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2008-11-08 02:12:32Kids, curries, Kerala: the perfect recipe
It would be dark soon, we could tell, because the sun had dipped behind the far ridge of the absurdly picturesque valley, but there didn't seem to be any urgency to return to our bungalow. The tea country of the Western Ghats in southern India, the knuckle of mountains separating lush Kerala from the plains of Tamil Nadu, is tranquil to the point of caricature and the only danger lay in the eyes of our seven-year-old, Esme, who feared we might encounter more tea pickers. Earlier, walking up from the bungalow which had once belonged to the English manager of the vast Tallayar estate, the last of these to finish work had descended past us. Three women, Tamils wearing saris, had pinched Esme's cheeks so hard her smile had morphed into a grimace. Now the tea pickers had all reached their homes further down the valley, from where later in the dark we would hear Tamil film music drifting up. Instead, we were stopped by the recently installed manager of the estate, having first been alerted to his presence by the growl of his gleaming Enfield motorbike. Elephants, he said, roamed these hillsides; and yes, they could be very dangerous and yes, we'd best hurry back to the bungalow.Packing for this two-week adventure, we had not counted being savaged by wild pachyderms among the possible dangers. Instead, there had been questions about what would Sam and Esme eat and what sort of malaria pills should we take, or would they be simply overwhelmed by the country itself. Before Zoe and I met we had both travelled around India. The three weeks I'd spent in the south with a gang of teenage mates, rucksacks filled with filthy washing on our backs, had left me with the potentially foolhardy idea of wanting to instil the fascination I'd felt with this part of the world in two under-10s whose weltanschauung had hitherto been bound by Ryanair's flight routes.Kerala's history is intertwined with that of travellers seduced by its spectacular beauty. In Cochin, to which we flew via Sri Lanka, there is still - just about - one of the oldest Jewish diaspora communities in the world as well as India's oldest European church, St Francis, where the explorer Vasco da Gama was originally buried. Our own journey had seen Zoe pick up a bug on the flight, and the family's entrance into the country had been heralded by a fellow passenger announcing to the stewardesses, 'she is vomiting', with the sort of hard, percussive 'v' and elongated vowel sound that also announces India. So much for the children's welfare.But this was a holiday at which we were chucking the savings, and whereas last time it had been trains and buses, now we were met by our own car and driver, the heroic Rajesh, with whom we weaved calmly north for an hour-and-a-half to what we could see, in the warm light of morning, were the Athirapally Falls. This is a popular spot for local tourists, and the view from our adjoining bedrooms at our eco-friendly hotel of the Chalakudy River crashing down 80 feet was spectacular. The falls had also attracted a film crew shooting a Malayalam movie in the forest when Sam, Esme and I sweated past later in the heat, with a chorus line of extras and a troop of monkeys waiting in the shade. For the children, it immediately felt very different from the school playground on a Friday afternoon, and later, on a drive deeper into the forest, we saw deer and a giant red squirrel, but no elephants here either, despite the promised chance of a sighting.The deal had been that we would split the trip between wildlife, beach and culture and next morning, with Zoe recovered, we drove back to Cochin. The route was initially through lush countryside, with Rajesh pointing out the banana trees, tapioca, rubber trees and much more, as if this were a botany lesson. This is a fertile land for religion, too, and beside the temples and mosques, there were huge churches with gaudy paint jobs to enable them compete with their Hindu counterparts. Imposing mansions also studded the roadside, evidence of Kerala's growing prosperity.Long the most literate state in India, it is benefiting from workers at every level, from construction workers to medics, sending money home from newfound jobs in the Gulf. Tourism plays its part, too, and in Cochin the sort of boutique hotel that simply didn't exist in India twenty years ago - backpacker's budget or not -was awaiting us. Before dinner in the courtyard of the chic Malabar House, there was the inevitable visit to the city's famous Chinese fishing nets and then to a kathakali show. Genuine performances of this ancient form of dance-drama apparently last through the night, but even though this show was thankfully truncated