Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Robert de Niro

In another Hot with a Chance of Sexy first, I give you the man who puts the "sex" in "sexagenarian": ladies and bitches, boys and girls, hogs and heifers, puppies and kittens, Robert De Niro. That it has taken me so long to include this man in the Hot with a Chance of Sexy feature warrants a kick in the tits for me because Robert De Niro is a bad ass.  What constitutes bad ass, you ask?  His talent, passion, smoldering "De Nironess", and the fact that he has had his name in a song title while he's still alive.  Not a lot of bitches can say that.

In fact, that Bananarama song, "Robert De Niro's Waiting (Talkin' Italian)", was my first introduction to Bobby (and I call him "Bobby" because we're cool like that in our friendship in my head) back in 1984 when I was 14.  I'd spent the seventies and early eighties watching movies like What's Up, Doc?, Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo, Little Darlings, Scavenger Hunt, and National Lampoon's Vacation. Robert De Niro, with his dark, serious, grown-folks movies was nowhere on my barely bleedin' tween ass radar.

Born in Greenwich Village on August 17, 1943, this actor, director, and producer has art in his blood. His mother was a painter and poet and his father was an abstract expressionist painter and sculptor.  Bobby Milk, as his friends called him because of his coloring, made his acting debut at age 10 playing the Cowardly Lion in his school's production of The Wizard of Oz.  From that moment, this sexy Leo knew what he wanted to do with his life.  He dropped out of school at 16 to pursue acting- studying at the Stella Adler Conservatory and Lee Strasberg's Actors Studio.

Bobby's first movie was playing opposite of Jill Clayburgh in The Wedding Party in 1963, but the movie wasn't released until 1969.  He got tons more attention playing a dying Major League baseball player in 1973's Bang the Drum Slowly.  I have never seen that movie, but I know that Bobby could still, to this day, bang my drum slowly and that's all I know.  Apologies- I digress.

One of my favorite De Niro stories- of Robert the Younger - is about how he got the role of the young Vito Corleone in Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather Part II:  it was partly because Coppola remembered and was so taken with him from his previous auditions for Sonny Corleone, Michael Corleone, Carlo Rizzi, and Paulie Gatto, in the Godfather.  Who knows how many times he actually auditioned for those 4 roles, and whether or not he actually got, or was promised one or more. He still came back to audition again for Godfather Part II. Now that is tenacity, perseverance, and self-confidence mixed with a whole lot of sexy.  And what did it get him?  Just an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor.  Next time I feel like quitting something, I am not gonna go diggin' for that poem- I am just gonna think about bad ass Bobby D.

His 1973 collaboration with Martin Scorsese in Mean Streets, parlayed into a successful working relationship for the two of them that spanned decades.  All told, Bobby has done too many movies to list here, but interestingly though we tend to think of him in mob roles, he has done a wide array of films including Brazil, Midnight Run, Analyze This, Angel Heart, and Cape Fear. De Niro also showed his talent in directing with 1993's A Bronx Tale and 2006's The Good Shepherd.

This prostate cancer survivor has had some bad times while filming as well. In 1998, while he was shooting in France, he was hauled in by the French po-po for 9 hours and then questioned by a magistrate over a prostitution ring.  To say he was pissed and let them know he wasn't the one was an understatement to the fullest degree.  According to French newspaper, Le Monde, De Niro said of France,

"I want to get this fuck where he breathes!  I want to find this nancy boy...I want him DEAD!  I want his family DEAD!  I want his house burned to the GROUND! I wanna go there in the middle of the night and I wanna PISS ON HIS ASHES!"

Okay- that's a quote from The Untouchables, but it seemed appropriate because he was so mad. Actually he said that he would never go back to France, but he obviously recanted when he showed up as the President of the Jury for the 64th Cannes Film Festival in 2011.

