When it was suggested that I should go see C’est Duckie!, a wildly popular performance troupe from London debuting in New York for a limited run, I did a little research to find out what I could before opening night.  I looked at their website, read a piece published in The New York Times, and spoke to a friend who had already purchased tickets for her birthday, but none of this prepared me for what I experienced.
 
I arrived with my girlfriend at the CSV Cultural Center on the Lower East Side last Friday night and walked into a large, black, very dark room with a few tables and a stage all surrounded by a curtain of multicolored metallic streamers. The void outside of this curtain of streamers felt very surreal and seemed as if we had just wandered into a side room of Willy Wonka’s factory. Who knew what would emerge from the darkness?
 

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I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The “supermodel” who “slept with” Tony Parker is a hoax. What’s unfortunate is that actual print magazines are committing this garbage to ink. Over the holidays, some female relatives bought a stack of celebrity weeklies and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I came across the familiar name Alexandra Paressant. God, not this again.

No thanks to Messrs. Woodward and Bernstein over at X17.

The people (there are at least two) who are currently smearing Tony Parker and Eva Longoria tried something similar with Ronaldinho after the 2006 World Cup:

Nice one, Sherlock Sun.

That was 17 months ago; when I heard about it I did very little digging, and the Ronaldinho story quickly fell apart. Here’s what I found in detail. I stopped responding to dim-witted e-mails from “Alexandra” and her supposed manager “Olivia Ducreu,” and the two geniuses pretty much went away.

Dana Kennedy had much the same experience when she investigated the story for People. Her experience is uncannily similar to mine – I have no doubt these are the same idiots pushing the same unsophisticated act. She explains it all over at the Huffington Post.

A few more things of interest here:

1. I said Alexandra and Olivia pretty much went away. But not totally – here’s an e-mail I received from Alexandra in February:

I have to shoot with Antoine Verglas for Playboy and other magasine in march in NYC, otherwise I was selctionate to meet Georges Lucas for Indian Jones 4 IN june in Hollywood.

As in Los Angeles at the begining of march is it posible that you Give me the contact of HUGH HEFNER cos he tried to contact me in my old mobile( as each  year) to attend at his party in L A.

Wow. Oh, what tangled syntax we weave. Let me get you Mr. Hefner’s direct line.

2. Dana mentioned Alexandra’s alleged best friend Ornella Irie. This wasn’t part of the story back in 2006. As with Alexandra, Ornella has a fan blog on auFeminin.com– and as with Alexandra, the pictures on the blog are of other people, most notably Sports Illustrated swimsuit models Oluchi Onweagba, Carla Campbell and Jessica White.

3. Ornella’s MySpace gallery had some of those pictures as well. And Alexandra’s had a vast gallery of suspicious images. Both profiles are now set to private. I wasn’t able to identify many of Alexandra’s photos in the brief time I had with the MySpace gallery (I’m better with cheesecake than fashion), but I did recognize one shot (above), Milena Roucka by the photographer Bruce Brandon. Alexandra also had a picture of “herself” with soccer player Sergio Ramos. The same photo is on this soccer blog and the woman is identified as Carolina Martinez.

4. Yeah, but… yeah, but… X17 has a VIDEO of Alexandra Paressant talking about Tony Parker! Possible explanation here.

5. It is wrong to spread rumors. Web pages are easily faked. Magazines and newspapers have an obligation to check facts. Bearing all that in mind, and making no claims for the following’s veracity, I present a very amusing page from an escort reviews site. Credit to HuffPo reader hutsisi.

Dana Milbank, a correspondent for The Washington Post, has just published Homo Politicus, a smart and very funny tour of Washington and the people there who run our government. In ths book, Milbank adopts the guise of an anthropologist to examine their culture and behavior, a very clever and revealing way to think afresh behavior we often take as par for the course. Milbank interrupted his coverage of the campaigning in Iowa to answer some of our questions:

PLAYBOY: Congratulations on your book! It’s kind of devastating to liken our wise and eminent leaders to guys who wear grass skirts and coconut bras. How did you get the idea for this approach?

MILBANK: As someone who wears a coconut bra most weekends, I never thought of my treatment of Potomac Man as Devastating. I see myself as a foreign correspondent, sending dispatches home to normal Americans about the curious creatures who live in the capital. When Bill Thomas at Doubleday suggested an anthropological twist on this notion and proposed calling it Homo Politicus, I jumped at the idea, in part because I figured the confusion caused by the title could boost sales in places such as DuPont Circle.  And while my anthropological skills are admittedly suspect, I think it’s beyond dispute that Washington people exhibit many traits in common with cultures we consider primitive: tribalism (partisanship), violence (political campaigns), and hunting and gathering (inserting earmarks in spending bills).