and the protagonists looked spectacular in their lurid make-up, there was still the question of why the children should be subjected to it when I had suffered a similar show that had bored me close to tears 20 years ago. But it proved a surprise hit thanks to the woman who explained the action to the audience and could have passed for Les Dawson in drag; coincidentally, she also shared his comic timing.The cultural trail was leading us to Madurai across the Western Ghats in Tamil Nadu, but to break the nine-hour drive we stopped for the night in tea country, 45 minutes on from the town of Munnar. En route, the children were entertained by the scenery but also by a CD of the Just William stories we'd brought with us to play on the car stereo; it turned out that the sound of Martin Jarvis recounting the adventures of William, Ginger, Douglas et al proved the most apposite soundtrack to our arrival at the Tallayar Estate bungalow - a perfect throwback to the Raj. Delphiniums and forget-me-nots prettified the garden and the strawberries were just coming into season; later, the cook asked the children to identify the veg patch cauliflower they fancied for dinner. We were the only guests, treated to vast bedrooms and chipped ceramic baths, and the cook and housekeeper were there at 4am to see us off.The early start wasn't in the itinerary however relentless it seemed, but the stoic Rajesh had been alarmed by news of a hartal - a strike - called to protest against rising fuel prices in Kerala. So we wound through the mountains as dawn crept up - privilege to the most spectacular views - in order to make the state border before angry picket lines could stop us; Rajesh was genuinely relieved when we made it down into the plains without incident. The ancient city of Madurai with its rubbish-strewn streets served as a sharp contrast to the more genteel charms of Cochin. But to visit its stellar attraction, the Meenakshi temple, we took rickshaws from the hotel and the children loved the mayhem of our race there. If ever any journey made a mockery of the demand that they put their seat belts on when in the car back home, this was it. The vast temple complex, with its 12 gopurams, beats an Anglican church hands down when it comes to child-friendliness, too: we could pad around barefoot, play hide and seek among the sculptures, visit the temple shops - and gain a keen sense of a religion practised in near-unbroken form for millennia. Sam said later that the temple was - and here he adopted the sort of formulation that would see Rajev tell us that from Madurai to our next destination it was 'near ... and also far' - both 'boring and ... interesting'. Serious praise.In Madurai we also visited a tailor, who kitted out both children in Indian clothes, which seemed like a further measure of their acclimatisation. The food, too, was proving a breeze - the idea of a curry provoked few fears, with biscuits and bananas coming to the rescue if there really wasn't anything they fancied. Only a ritual of our own cast a pall; advice on whether it was really necessary to take precautions against malaria in southern India was mixed, which meant that the children were bullied into wolfing down their bitter pills every evening before dinner. This, Esme maintains, was, cheek-pinchers included, 'the absolute worst thing about India'.From Madurai it was a scramble back to the coast, but the journey was broken by two nights at the Periyar Wildlife park, the biggest in south India. The first time I had visited here, if memory serves, there were few buildings and little in the way of hotels and it was in the adjacent town of Thekkady that my friends and I had been approached by a wiry fellow asking, 'sirs, would you be interested in seeing marijuana growing', followed by his sales pitch. Now it was shop owners inviting us in to look at artefacts from around the country - pashminas from Kashmir and such like. The advantage of Periyar remains that it is easy to visit - a vast artificial lake dominates the park and every hour three or four boats with Indian honeymooners and Western tourists sputter off across the water.But first we hired a guide to take us walking into the jungle, which meant more monkeys and a raccoon, as well as tiger scratch marks but no tigers and no elephants. Easy to imagine they were scared off by the occasional moan from a child still sweltering in the becalming, relative coolness of the thick interior. But it was still fantastically like The Jungle Book. Later, the boat ride proved restive, apart from the sudden frenzied gesticulation necessary when anyone thought they had spotted a big beast on the shore. Sadly, they were only deer.Never mind, because next day, finally there were elephants, tame ones that we rode around a patch