The earthquake? Yes. That was Oprah.
And if you think that was a cheap jibe at Oprah's physique, and not an observation of her powerful stature as a celebrity, spiritual billionairess, and modern woman who jogs, well, that's your issue. Low self-esteem, probably.
As far as SIFF soirees are concerned, the party for Whale Rider at El Gaucho gets the ISA for sheer chic. Darling SIFF promotions princess Amy Lillard (who, to answer your next question, is indeed Scream and Scooby-Doo star Matthew Lillard's sister, and does NOT "work at a video store downtown," thank-you-dammit) and SIFF marketeer Bill Kapfer cornered me, bid me dump my flute of Freix-enet and chicken-saté skewer, and scooted me off to an even privater party upstairs, confirm-ing suspicions that there always really are two VIP rooms: one set up for sponsors, radio-contest winners, and upper-scale groupies, and a second, top-secret VIP domicile reserved for the cool kids you think you're going to hang with if you ever manage to get into the VIP room--which, of course, you never, ever do.
I just knew it!
Actors Keisha Castle-Hughes, Cliff Curtis, and Rawari Paratene from the Whale Rider cast were there, along with director Niki Caro. But aside from that I really can't reveal much. The curse, you know.
(Okay. They used real china! You didn't hear it from me.)
The SIFF VIP suite at the W is charmant as ever (if that is the real VIP suite), fizzing with filmy chatter, no-I'm-not-joking air kisses, and perversely tanned people who randomly compliment Seattle on its lack of "L.A.-style bullshit." I take enormous amounts of shameful pleasure in correcting this misconception. My favorite was director Chris Shelton, so I promised I'd attend his film Moving Alan. Sadly, our L.A.-style traffic held me up, and they refused to seat me five minutes fashionable (I'm fashionable, never late--you'd think film people would get the concept). So: Sorry, Chris. But since you're already back in L.A. by now, and you won't even read this, who the hell am I talking to?
I just don't know anymore.
You know? The woman who reported that Aidan Quinn was hanging around outside Flying Fish included her personal phone number in the e-mail. Isn't that strange? I think she wants me.
Of course the Howard Dean for President Fund-raiser at the Capitol Club, starring Danny Roberts, was a crashing success. No-I'm-not-kidding air kisses to the hundreds of supporters who attended, especially the three of them who actually donated. Mwa. Mwa. And mwa.