Besides acting and directing, Bobby co-founded the film studio TriBeCa Productions and the TriBeCa Film Festival.  He co-owns Nobu and TriBeCa Grill, as well as The Greenwich Hotel and the restaurant inside of it called Locanda Verde.  He has been investing in the TriBeCa neighborhood since 1989 and has residences on the east and west sides of Manhattan, and an estate in Marbletown in upstate New York.  I'm sure all his successes have to be source of personal pride, but it also must feel good to know his wife, Grace Hightower, and 6 children and 3 grandchildren will be well provided for in the future.  Bad ass.

Love For Sail: Dignity Given Away for Free

I have long made fun of Lifetime for being Bravo's poor country cousin when it comes to reality shows, and with the Tuesday, April 10th debut of Love For Sail, I will continue to tease them.  I don't know why Lifetime just can't seem to pull it all together with these shows, but they are always the lady at the party who should've taken off one accessory before leaving the house, i.e., not quite right.

The Executive VP of Programming for Lifetime Networks, Rob Sharenow, must've been sharing some crack with his brain when he said, "A generation of viewers grew up watching the scripted series The Love Boat, and, inspired by that program, Love for Sail captures the fun and adventure of what it's really like to find romance on the high seas."  First of all, the Cruise Directors Bucko and Carmen combined couldn't add up to one Julie McCoy.  And secondly, I want to share now with Rob that Love For Sail is waaayyy more like the short-lived FOX show Love Cruise from the fall of 2001 (which featured 8 men and 8 women battling for $250,000.  The original air date of Love Cruise was September 11, 2001, which is kinda like naming your diet pills Ayds), than my hallowed Love Boat.

The premise for Love For Sail is actually a good one:  Trap 10 adventurous, love-lusting, fair to middling attractive grown ups on a cruise ship with lots of booze and roll the cameras. Period.  No one has to pack their knives and go, no one has to lip synch for their life, they are not fired, and the tribe hasn't spoken.  Just show up horny and drink. That's Reality TV 101, right? And you would think that the dynamics- 4 women and 6 men looking for love port side and starboard coupled with beautiful sunsets on the water in the background and amazing ports of call (which I have never seen) would inspire us to set our DVRs to tape every Tuesday night at 10, but they don't.  Why?  Because Love For Sail doesn't give us the chance to meet any of the contestants well enough to care whether they "find love" or fall into the deep blue sea. Yeah they show us the woman who's fallen into her cups at a deliciously awkward dinner, and yeah they show us the two chicks who choose the same dude for a date and the delusional slightly demented, somewhat funny arguments that ensue about who should step aside. But ultimately we know nothing about any of them and because of that we don't relate to them; if we don't relate, we don't care. And they present 10 new people each week for us not to care about.

My best advice to Lifetime is that they need to take a page out of the MTV/ FOX/ Bravo book and get people on their shows that we either want to be friends with, party with, or have sex with- and give us a chance to get to know them over a season.  If they are adamant about bringing newbies in each week, give us dynamic women who we want to be or be friends with- not seemingly whiny, self absorbed broads who have a skewed sense of their attractiveness and/or too much plastic surgery.  No one wants to hang out with those bitches in real life or watch them on television. (Oh, and make sure the dudes are hella funny and look good with their shirts off.)

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Simon Cowell

Err'body knows how much I love my dream baby daddy, Colin Farrell, or El Farrell as I have christened him on the fake birth certificate I had made up although I don't have kids.  If I ever have the opportunity to meet him, I'm sure the sounds of his security team screaming, "Ma'am put your clothes back on and step away from Mr. Farrell!" will be forever seared in my brain. Sigh.

What not many people know is that even though I have so much mad love in my heart for El Farrell, I still have room to love another.  And I do- but since I know how divisive he is and how strong people's opinions are about him- I haven't told many people.  Today, since we're all friends here, I will proudly tell y'all his name:  Simon Cowell.  That's right, bitches. Former American Idol judge, X Factor dude, one night stand robbery victim, he of the bizarre Shower Head looking hairstyle, short ass Simon Phillip Cowell makes this hooka feel like a grown woman in my Black Iris area every time I see him.