of jungle in Thekkady. The Madurai rickshaw race was recreated at ambling pace - the danger now in the possibility of Zoe panicking and falling off. This was, Esme later said, 'the best thing we did in India'.From there, we bumped down towards the sea, entering the part of Kerala famous for its luscious backwaters, where the distinction between land and water threatens to disappear. First we stopped for two nights at an absurdly luxurious hotel called Privacy on the shores of the vast Lake Vembanad and then hit a beach resort.This stretch of the frenzied journey served as a reward for everyone - lazing by the swimming pool, cycling through country lanes, being buffeted by the warm waves of the Arabian Sea, drifting through backwaters in a modified canoe. By this stage, for the adults, there was little of the sense of adventure that had characterised our earlier trips to India, though we continued to marvel at recent developments in the country that made our lives easier now - such as functioning cash points. But every day brought something new to Sam and Esme.The only shame was that we had to part company with Rajesh who, like everyone we met, could not have been nicer to the children. Sam gashed his foot in the pool at Privacy but by then Zoe and I were beyond worrying. The junior contingent started moaning, but only that we absolutely had to return to Kerala at the earliest possible opportunity.EssentialsCaspar Llewellyn Smith travelled with Transindus 020 8566 2729; transindus.com. A 16-day family trip staying at the Rainforests, Malabar House, Tallayar Estate, Taj Garden Retreat, Spice Village, Privacy and Marari Beach, costs from £2,298 per adult, and £2,048 per child under 12, including flights, sightseeing tours, all transport, and breakfasts. A shorter, nine-day escorted group tour 'Kerala in Style' costs from £1,629 per adult, £1,498 per child. Caspar and family flew with Sri Lankan Airlines 020 8538 2000; srilankan.lk.IndiaSri LankaFamily holidaysguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2008 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
2008-10-26 20:43:19Guru Nair connects Austrians to phone company With Images
INT26International/Diaspora/Lifestyle/Technology/EconomyGuru Nair connects Austrians to phone company With ImagesBy Mehru JafferVienna, Oct 9 IANS When 33-year-old Ramesh Nair talks, Austrians listen, because the choreographer and actor and new mascot of Telering has the answer to all their problems.Whether on the golf course or at a supermarket, when in doubt Austrians are told to ask the Indian for a solution in all Telering advertisements playing on the radio and television round the clock these days.Telering is Austria's fourth largest mobile phone operator with an earning of over 200 million euros and Nair, the German-born, Vienna-based choreographer and actor of Indian origin, is the new brand ambassador of the company, a job that he is expected to perform for at least a year, if not more."Listen to the Indian" is Telering's new slogan on television, radio, posters and on larger than life billboards. "Ask the Indian..." is the punch line along with the warm, smiling face of Nair that is expected to rope in a million more subscribers.Chosen from a cast of 50 aspirants, Nair is naturally delighted with his new avatar as the wise man of Telering for more reasons than one."The money is finally good. I can now concentrate on just dance and music. Besides I love television," Nair told IANS. The head of Sophistikids, a performing arts company for children, he is in the midst of choreographing "Annie", the musical about a little orphan that will premier later this year in Vienna.He is also rehearsing for a Vienna performance of "Guys and Dolls" the popular Broadway musical that ran for 555 shows in London in 1953. But most of the time, he performs on stage.In the latest Telering advertisement launched on television Oct 1, a very big European asks a pretty woman who is sharing a steaming bathtub with him if she would still love him if he were not a multi millionaire.The slender beauty hesitates, and she twirls her damp curls before saying, "I don't know...ask the Indian".In the next shot the Indian is shown soaking in between the Europeans in the same bathtub with his turban on. Despite the sexy surroundings of the scene the reply of the Indian is a melange of philosophy and practicality that viewers find both original and funny.Telering is in the midst of an aggressive but colourful campaign to promote new discount offers with the help of Nair.The second child of a couple from Kerela that came to Germany in the 1960s to work here in the medical profession, dance has been Nair's passion for as long as he can remember."I grew up listening to Indian music in our home. As a child