columns: According to My Sources


Backroom Whispers

By a Gossiping Bitch on October 11th, 2004

When the music industry is ass-out like it is right now, one thing we get a real kick out of is hearing how some actor or actress just got hit off with a fat-ass contract because they’ve “always been really serious about making music”. The fuck? Example one: EMI just gave Minnie Driver $1.8m for a bunch of shit that makes Jewel sound like MOP. Example two: Paris Hilton launched her own vanity label, Heiress Records, and if Traci Lords gets to call herself a legit actress these days…well, you know what we’re talkin’ about, right? And example three is the news about Mariah Carey’s ex, Tommy Mottola, reviving the Casablanca label, and getting right back into the coke-fuelled spirit of ’76 by signing Lindsay Lohan to a long-term, multi-album deal (Last Emp, are you reading this?). Whether this means anything other than bigger, more expensive titties in Another Freaky Friday or Meaner Girls, we don’t know. It’s certainly given her squeeze Wilmer Valderrama something to celebrate. At least, we’re assuming he’d been celebrating when he lurched into a sunglasses store in Beverly Hills the other week with a bottle of pills in his hand, giggling his ass off and telling the sales girl how high he was. So high that the girl even had to take the credit card out of his wallet for him so he could pay for his shades. Now, we know that ludes were hot in the ’70’s, but ese, please – dead that method shit.

Mary-Kate Olsen’s stay in rehab has been extended by two weeks, making it a total of four weeks for some serious bulimia.

D’Angelo’s in the lab at Electric Lady, NYC, finishing up his new album. Bad news, ladies – he got fat as a mufucka. Well, not exactly Big Pun fat, but we don’t think you’ll be seeing Neo-Soul Brother #1 with his shirt off for a minute. Now, some of y’all might remember the rumor circulating a while ago about him being strung out on smack. You don’t? Well, it wasn’t us who started it, OK? But what you know about heroin addicts being real fond of ice-cream (because it’s so easy to digest)? And too much ice-cream’ll have you piling on those pounds, won’t it? Like we said, fat as a mufucka.

Blindfolds on; which skinny-ass tennis player, whose coaches seriously considered having her institutionalized after Wimbledon last year, has the following real and alleged problems: she cries before and after every match (sometimes, memorably, during); she cries every time she talks to her family; she cries every time she calls her ex-boyfriend, who she phone stalked for almost a year; other players won’t practice on the courts near her because her practice sessions always end in tear-fuelled screaming matches with her coaches; she’s still losing weight, despite her coaches making her drink high-calorie milkshakes three times a day and not letting her go to the john for an hour afterwards. Clue: it’s not Serena.

Busta Rhymes? Pre-op transexuals? We didn’t really hear that, did we?

Britney Spears is launching her own signature fragrance line in the fall. It’s called Curious: Britney Spears. We ain’t sure about that. After all, who’d seriously wanna buy Curious: Britney Spears?

The Sony/BMG merger is going ahead, but it won’t involve the highly lucrative music publishing arms of either company. Yet. We’ve heard that this won’t happen until a certain court case reaches its conclusion, at which point the most sought-after song catalogue in all of popular music is likely to become suddenly available…

This month’s men who like men: George Clooney and Usher. Not that they’re doing the nasty with each other, you understand. We wouldn’t know about that, and believe we wouldn’t even make it up for shits and giggles, either. But we hear they share similar interests.

UrrshurrSpeaking of Urrshurr, he was definitely on some straight diva shit at Diddy’s party in Bottinos, NYC, last week. He rolls up to the spot rockin’ a t-shirt with his own picture on it, goes to the bar for a drink, but refuses to talk to the barman. Instead, he waits for his bodyguard, whispers in his ear, and then the bodyguard tells the barman, “Usher will have a Bellini.” Barman mixes the drink and goes to pass it to Urrsh, but is stopped by the bodyguard, who explains that he’s the only one allowed to hand Usher his Bellini. This goes on for the rest of the evening. Usher’s bodyguard then takes a packet of peanut M&Ms, asks for five wine glasses, separates the M&Ms into the glasses by color, and asks bar staff to take them over to Urrsh on a tray. Classic shit.

So, there we were kicking back in the office the other Friday afternoon, waiting for the dopeman to turn up, when someone throws Gladiator into the DVD player. Now, you can front all you like, but this is a dope flick (shout to Paul Nice for breaking off some of Proximo’s speech on his Jay-Z remix album). Anyway, watching it reminded us of the story we heard about the unusual history of some of those costumes. See, there was this Oscar-winning actress whose Weimaraner dog gave birth to a litter of puppies. She couldn’t keep them, so she put them up for sale through her vet. Unknown to her, though, the whole litter got sold to a furrier, and you can guess the rest. Now, when this actress heard what had happened, she was buggin’ out — not only over the puppies, but over the damage it could do to her rep as a “nice” person. Who could this actress be, you ask? Gwyneth Paltrow-Martin, stand the fuck up.

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