And it's not because he's a bazillionaire as I'm sure some of the more cynical among you have assumed- at least not in the way you have assumed.  I love that he has had his financial ups and downs and yet he never quit- what can I say?  I find tenacity sexy.  I also love that though he might be brutal in his opinions about people and their talent- or lack thereof- he has managed to remain friends with many of his exes, he definitely has a sense of humor about himself (voice on The Simpson & Family Guy episodes- as well as other comedic turns & self mockery), and he likes kids and puppies (giving to children's charities and a video for PETA), and I'll bet he's nice to waiters.

Simon was born on October 7, 1959 in Lambeth, London & raised in Elstree, Hertfordshire and given he's  a Libra Pig it's no surprise he likes things in excess.  His father was a real estate developer and his mother is a former ballet dancer and socialite.  His father actually helped him get him a job in the mail room at EMI Music Publishing, and helped him get re-hired later as the assistant to an A & R man.  After working his way up, Simon was eventually promoted into music publishing.

He left and went to work with Iain Burton at indie label Fanfare Records.  He worked with Burton for 8 years, becoming a partner and building Fanfare into a successful pop label with lots of different artists including Sinitta.  They did well for a while, but by 1989, the label fell into the hands of BMG and a seriously in-debt Simon was forced to move back into his parents' house.  And now look at his ass 23 years later worth about $320 million dollars (according to biographer Tom Bower and the Sunday Times Rich List).  It must've taken an almost possessed drive to come up with his money making ideas and actually bring them to fruition- which makes for a great businessman, but a lousy boyfriend (which he concedes).

Speaking of Tom Bower, he just released his Cowell biography called, "Sweet Revenge:  The Intimate Life of Simon Cowell" in which he says that Simon had, "...20 years- more than 20 years- of humiliation."  I would like to amend that to 20 years and 1 night, because Bower reveals in the book that Simon had a one night stand with some hooka he met at Drai's in Hollywood (mistake #1), took her home (mistake #2), and she stole his wallet and his laptop, which had X Factor secrets on it.  He got the computer back, but (shockingly) all the money was gone from his wallet.  Oh, Simon.

In the book Bower also says that Simon had an affair with Kylie Minogue's sister Danii while she was a judge on the X Factor.  Yawn.  More interesting to me is that Sharon Osbourne is squawking that he cheated with multiple chicks while he was engaged to Mezhgan Hussainy. Hold on!  An incredibly wealthy man who is constantly surrounded by beautiful women actually cheated with one or more?  Wow!  The next thing you know the sun will rise in the east.  First of all, Sharon Osbourne needs to shut the fuck up considering she is married to a man who was in a little rock band called Black Sabbath.  Now, I am not a betting woman, but I am pretty sure five will get me ten if I say he was dirty dickin' around on her quite a bit back in the day.  She knows what wealthy, famous men are like & even more, she knows what women can be like around those said men. If Simon did cheat, which he probably did, he ain't exactly planting a flag in newly chartered territory.

And I have to say that although I am sad that the groovy kind of love we all look for didn't last for Simon and Mezhgan, I didn't want him him to marry her.  Not cos I thought he should come for me- I am not that delusional (besides, what would Colin say?)- but because I want a big personalitied, I-will- take- off- my- earring- and- fight- you kinda broad for Simon.  She's gotta be beautiful, graceful, and well mannered of course (remember his mama was a ballerina and a socialite)- but she's gotta be able to say "Not me & not today" with just her eyes to him. Like ghetto fab smizing.  And I'm sure Mezhgan's broken heart is slightly less cracked as she contemplates life and love in the $8 million dollar mansion he tossed her the keys and title to as she watched his $400,000 Rolls Royce get smaller when he drove off and left her in Iquityabitchville.

Are Gold Diggers Bio-Evolutionary Truists?

Like many Americans, you probably don't follow European football and so you're not familiar with Mario Batolli, a 21-year-old Italian striker who now plays for Manchester City (though perhaps not after they lost to Arsenal today and he got ~at least~ a 3-game suspension for a couple of dirty fouls). Batolli, sporting a shaved head with a mohawk down the center and dressing like a runway model, is a flashy personality in the divisive vein of T.O. and the insane vein of Rodman. Though he's never publicly called a teammate the "f" word, or tried to marry himself, Batolli is probably more famous for his activities off the pitch than on. And his latest is the most titillating for me: He admitted that he cheated on his girlfriend with the same hooker who had a threesome with Wayne Rooney 2 years ago when Rooney's wife was 5 months pregnant.

