Seattle gets a Hairball: Okay--my closest girlfriend and I were en route to see Signs, that new alien-burdened Mel Gibson flick, and we were discussing sex with hairy guys. (She's thumbs down on the hair issue. Me? Mind your own bizwax.) The subject came up due to the HYSTERICAL e-mails I've been getting from twitterpated Hugh Jackman fans. Hairy, hairy Hugh is shooting X-Men 2 in Vancouver--he plays the interminably shirtless "Wolverine," is fuzzier than a butch bush rat, and seems to be sprouting up around town like back hair on a bald man.

ANYhooo. A little analysis revealed that my girlfriend's unfortunate body-hair issue originated, unsurprisingly, during her primary developmental years. Her mother (then recently divorced) was dating a big, scruffy he-man--a man nature had blessed with a head-to-toe Afro. Well, late one night she trundled groggily to fetch a glass of water and accidentally heard her mommy and Hairy Larry loudly playing pelvis-polo. The ensuing fascination/repulsion resulted in an over-compensatory sexual aversion to hairy men! Isn't that fucking fascinating? (Oh, and Mr. Jackman was spotted eating crab with his wife and son at the Flying Fish, mulling around the Sorrento Hotel, and not playing "Heart and Soul" on the big-feet piano at FAO Schwarz.)

EVERYONE but EVERYONE has been picking on poor Ethan Hawke for authoring Ash Wednesday, his new novel. Frankly, I don't see what's so damn ridiculous about an actor-turned-writer. Of course, I can't personally endorse the piece of shit and I have no plans to read it. But you gotta hand it to the scruffy little love muffin--he knows how to prop his peeps: "Rainelle" spotted Ethan at the Four Seasons Hotel, and she reports that a giddy Ethan fan (not her) recognized Ethan across the street from the hotel and began screaming, "ETHAN! ETHAN! Over HERE!" Mr. Hawke reportedly stopped, regarded the spastic well-wisher, and, logically, fled into the confines of his luxurious four-star hotel. But this is where the story gets WEIRD: Hawke REEMERGED from the hotel seconds later, brandishing a PEN from the hotel desk! He crossed to the hysterical, hyperventilating fan (now a gaggle of fans) and proceeded to sign autographs, smile bigly, and pose for souvenir photos! Wadda guy!

I also have reports that Ethan's devastatingly freaky-cool missus, Uma Thurman, was in Seattle too, here to stand by her man and his literary meanderings. Factoid: Uma asked the University Bookstore security to escort her to Baby Gap! To protect her from oppressive sweatshop labor, I bet.

adrian@thestranger.com