I loved to tap dance. Afraid that my dancing would destroy her furniture and decorations, my mother enrolled me in a dance school when I was seven years old," recalls Nair.But his skill as a dancer is not why the casting directors chose Nair to play the Telering mascot."It was a combination of Ramesh's very Indian personality and the way he speaks German like a natural," explains Andrea Starl of Blink, the advertising agency that specialises in building strong brands. "We sat at this very table, playing with different ideas and wondering how we could help Telering conquer the heart of customers," Michael Heine, 50, creative director, told IANS.Out of five brands and four telecommunication operators in a country with more than eight million mobile phone users, Telering is known for offering consumers low prices.Blink wanted to say that Telering's prices may be low but the bargain that a subscriber strikes is smart."We wanted to promote the brand as a reliable pillar of strength not just for the moment but in times to come. We gave three ideas to Telering and the client loved the Indian theme," Michael Braun, head of Blink, said.Together with Tobias Federsel, 33, the scriptwriter, Heine who has never been to India eventually created an image of the wise Indian for Telering who is a master of the art of reaching out to other human beings in a warm, friendly and colourful way as portrayed by Nair.--Indo-Asian News Servicemehru/jg/ky 754 Words**09101024
2008-10-09 01:00:00India's oldest women's college facing closure
NAT43National/Education/SocietyIndia's oldest women's college facing closureShimla, Sep 24 IANS Known as India's oldest all-women college, St. Bede's in the Himachal Pradesh capital is contemplating closure due to a severe funds crunch. "We are facing severe financial crisis and we are not in a position to run the college too much longer," college principal Molly Abraham told IANS Wednesday. The college has been imparting quality education since 1904 and boasts of alumni like actress Preity Zinta, late model and beauty queen Persis Khambatta and Himachal Pradesh's first woman police officer Satwant Atwal. "The state government is not cooperating with us any more. You see, our fee structure is on par with other private colleges, but the government has cut grants by half," she said. With a change in government rules in March this year, grant-in-aid to private colleges, including St. Bede's, was reduced from 95 percent to 50 percent. Earlier, only four colleges were getting the grants and now the total grant is distributed among 20 colleges in the state. "We are helpless as we are bound by a 2006 high court ruling which directs us to disburse the grants among all private colleges on an equal basis. Earlier, only four colleges were getting the grants. Now the funds are distributed among 20 colleges," education secretary P.C. Dhiman said. But Abraham was not convinced with Dhiman's reply. "Since we are not keen to increase the fees as this goes against our objective of providing affordable education to girls, it's better to shut the college," said Abraham. "Since March we have been managing our routine affairs like payment of salaries to the staff by raising loans, but you tell me, for how many months can this process continue" she asked. It charges a monthly fee of Rs.50, fixed in 1970, from the students of undergraduate art courses. It's the only college in the state that has been given A plus grade by the NAAC. "It is a strange paradox that on one hand the government is providing free education to girls in government-run colleges and on the other it has squeezed our grants," Abraham lamented. "Now the ball is in the government's court... otherwise it will be the end of an era," she said. Pratibha Singh, wife of former chief minister Virbhadra Singh who studied at St. Bede's, said if the college closed down, it would be a disaster. --Indo-Asian News Servicevg/pg/dg451 Words*24091549
2008-09-24 06:01:09Blogs to Riches: Perez Hilton Migrates Into Cosmetics, Fashion and Music
<!--pageType= magazinesmallslug= mf_perezsection= techbizsubsection= peopleheadline= Perez Hilton Burned Up the Blogosphere. Now It's Cosmetics, Fashion&mdash;and Music.authorName= David BrownecreditType= photocredit= Jono Rotman--><p><strong>Mario Lavandeira hates to leave the house. He prefers to stay in his gated-community condo, which has all the charm and personality of a just-cleaned motel room, so he can torture the rich and famous from the safety of his computer. He's been up since 4 am, belly-crawling through the blogosphere to uncover juicy celebrity tidbits for his gossip site, <a href="http://www.perezhilton.com">PerezHilton.com. "I work 16, 17, 18 hours a day," he whines as he stuffs his pear-shaped torso into a black and yellow hoodie and matching track pants that make him look like a giant bumblebee. "I'm not exaggerating. That's <em>really how much I work." <p>But chubby Mario from Miami isn't the boss around here. The boss is Perez Hilton, his infamous alter ego. Like a queer-eyed Incredible Hulk, this raging diva persona took over the life of shy, schlubby Mario in 2005. In just three years, Hilton has smashed through the Hollywood elite, muscling his way from bottom-feeding blogger to up-and-coming entertainment-business power player.