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The black dress parted, and in the conventions of the celebrity profile, I should have been thinking, virtue sexy — a sexy topic, as the saying goes — but she's not, and there's nothing even she can do about it. The cutting, the tattoos, the drugs, the self-professed sexual dabbling, the spectacle with her brother at the Oscars, and, above all, the vial of Billy Bob's blood she hung around her neck — she seemed crazy, even though now, looking back, she says she was just young and unfulfilled.
"I entered this business before I had focus and purpose in my life. In 2001, she went to Sierra Leone, a country that has won "war-torn" as a permanent adjective, and, she says, "got into some situations that were pretty intense and just realized how completely naive I was to think I had a difficult life. It was as if someone slapped me across the face and said, 'Oh, my God, you silly young woman from California, do you have any idea how difficult the world really is for so many people?
Without it, there would be no story; there would be only private virtue and public works and the occasional movie, and she would more or less disappear.
With it, however, she becomes one of the four or five Americans who have a chance of turning up on four or five magazine covers each week; with it, she is still a permissible fantasy figure; with it, we Americans can still use her for our own purposes, and our own purposes are very specific.
It is not about her work in Darfur, her work with children orphaned by AIDS. She entered the restaurant out of the sputtering soundstage mist that passes for rain in Hollywood, but now that she's sitting down, she doesn't dry off. Her brown hair stays damp, and she keeps grabbing it in her fist and putting it behind her pillared neck.
Her sexiness is supposed to be, like her lips, larger than life, but in fact it's smaller, because it shows through in her gestures and in the details of her beauty. Well, there was a moment when she unzipped her dress for me.
Indeed, there were all sorts of cinematic meanings to ascribe to the raincoat — it made her look like a spy, the very essence of glamour, the kind of girl who says goodbye in the rain — but that's the last thing she wants.
Though written in the wake of fresh horror, the story was guardedly optimistic until the very end, when it quoted a woman named Leslee Dart.
The press agent for Woody Allen, Tom Hanks, Meryl Streep, and many others, Dart spoke with the resigned serenity of a rehab counselor listening to yet another junkie vow a fresh start: "We have as a culture gone so far off the deep end, I think we have no choice but to go right back to where we were."She was right, of course, and she was wrong.
ran a story about one of the unacknowledged victims of 9/11 — celebrity gossip.
It started with a scene at a New York restaurant famous for its hospitality to famous people.