The Tony Awards were so gay they made me feel dirty. There was man-necking. MAN-necking! On CBS! It tore me apart. I just can't talk about it.
And don't even try to pretend that Ashton Kutcher screwing Demi Moore isn't hotter than August in Acapulco, because it isn't. It's twice that hot. It's like every bisexual dream I never really had is coming true. I feel whole again.
Speaking of dreams (were we speaking of dreams?), I dreamed that spiky Mark McGrath (you know, Sugar Ray) was buying a pair of ass-framing 501s at the downtown Levi's store (you know, the downtown Levi's store) and that Sugar Ray's drummer (you know, drums?) was there too, and he was, like, all jealous and junk because Mark's nicely framed ass was getting all the attention, so the poor darling wandered around telling people, "Hey! I'm in Mark's band, too," just to, you know, milk props.
No. Wait! That really happened! How embarrassing for everyone involved.
"Alan" wants to know if he saw Kathleen Turner wearing enormous Jackie O. sunglasses last week at Pike Place Market. So. Did he or what?
And guess who I saw for sure wearing Jackie O. sunglasses at Pike Place Market? Right. Jeff Goldblum. SIFF threw a lovely reception for him at Vivanda Ristorante after his gig at the Egyptian last Sunday. Jeff is 100 feet tall and completely terrifying in a warm, embracing kind of way. And he could charm the bloomers off a nun. Or a celebrity columnist. No such luck, however.
Corrections! Director Niki Caro, with whom I claimed to have begun a torrid affair at the El Gaucho gathering for the SIFF film Whale Rider last week, wasn't even at the gathering! I'm such a liar. She was in New Zealand, on the verge of birthing. No kidding.
(Fuck you. They had a lovely open bar, and I didn't have to get up in the morning. You'd be blurry too. And I'm so sorry I just said "Fuck you.")
And did I forget to mention that the Whale Rider party in question was split between El Gaucho proper and the Big Picture facility downstairs because the Big Picture's owner refused to admit the film's underage star Keisha Castle-Hughes to the official reception? Using the whole "Washington State liquor laws say, blah, blah, blah" excuse? Proving definitively that our fascist society has lemons stuck up its ass? Sorry. But don't worry: SIFF-tastic Bill Kapfer saved the day by shuttling the cast away to another hot spot, while over-21 SIFFsters continued to party in El Gaucho's backroom. And that's why he gets the big money.