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The Playboy Blog is going on break for the holidays, but will resume publication in the first few days of 2008. Happy New Year, everybody.

I love bacon, maybe even more than Jim Gaffigan. A week or so ago a shaker of Bacon Salt made its way to my spice rack and since, everything I eat tastes like bacon. Awesome.

The makers Justin and Dave call it their “gift to mankind,” and what a wonderful gift the “fat free, zero calorie, vegetarian, Kosher approved, gourmet, bacon-flavored seasoning salt that really tastes just like bacon” is. Justin and Dave are truly givers--they have donated bacon flavor to our troops in the pork-scarce Muslim world.  

Bacon Salt worked deliciously well in tuna salad, cheese fries, and Oysters Rockerfeller, but my favorite use of the seasoning was in a Bloody Mary.

 

Rocky’s recipe:

In a highball glass add ice to your liking and 2 oz of any kind of Herb’s Vodka (I suggest Rosemary).  Spoon in a teaspoon of horseradish, a teaspoon of Bacon Salt, add four dashes of hot sauce and four of Worcestershire. Squeeze in a drop of lemon juice and top off with Clamato. Shake and drink.

If you thought some of the people on your Christmas list were hard to please, intern Ben Conniff's latest discovery should make you feel fortunate: 

If you find a bookstore gift card in your stocking on Christmas, keep your eyes (and your mind) open. Dennis DiClaudio’s Deviant’s Pocket Guide to the Outlandish Sexual Desires Barely Contained in Your Subconscious hits shelves December 26. DiClaudio is a comedian and fiction writer who has recently turned to more “scientific” research.

The guide covers every fetish you can imagine in comical but factual detail. DiClaudio introduces each obsession by envisioning a practitioner’s ideal fantasy. Then he gives facts about the fetish, its psychological origins, and important things you should consider if you’re feeling tempted (“If castration is your thing, you can really only do it the once. So you’d better make certain you enjoy yourself that one time”). Believe it or not, every one of these oddities exists and has actual followers.

Among the most obscure desires are the robotofetish (lusting after unfeeling automatons who may or may not want to take over the world), the inflation fetish (the desire to see your partner blown up like the blueberry girl in Willy Wonka) and, of course, the fursuit fetish (getting hot for people dressed like animals—a cat, a teddy bear… perhaps a bunny?) Maybe some of these fantasies aren’t so outlandish after all.

Time magazine named Putin their Person of the Year, but I think Bush was robbed. Take a look-- the two sometimes-comrades are very similar, but I think G-dub is a bit better:

Bush’s Re-electile dysfunction: The democratic process was a mess in our 2000 election with flawed ballots leading to overvoting in Florida. While many media outlets claim that a recount would make Al Gore president, the Supreme Court 9 cast the deciding vote by stopping the investigation.

Putin’s big rig: After a lengthy and bold investigation the Moscow Times uncovered egregious vote-tampering on behalf of Putin for his second term election. They estimate that 2.2 million votes were stuffed, bribed, pressured or adjusted in the final tally.

Bush fiddling while Rome burns: After Hurricane Katrina rocked the Gulf, Bush took two days to return from his month-long vacation at his Texas ranch. Also, it took him over seven minutes to put down The Pet Goat when he was told “America is under attack” on 9/11.

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Should Jessica Simpson be banned from all future Dallas games?

If I had to answer this question two weeks ago I would have said it’s obvious that Romo can not stay focused when his girlfriend is there. Therefore, for the sake of the team making it to the big game, I would suggest that Romo's beau send him off with a spirit gift and watch him play from the comfort of her home. It’s not Jessica's fault.  It would be Romo's fault for not being able to stay focused. You know, there are some soccer players that go all season without having sex to stay focused. Maybe that is a bit extreme, but so is signing a 64 million dollar contract. But after playing Saturday night with all the distraction from the Carolina fans and the Jessica Simpson look-a-likes, Romo did say Jessica was there at the game, and still Dallas was able to take the win.  So, Jessica has my blessing to go to the rest of the games as long as Romo stays focused (but I am only saying this because he said she was there Saturday and they still won). Maybe us Dallas fans were just taking it hard that we lost to Philadelphia and needed someone to blame it on. I mean REALLY, we lost to Philadelphia??!!??