<p>This particular spring morning hasn't turned up much news&mdash;no bold-named breakups, no leaked sex tapes, no tinted-limo treks to rehab. But Hilton has a hair appointment, and it's time to get going. So he throws a few celebrity crumbs to the 8 million devotees who rely on him for their daily dish. As usual, they're delivered in a writing style so breathless you need an inhaler to follow along. Choice samples from Hilton's oeuvre: <em>OMG! ... Justin Timberlake is box office POISON ... Jesse Jackson is in Deep Shiz ... Amy Winehouse! Her performance was a hot mess!"My site is for people just like me," he says as we bullet through West Hollywood in his Toyota Camry. "Regular folks."<p>Of course, most regular folks aren't greeted by name at the valet parking stand in front of this chic Beverly Hills beauty salon. Inside, a fawning hair stylist squeals, "My family in Arkansas just loves you!" She takes more than two and a half hours to coif his thick black hair into a spiky 'do with a Flock of Seagulls wave falling over one eye. As he admires the effect in the mirror, I'm reminded of a drawing I spotted above his living room sofa: Hilton as a grinning vampire perched atop the Hollywood sign. "I want to be the gay Latino Oprah," he says. "Anything is possible!"<p><em>Perez Hilton as a bona fide celebrity OMG! which aired on VH1 to respectable ratings, followed by a nationally syndicated on-air gossip gig with ABC Radio. In early 2009, Hilton's first book, a satirical tell-all titled <cite>Red Carpet Suicide: A Survival Guide on Keeping Up With the Hiltons, will hit bookstores. Then there's the recently launched Hot Topic clothing and accessories line brace yourself for armies of teenage girls in <em>Team Perez T-shirts and shiny pink Hilton-brand lip gloss.<p>Now the guy who prefers Bette Midler to Arcade Fire and knows all the lyrics to Paula Abdul's "Vibeology" is working with Warner Music to launch his own boutique label, with acts handpicked by the blogger himself. "Record labels release so much crap these days, I think I could do really well," he says as we head back to the condo. "Nothing coming out of <em>my label will be crap. But if it <em>were, it would just be a single. If there's one crap single that has the potential to make a shitload of money, I'd release it."<p>As we pull up to a four-way stop, Hilton gasps. "Look! It's Seth Green!" Sure enough, the red-haired actor from <cite>Austin Powers sits in the next car, staring blankly out the window. "I should say hello to him," Hilton says, then pauses. "He should say hello to <em>me."<p><strong>The blogs-to-riches story of Mario Armando Lavandeira Jr. is the stuff of online legend. In 2004, during what he calls "the worst year of my life," he was a fame-obsessed loner who had just been fired from a reporting job at <cite>Star magazine. "It poisoned my soul," he says. Dreaming of becoming an actor, he moved from New York to LA, unemployed and broke. Too cheap to pay for Internet access at home, he set up shop at a local Coffee Bean &amp; Tea Leaf. There, enjoying the free Wi-Fi, he stumbled across a few personal blogs. He thought of writing an online diary of his own but concluded that his life was too boring.<div id="embed"><div id="pic" style="margin-bottom:12px;"><img src="http://www.wired.com/images/article/magazine/1609/mf_perez2_f.jpg" alt=""/><div id="caption">Hilton and his fave act Girlicious at the MuchMusic Awards.<br/><em>Photo: Getty<p>Then he had what his idol, Ms. Winfrey, would call his <em>a-ha moment: He realized that it was easier to be a famous blogger than a famous actor&mdash;all you needed was an oversize persona to stand out from the keystroking horde. In September 2004, he set up a free site using Blogger, chose a bland beige template, and began tapping out his musings. Over the course of a year, they evolved into what is now the hot-pink PerezHilton.com. The site's original name, PageSixSixSix.com, had to be changed after the <cite>New York Post, home to the "Page Six" gossip column, filed a lawsuit.