Much like the celebrity cheaters before him, Batolli didn't admit his infidelity out of a sense wrongness. In fact, a few days before the story broke, he revealed a jersey on the pitch in front of thousands of fans on which he proclaimed his love for girlfriend Rafaella Fico (an Italian lingerie model and television personality). No, the truth kicked its way out of his mouth because (word on the corner) was that the hooker he got with, Jenny Thompson, was threatening to blackmail him. Batolli must've shocked the shit out of her by punching her in the purse, basically saying, "Bitch, not me, not today," and telling on himself. I think Mario slowly realized that there's veritably a limitless amount of pussy available to him and a very finite number of pounds in his bank account, and chose not to give Jenny another sixpence. Again, like cheaters before him, as of now Batolli and his girlfriend are still together.

I told y'all all of that to tell you this, and though I am loathe to admit it, I will because it's true (& y'all probably picked up on it already): I am fascinated by celebrity gossip. Not all of it. Hell, not even most of it. But let my nosey ass hear about one of the endless revelations and accusations of infidelity, and I am all over that shit like a priest at a playground. Not that I expect beautiful, wealthy, and oftentimes psychologically jacked up people not to cheat- it's the opposite: I am drawn to the "every man-ness" of cheating. I am continually amazed that I am continually amazed by the fact that these cats live in a world where every word and action is watched and scrutinized, and they still dirty dick around knowing that they are more likely than not to get caught. That just tells me there has to be something to that base biological need to spread the seed.

And then of course you have to factor in the person he's caught with, and I repeatedly find myself wondering (assuming his tryst was with a woman), "What is she thinking? What was this to her? What did she really want?" Most people just call them gold diggers without giving it a second thought, and click to the next website. But I think that the true gold diggers are being viewed in a societal way and not biological, and I don't think that's fair. If men have a biological need to spread their seed, and some are more prone to act on it, then there have be female equivalents.

Firstly, let me clarify what I don't consider a gold digger: It's not the bitch who's at the club every night trying to get at good looking younger actors and athletes, it's not the girl who watches Million Matchmaker like it's a digital bible, and it's not the broad who has Gloria Allred's office number programmed in her phone already just in case. To me, these Hoellas and Sluttishas are women who want money and status so they can feel like they're better than everyone else, but are too lazy, greedy, and unimaginative to do it for themselves. These dirty legs are trading sex for money, and I don't care how much you pretty it up with Louboutins, Chanel, and expensive weaves, that's being a hooker. Straight up. And there's really nothing wrong with it (other than it being illegal) because trading sex for money is an exchange of power, but these bitches will never admit that. In fact, they get indignant and sometimes violent at the suggestion. Start talking about how much they "really liked" said dudes and thought something serious was going to come from their hook-ups. In fact, the only reason they are speaking out at that point is because they "feel bad" for the WAGs (yeah, that and the 5 & the 6 figure deals they got or will get. And it's not shocking. If you're gonna sell sex for money, there's pretty much nothing else you won't sell). Suddenly, these hos become gold diggers and that's not the right term to me.

In my opinion, a true gold digger is a maternal materialist, and from a biological stand point that's what she is supposed to be (though I am no scientist, I play one on a TV show in my head). Biologically speaking, men want young, healthy looking women who look as though they can bear and raise young. On that same base, primal level, women want men who will pass on the genes to ensure those young will be healthy and live long- and what better immediate proof than an older man? And an older wealthy man has shown he is physically strong enough and smart enough to survive and thrive: He's a biological genetic jackpot and women who want kids need him to win (from a very singular bio-evolutionist view point).

These women should be praised for helping to propagate the species and bumping us along evolutionarily- not scorned and mocked. At least not by other bitches like me who know we aren't gonna do it.