Hugs ~ Pilar

In Ridley Scott’s sci-fi masterpiece Blade Runner, several key scenes—including the climatic chase—were filmed at the landmark Bradbury Building located at Broadway and 3rd in downtown Los Angeles. Built in 1893 and designed by George Wyman, the Bradbury Building was supposed to represent a vision of a utopian society circa 2000 with its wrought-iron balconies and elevators, marble floors and polished wood all illuminated by a skylight five stories above.

How appropriate that Warner Bros. chose this architectural treasure to celebrate the December 18th home-video release of Blade Runner: The Final Cut, available packaged with other incarnations of the film on DVD, Blu-ray and HD DVD.

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Our intern Seth Fiegerman has joined the search for one of rock music’s Holy Grails. Here’s his discovery:

Bob Dylan is dead; he has been for the last 25 years. There's a mustachioed imposter masquerading in his shoes, leading him into Victoria Secret commercials and guiding his pen to write songs about Alicia Keys. But it's not him. He's not there.

I found the new Dylan, with the same free wheeling spirit and voice, in a young barn-stomping, roots-rock band from upstate New York, called The Felice Brothers. The brothers consist of James, Ian, and Simone Felice, on accordion, guitar, and drums, respectively, and their friend and “adopted” brother Christmas on bass. The brothers sing together on many of the songs, but Ian is the principle vocalist; a voice that is eerily similar to late 60's Dylan. Sometimes the band throws other instruments into the mix - violins, trumpets, washboards - but the sound is always raw, heartfelt.

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Looking for a gift that will put some separation between you and that creepy cousin with the wandering eye?  If this bum muffler doesn’t create a big enough rift, the folks at Garment Guards also sells “Skid Out” which wipe away “real-life bloopers.”

Our friends at Time magazine made a curious editorial decision the other day. In an article on the new film Charlie Wilson’s War, they quoted an article which quoted Julia Roberts talking about the role she played in the film: "Joanne's so fantastic to play, and between the hair and the tits and the attitude. . . I loved every second of it,’’ Time quoted Roberts. "I don't read that many scripts. I finish less than I care to reflect upon. I mean, it's just s___, it's just a big pile of steaming s___ that sits in my house. . .''

Lots of magazines want to have their cake and eat it, too—they want to talk to famous people and quote them using vernacular language, but then they want to use dashes and brackets and so on to protect readers from seeing that vernacular language (language, by the way, which is all over the TV and which the readers liberally use.) Seldom do we see a magazine not be able to make up its mind in public. Weird. Thankfully, Playboy doesn’t play that game.

Meanwhile—welcome, tits.

I have not always been an early adopter. The Stones, for example; I didn’t get them at first. I was a bit late to Howard Stern. For years I didn’t like Peyton Manning, until I realized that how magnificent he was. Yes, these are just some of the many figures that I warmed to late.

But then there were some that I was right about right from the start. I couldn’t stand Alvin and the Chipmunks in 1958 when I was five years old, and I can’t stand them today. I hated their high-pitched voices, and I hated their whole Dave Seville-schtick. And since 1958—nearly a half-century’s worth of time—not a Christmas season has passed without some small portion it—some car ride or stroll through a mall—being absolutely ruined by those shrill, aggravating voices. They make my skin crawl.

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Stephen Rebello, who writes about movies for both Playboy magazine and Playboy.com, has come up with his annual list of the top films of the year:

The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford
Director Andrew Domanik’s elegiac Western film based on Ron Hansen’s novel is stunningly photographed by Roger Deakins, superbly acted by Brad Pitt and Casey Affleck, among others, and, as it investigates a troubled, hot-wired kid’s hero worship of an American outlaw, it becomes incredibly sad, moving and timeless.  It’s ambitious, muscular, epic filmmaking of a very high order. Yes, it can sometimes only mosey along at 160 minutes, but what a ride.

Atonement
Atonement is director Joe Wright’s and screenwriter Christopher Hampton’s impeccably made film version of Ian McEwan’s romantic novel about the tragic consequences of a wicked lie told by an precociously imaginative, jealous 13-year-old girl about her sister and the son of her family’s housekeeper.  Set in an English country house in 1935 and continuing during and after WWII, the events unravel at their own leisurely pace and the movie is stunningly made top to bottom with emotional payoffs that pack a quiet wallop.   It’d be a pity if action-addicted audiences don’t know how to sit still anymore for a movie like this, but Keira Knightley, James McAvoy, Saoirise Ronan, and (especially) Vanessa Redgrave are terrific and the chaotic and surrealistic Battle of Dunkirk sequence is flat-out astonishing.

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