<p>Snarky celebrity-focused news sites were nothing new, but Hilton delivered his as childlike graffiti scrawled over photos. Even in Hollywood, his vicious, eye-clawing approach stood out. Two of the site's more benign entries: "L. Ron wuz here," scribbled over a shot of Tom Cruise, and the word "Fake" branded on the breasts of actress and reality show regular Brigitte Nielsen. He also became known for having the juiciest pictures, most of them pilfered from other sites. The result was a lot of traffic and a few lawsuits from photo agencies. "Perez is the outsider&mdash;the gay, the Latino, the interloper," he says of his persona. "And Hilton is the mainstream&mdash;Hollywood, pop culture. So I'm this outsider commenting on this wacky world of celebrity who managed to become an insider but is still, in many ways, the ultimate outsider."<p>In the hands of Hilton, the outrageous antics of Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, and Paris Hilton the ubiquitous, ridiculous celebutante and inspiration for Hilton's garish nom de guerre are distilled into photo-driven, text-message-length morality plays gleefully deconstructed and critiqued by his legion of <cite>Us Weekly-loving, mostly female fans. He promoted his site by posting a bulletin on Friendster; soon PerezHilton.com was generating 20,000 pageviews a month.<p>The reaction from mainstream media was immediate and scathing: <cite>The Insider, a tabloid TV show, dubbed his site "the most-hated in Hollywood" for its tacky takedowns of untouchable stars. Old media attacked Hilton's integrity is he a journalist or just a pathetic celeb-hound with a blog, and other bloggers derided his oily, relentlessly self-promoting manner. One site referred to him as a "professional canker sore."<p>But the scorn only boosted his traffic. Within a year, monthly pageviews had topped a million. "Without the attention from the mainstream media, I'd probably be seen as just another gossip site," he says. "Anyway, it's not gossip&mdash;it's celebrity news. It's <em>facts." And Hilton seems to relish the notoriety, Googling himself daily to see what people are saying about him. "The fact that they attack me on my own Web site and leave all these negative comments keeps my head in check," he says. "I'm happier this way than if I was universally adored&mdash;like Reese Witherspoon."<p>Critics are one thing, copycats are another. In July, Hilton filed a lawsuit against <a href="http://perezrevenge.com">perezrevenge.com, an uncannily similar celebrity site which also pokes fun at Hilton, claiming, among other things, trademark infringement and cybersquatting. "Don't dish it if you can't take it, my friend," responded the editor on the Web site.<p>Somehow, Hilton has converted notoriety into legitimacy. In 2006, he pitched a reality show based on his day-to-day activities&mdash;blogging and bitching about celebrities&mdash;and VH1 snapped it up. When he announced on his site, incorrectly, that Fidel Castro was dead Hilton's family fled Cuba for Florida in the '60s, the Huffington Post and the Drudge Report picked up the item albeit with skepticism. When Bloomberg invited him to be its guest at this year's White House Correspondents' Association dinner in Washington, he was seated next to Tracey Ullman, who gushed, "I read your site every day!" For his LA-based novel, <cite>Bright Shiny Morning, author James Frey interviewed Hilton and modeled the character of a flamboyant gossip monger on him.<p>Not that Hilton needs the publicity. Ads on his homepage fetch up to $54,000 a day, and his overhead is minimal&mdash;his only employee is his sister Barby, who fields emails and corrects typos. Which means he's pulling down millions a year. The site now averages 198 million pageviews a month, according to the Web ratings service Quantcast. Nielsen Online estimates that while visitors to <a href="http://www.tmz.com">TMZ.com, one of his main competitors, stay only 15 minutes, those on Hilton's site linger for 45 minutes.<p>That kind of stickiness confers influence. When Hilton posted tracks by an unknown singer-songwriter named Eric Hutchinson, thousands of fans rushed to iTunes to download the album. Three months later, Warner Music signed Hutchinson&mdash;and began sniffing around Hilton. "Maybe it speaks to the music industry's desperation," muses an employee of a rival company, "but we want to make the new media our friend." Soon, Hilton and Warner were talking boutique label and a $100,000 advance against an even profit split for his discoveries the deal's not done yet, and Warner has declined to comment. "Because he gets so many hits and he's on TV and the radio, he can be helpful with lesser-known acts," concedes one major-label publicist. "In that respect, he's valued."<p>If the Warner deal falls through, Hilton insists he'll start a label on his own within the year. "I remember running into Perez at a restaurant while we were midway through the TV show," recalls Jeff Olde, a VH1 executive, "and he was meeting with someone about his own record deal. That's when I realized this is one very ambitious guy."