Nuts, I Say

The remarkably astute will have noticed that two exciting questions were raised, yet left tragically unanswered, in this space just lately. I am now emotionally prepared to reveal the answers to these questions, and the remarkably astute will be interested to find that the answers are, respectively, that it was clearly Jennifer Aniston's (of course), and I was both on vacation and overwrought, thank you. And for the astute-challenged? Well, God love ya.

Eddie Izzard was seen browsing at Borders last week, probably having gotten so fed up with his own show running at the Moore that he strolled downtown looking for something more interesting to do. (I'm just being catty; I wouldn't know Eddie Izzard if he were dancing on the head of my pin, but his name always makes me think "Freaky Lizard" and British comedy bores me bloomin' knickers off. Way. The fuck. Off. Governor. )

Speaking of British crap: "The prince is not an African-antelope murderer, so can it, you smart-mouthed cow!" is almost exactly what Buckingham Palace said to Pink in an official letter urging her to get her fucking facts straight before she writes another snotty letter to a British royal. Remember? That "you better find better things to do with your time than kill defenseless little forest creatures, Princey, or I'll never sing at your birthday party, so there" (or whatever) letter that Pink wrote Prince William when he asked her to appear at his 21st birthday party? Well, the prince's press aides insist that the alleged antelopicide is "totally untrue" and gave Pink a bracing slap on the wrist, and none of us missed her at the damn party, anyway.

It has been reported that Tom Green and his people were seen eating at Ohana in Belltown and then partying at Club Medusa, but I find it very strange to think of Tom Green having "people." (He's only managed one testicle, for godsakes.) Tom's "people" commiserated amongst their peoply selves in the VIP room, but gregarious Mr. Green and his lonely, lonely nut worked the regular crowd, dancing with the "Medusa Dancers" (imagination balks), and ribboning the crowd with toilet paper from above amidst a roaring cheer of adulation.

It was like a dream--a wonderful, one-nutted dream.

And Gary Tucker of the Seattle Rep explained to me that people are seeing Harold Perrineau around town because he's rehearsing for the Rep's Topdog/Underdog, which also stars Larry Gilliard Jr. --and, knowing damn well I couldn't keep a secret if it was nailed to the back of my tongue, it was quite the clever little bit of marketing on his part, now wasn't it?

Of course it was.