of tomorrow learn to manage the $41 trillion that will be coming their way in the next 50 years? It's easy! At the steamship-era rich Gowen family weekend (can't wait to see the embroidered t-shirts!) they brought an expert, Joline Godfrey, the author of "Raising Financially Fit Kids": "The preteens made posters showing what they would like to spend their money on and what causes they would donate to. Teenagers learned about consumer culture. Twenty-somethings received instruction on starting a small business and the financial life skills appropriate to new college graduates." Skills like... what headbands to buy and where to get the best blow? They just don't teach that to the poors. [NYT]