<p><strong>At 5 o'clock the following evening, Hilton is changing out of his Peanuts pajamas for another big outing. He's been invited by KIIS FM to appear at the radio station's concert in Irvine, featuring Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers. "I can go to an event like this and get more addresses for my address book and bring a lot of opportunities my way," he says as the black town car pulls up to the amphitheater. "But now, the people come up to <em>me. "<p>As Hilton steps out of the car wearing a yellow T-shirt reading "Hot Mess", Perez-mania erupts. A young woman at check-in gushes, "Your site is my favorite!" A concert rep leads him to the red carpet, where an <cite>Access Hollywood reporter sticks a microphone in his face as paparazzi snap his photo. Hilton is then whisked into a VIP goody-bag tent, where he's laden with free jeans, T-shirts, and self-tanning lotion. Back outside, he's approached by TV producers and a radio station executive eager to have him on the air.<p>"For me, it's just work," Hilton says of all the fuss. But occasionally he seems to miss the safety of being Mario, the socially awkward recluse. At one point in the evening he retreats to a mostly empty tent, takes a seat, and calmly eats the low-fat fish-and-rice dinner he has brought in a plastic container.<p>Then it's time for Hilton and a local radio personality to do their bit. Security guards lead them to seats in the middle of the amphitheater. A camera zooms in and transmits their images to large screens above the stage. Perez Hilton is on. "Lindsay Lohan is in the house!" he bellows to the assembled teenyboppers. "And she's <em>drunk!" And then: "I just saw the Danity Kane girls&mdash;I think they're <em>scared of me!"<p>On the way home, Hilton is still on fire. "I'm so fucking jealous of Seacrest!" he shouts, referring to the <cite>American Idol host, who was also at the show. "He helicoptered in and out!" But it's not hard to imagine Hilton taking off in a chopper himself one day, heading skyward as the rest of us scratch our heads, wondering how he ever got up there.<p><em>David Browne <a href="mailto:david@david-browne.com">david@david-browne.com <em>wrote about the death of the music album in issue 15.03.<br style="clear: both;"/> <a style='font-size: 10px; color: maroon;' href='http://www.pheedo.com/hostedMorselClick.phphfmm=v2:c8aaac85371c0f42c0675d2c56a82a2e:AY3lJHCuQ0lMhQ6+uFqEjQHIku/yb+Piise+rFBDyaLBYqrOvWhPwpFK4FaJor/SBFIJ3l+FxTApdjPqSSiK2061VHLzHgLFsjDdQvxs5bM='><img border='0' title='Add to Reddit' alt='Add to Reddit' src='http://www.pheedo.com/images/mm/reddit.png'/> <a style='font-size: 10px; color: maroon;' href='http://www.pheedo.com/hostedMorselClick.phphfmm=v2:737797ab315438989bde4f910d5a9dcc:Dx0EoW/pzauVu5xYCU7/9N24syyX8/l3Mfzj3tkl2suJEl6qGVq/RfcUCXe9s1z1OZ7DIX79dj2v49Ix+ta35FYuo35C7QlyzW6Rz9VeMm8='><img border='0' title='Add to Yahoo My Web' alt='Add to Yahoo My Web' src='http://www.pheedo.com/images/mm/yahoo.png'/> <a style='font-size: 10px; color: maroon;' href='http://www.pheedo.com/hostedMorselClick.phphfmm=v2:7bcf62e16ce82f9c4116ce51bdb67ef8:OMviAWIpnMWFqlBPjqXDkCvgIHrHkUGbQEs5UknrisQ6ueVpbN9hmKIlNlxNJnVsCslrgPCBzbXoJstRxW4J90Dc2Dnc6aRKNN2t3DSYf50='><img border='0' title='Add to Google' alt='Add to Google' src='http://www.pheedo.com/images/mm/google.png'/> <a style='font-size: 10px; color: maroon;' href='http://www.pheedo.com/hostedMorselClick.phphfmm=v2:43c52e8422ffe20c0ca77d30bc6c33b0:wJBmmILqi0JIKLhd6XZlDU+cYC2EmhyCd51ji50YsYz268sn+8QBSal4GMoumB+y1JRy2DD2oCjxGG/mCrBFsN6zvXKQG2MtsZeGNtLl5Mw='><img border='0' title='Survey' alt='Survey' src='http://www.pheedo.com/images/mm/poll_survey.png'/><br style="clear: both;"/> <img alt="" style="border: 0; height:1px; width:1px;" border="0" src="http://www.pheedo.com/img.phdoi=4ac5061ea492dbc911d5a1c9356d8d1a" height="1" /><img src="http://www.pheedo.com/feeds/tracker.phpi=4ac5061ea492dbc911d5a1c9356d8d1a" style="display: none;" border="0" height="1" alt=""/><div class="feedflare"><a href="http://feeds.wired.com/~f/wired/techbiza=1MIM8K"><img src="http://feeds.wired.com/~f/wired/techbizi=1MIM8K" border="0"> <a href="http://feeds.wired.com/~f/wired/techbiza=JEEOYk"><img src="http://feeds.wired.com/~f/wired/techbizi=JEEOYk" border="0"> <a href="http://feeds.wired.com/~f/wired/techbiza=BHEv4k"><img src="http://feeds.wired.com/~f/wired/techbizi=BHEv4k" border="0"> <a href="http://feeds.wired.com/~f/wired/techbiza=nQDPfK"><img src="http://feeds.wired.com/~f/wired/techbizi=nQDPfK" border="0"><img src="http://feeds.wired.com/~r/wired/techbiz/~4/370586631" height="1" />
2008-08-21 16:17:24
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