Lowest Forms

Boo hoo! Some writer weve never heard of made fun of us! Boo hoo hoo!

Calling the men who organized the contest "male chauvinist pigs," Lambe also found time to comment about how Hanson performed during the actual competition. "She was beautiful. Oh, you should've seen it. She was so beautiful."

Hanson, speaking finally from a grocery store as she shopped for MILF meals, added, "From the first night I was given the rule sheet, they really didn't abide by it."

"It was an interlocking conspiracy," Lambe adds.

Leslie Hanson: Don't you wish your mom was hot like me?
Leslie Hanson: Don't you wish your mom was hot like me?


When The Bitch called Sofa Kings for a comment, she was greeted by a message that attempted to use the bar's "clever" name: "The girls are Sofa King hot; the food is Sofa King good." The joke loses whatever subtlety it has when said aloud. The Bitch's voicemail message went unreturned.

Neither Cox nor 93 Rock general manager Mike Disney would discuss the lawsuit, though station marketing director Derrick Pitts made a game attempt at mollification and explanation. "It is a legal matter," Pitts says. "She says that she won, and we feel differently."

Pitts says he can't disclose specifics because of the litigation. He spent a good bit of time on the phone talking about how he couldn't talk about the case.

Finally Pitts revealed the following: "We looked into the original situation and we showed her what we found and explained to her why we found what we found. And the next thing we heard from Mrs. Hanson was that we were being sued. Everything we found we shared with Mrs. Hanson."


The Bitch never deliberately sets out to be a contrarian, but she just can't warm to Ricky Martin. So she brought three diehard fans of the Puerto Rican singer with her to this past Thursday's taping of Martin's MTV Unplugged special at the University of Miami's BankUnited Center. While the croon-resistant canine laid her chin on her paws and mentally cued up a Heaven 17 megamix, the three amigos plus the rest of the crowd of about 150 responded passionately to R.M.'s studliness and vocal ability.

Sporting butt-hugging khaki cargo pants and a navy sleeveless V-neck top, 34-year-old Martin belted out pitch-perfect versions of new tracks and familiar faves for the MTV Latin America show — en español, por supuesto — including "Maria," "La Bamba," and "Con Tu Nombre."

Having only recently returned to the stage after a four-year break from the business, Martin appeared more mature, very buff, and incredibly charismatic. And during the hour-long special, he convinced the audience, which included Latin superstar Giselle Blondet, that he has not lost his touch — or his moves. As The Bitch concentrated furiously on an internal rendition of "Penthouse and Pavement," Martin removed his socks and shoes for an energetic finale — and donned a white headband! Gasp! Though they're muy macho, unless used while playing tennis (and even then such accessorizing is questionable), headbands are a no-no. No one else seemed to notice the item in question, though, as the signature pelvic thrusts were set into sequence. Sigh. The show airs Wednesday, November 1, on MTV Tr3 and MTV Latino.

Paint Drying

Maybe Paris Hilton is possessed by the spirit of Andy Kaufman. Though she was born a few years before the comic genius's untimely death in 1984, the pop monopolist seemed to be channeling Kaufman's self-satisfied, mirthful blankness this past week when she launched her self-titled debut album at a round of South Beach parties. Barely bothering to mouth the lyrics to "Stars Are Blind," answering reporters' questions with Warholian monosyllables ("Miami is nice." "The clubs here are hot."), unruffledly autographing a photo of a small fox-color dog with the inscription "To Firecrotch," she was a model of low affect.

Paris's blurred edges were sharply contrasted by those of her sister, Nicky Hilton, who threw a bash this past Thursday at Restaurant 8 1/2 for the opening of her hotel-condo, Nicky O, both in the old Clinton Hotel at 821 Washington Ave., Miami Beach. Seated at a table with perpetual Hilton-hanger-on/stoner/producer Scott Storch, Nicky was brittle and hyper-alert.

When Storch grabbed her wrist, imploring her to sit down and enjoy a raspberry mojito, N.H. slapped his hand away, hissing, "This is my hotel. I have to work."

Dressed in the season's mandatory yet unflattering dark denim stovepipes, she tossed blond ringlets that wilted in the heat. Hilton worked a crowd of prospective investors with precision if not much warmth. The Bitch almost felt bad for her, and instead of asking about the building, inquired about the Hilton sisters' other steadfast Florida companion, publicist Brian Long.

Making dedicated eye contact for the first time, Nicky enthused, "I've known Brian a long time, and I feel like I've known him my whole life. He's very protective, like a brother."

Hmm. A brother. Interesting. Well, I saw you last night ...

"Where did you see me? What was I doing? How could you have seen me?" Nicky interrupted.

... on Deco Drive, The Bitch finished.

"Oh. That was at a party for Paris, at Mansion...." Nicky's voice trailed off. The Bitch decided she'd better get back to the script this particular event seemed to call for, and the rest of the conversation purred along about interior design and Nicky's lifelong dedication to the hotel industry.

The raspberry mojitos at 8 1/2, along with the food, are pretty good, though.

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