The game of late-night musical hosts has already begun for NBC.
Leno‘s back as king of the hill — doing the same stuff he’s always done because it works for him — stuffing his hands in his pockets, flashing the goofy grin then performing some sort of high colonic on terminally ill Washington.
Conan the Contrarian is comfortably parked. Got a new show. How big that cable outlet is, who knows? Stand on the curb and shout, and you probably get higher ratings, but he won’t exactly have to take in boarders.
For his pain and suffering and whining, he’s waltzing away with $45 million. Even if you’re Obama‘s budget director, that’s not an insignificant sum.
So now, what happens? Comes the search for the next Jay Leno because the original fear was Leno is aging. A balding hairless Leno whose bridge fell out just won’t cut it.
Which means the hunt goes on. But the pickin’s is slim. Suddenly, they looked around and rediscovered — a-ha! — Jimmy Fallon.
Personally, perfect. Does as he’s told. A company man.
Professionally, perfect. Middle of the road. Wears a shirt and tie. No frat humor.
Trust Mother, kiddies.
The NBC winning franchise marches on with its “J’s.” Jack Paar to Johnny Carson to Jay Leno to Jimmy Fallon.
WERE there an award for this season’s worst creep on the planet, it would be a toss-up between hole-in-one Tiger Woods, married presidential cheater and babymaker John Edwards, and that vile slab of humanity Jesse James. This isn’t the 1880s train robber. This is the 2010 wife destroyer.
He now tells friends it was only one girl he slept with. Only one. He wasn’t into multiples. The others — claiming to have had his desirable body — are lying. Unless, of course, you consider stacking them up in a straight line and going through them all in one shot as “multiples.”
People assess him as the sexiest man they ever met. Ex-wife in jail, previous lady a porno star, biker by trade, tattoos up, down, around and out the kazoo. Sandra Bullock, who might have had an enjoyable single life, was certainly not looking to discuss Proust with him in front of the fireplace.
He’s also telling friends the reason Sandra began divorce proceedings PDQ is because otherwise she was in danger of losing her new adopted baby.
ANYBODY wonder why Obama was such a hit at the recent National Press Club dinner? The man who usually has the innate humor of an overtired Ted Koppel was well-armed. With Jon Stewart‘s writers. Not one, not two — but 12. Twelve! That’s enough to have almost made Robert Gibbs entertaining.
FLASH! Antonio Banderas is launching a men’s fragrance. Today. He will per sonally shpritz at 4:30 p.m. at Instituto Cervantes, 211 East 49th.
It’s his seventh fragrance. This one’s called The Secret. Notes of white grapefruit, mint, bergamot, cinnamon, pepper, apple, tonka beans — whatever they do or are or smell like — accents of musk, leather, wood and maybe Jesse James.
It’s in collaboration with the unveiling of his first-ever photography exhibition, “Secrets on Black.” Seductive photos. “Showing a new kind of masculinity where the woman takes control.”
Says Antonio: “For me, woman is the future of man.” Yeah . . . well . . . naturally . . .
Six get auctioned today for Charity Buzz, the money to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS.
ACADEMIA and the brilliance oozing out of Harvard have proved one thing. Washington needs a makeover. I speak not politically. I speak cosmetically. Are blush and hair stylists against the law? For the most part our male Supremes are attractive.
God is good. Why does He do this? He makes Britney Spears beautiful but with the IQ of a ferret with Alzheimer’s. And He stuffs brains and intellect such as I clearly will never have in packages that look like carry-on luggage.
I’m just asking.
LUFTHANSA, trying to increase reve nue, may soon carry handcuffs to re strain unruly passengers. If it works, they may add whips and chains in business class and inaugurate a new Kinky Class . . . Kristin Chenoweth: “Actors are always being someone else. If they’d just be themselves they’d be better off.” . . . Liev Schreiber: “As a child, I never wanted to be an actor. I thought actors were weird and undignified. I wanted to be in advertising.” . . . Gabourey Sidibe: “My dad is 100 percent Senegalese, so I’m not supposed to have lighter skin. If you only see someone who is dark-skinned and overweight, you are missing the point of who I am.”
GUY: “I’ve got a great auto mechanic. My guy can tell me what’s wrong with my car just by listening to my wallet.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.