Happy New Year!

December 30, 2006

As a New Year's treat (to someone who cares), I am giving myself the opportunity to re-live meeting Madonna in March of this year. I am also taking a trip back to the Hamptons to tell a magical Marlo Thomas fable brought to us by the fun loving Perskys, and to explore a party truism that will live beyond time itself. I wind up the New Year's romp back in time, appropriately, in Las Vegas.....

I MET MADONNA
Originally blogged March 6, 2006

I spent the last 48 hours on social turbocharge with my sometimes sober, but always charged, pal Bruce experiencing the magic of Oscar weekend in LA, where anything can happen and you don't know who you'll meet or see. When else could I have possibly run into Keanu Reeves four times over three days?

The whole thing is pretty much one big blur. I know there were three big parties. I know that they were so good that at one point I looked around and saw Mick, the Brokeback Boys, George and Nicole and realized I was the only one looking at them. And I know that I wasn't invited because the hosts were looking for coverage in Andy's blog! If I blog about each one in aggressive detail I'll never get invited back!

I will report that I met two ladies along the way that rocked my world.

I am not talking about me and Cheryl Tiegs. I am not referring to the moment I told Ms. Carey, "Mariah, you're on fi-ah." I am not speaking of exchanging bon mots with Jackie and Joan Collins (the latter sporting a cowboy hat and her own hair). I am not speaking of meeting Oprah bf Gayle King or when I insulted the First Lady of California with a faux pas too humiliating to report.

I am speaking first of meeting Madonna.

I was in a heated conversation about plastic surgery with Sony Honcho Michael Lynton and his wife Jamie when I first spotted HER. Her Madgesty breezed by teeny, toned, and dressed in black with hair in full "Hung Up"/Farrah mode. I freaked.

I was in full orange terror alert and it was like a ring-and-run when I left the Lyntons in the dust, flew out of the conversation, and ran to find Bruce.

We found a spot nearby where we could watch her, and then a friend who volunteered to introduce us.

As our friend brought us over for the introducion, Bruce literally physically shoved past me in order to get to the lady. He almost stepped on me. It's nice to know that your best pal will be there looking out for number one when it's time to meet Madonna.

As far as the meeting itself there is actually painfully little to tell. Bruce had met her before and (crazily shared a dance with her) so he picked up the ball with their last meeting and was able to engage her sucessfully for a couple minutes as I stood frozen. As I kicked Bruce's shin, he turned to introduce me. "Madonna, this is my friend Andy," he said. He loved saying it as much as I loved hearing it. She was very nice with handshakes, lots of direct eye contact and introductions to her friend.

I didn't dare talk to her about anything I really wanted to. I don't think she wanted to discuss her hair in the "Sorry" video. I considered being a little nasty to her because I thought she might respect me more. I tried to interject a few jokes but they either weren't heard or fell flat. I mainly just stayed frozen.

A couple hours later she walked by us and we all clinked glasses. To Bruce she raised her glass and said, "Cheers, baby." I just got a clink and "cheers" and that was really all I needed. Cheers back, superstar, and by the way I am ready to leave the party now because what more can happen.

A lot more did happen hours later but none of it involved that Lady. I was talking to "Truth or Dare" director Alek Keshishian when, from afar, over tops of heads, I saw "the hair."

Miss Ross was smiling brightly. Radiant in tight black pants and top, long grey coat, chunky jewelry, superstar shades, and the hair.

The backstory here is that I have been a fanatic on several levels for this performer since I was 12 years old in St. Louis getting quizzical looks from my parents about their son putting up Diana Ross posters in his room.

I found my friend who'd intro'd us to Madonna and told him that I was back on Orange Alert and might need cpr if he didn't arrange an intro at the right time. An hour later I was summoned to meet the Supreme Being.

I was cool as a cucumber as I sat down with Miss Ross and her daughter Tracey. We talked about everything but the fact that I was a huge fan. I didn't want it to be a fan encounter. Five minutes later my friend Sandy Gallin joined us and said, "You know Andy is your biggest fan, right?"

My cover was blown but Ross loved it. I stayed another 45 minutes, fell in love with Tracey, got to ask her mom some real good fan Q's, and a friend came over and took some photos of us that I don't have permission to include on this blog!

In terms of the Oscars themselves:
- I loved George Clooney's speech.
- I'm wondering why Lauren Bacall didn't get a standing ovation. Were people waiting for Eric Bana?
- Doesn't TAB's energy drink look fantastic?
- Was Jessica Alba dangerously thin or was my plasma set on the "thin" function?
- The best looking guy in the room wasn't George Clooney, but actually his companion and agent, Bryan Lourd.
- God Bless Tomlin and Streep and doesn't Meryl look amazing?
- "It's Hard out Here for a Pimp" was a wonderful addition to the evening and injection of class into an otherwise tasteless affair. Seriously, did I miss something? How is it possible that Dolly did not win this award?
- I wish Jennifer Garner would have hit the dirt to really give us all something to talk about today.

Tomorrow: Report from inside the Vanity Fair party

HAMPTONS BOUND
Originally blogged May 26, 2006

The Hamptons is a divisive place but I love it and I'll be schlepping there the minute Memorial Day Weekend starts (ie: now). Yes, there's traffic -- so find shortcuts. Yes, it's a nightmare to get into Nick and Toni's -- so don't go. Yes, Martha Stewart is around every corner and every wall is wainscoted to hell but I don't have a problem with that.

I've rented the same little beach shack for 12 years and to me the Hamptons means the beach and American Flags and magnificent colors everywhere and Sam's Pizza and the Snowflake and Cromer's Market and grilling everything. Most of all, the Hamptons to me means I get to hang out with Bill Persky.

Bill is more than just dad to Andy's Blog regular Liza, he's a TV legend who created "That Girl" and "Kate and Allie" and was a freaking writer (along with his partner Sam Denoff) of "The Dick Van Dyke Show". That is a BIG deal in case you are a bonehead and don't realize that. (And if you are a bonehead why are you reading this blog, by the way? This is for ADVANCED types so please click to the "Blow Out" page of Bravotv.com and go crazy.) Bill also happens to be one of those rare people who has life all figured out. He's a seventysomething guy who'll feed you lunch (great cook), take you out on his sailboat, tell you showbiz stories and repeat it all when it's time for dinner. He takes in stray people and always has an extra seat at the table (unless he hates you.) He's also funny as hell. And he has a hot wife named Joanna who makes me devilled eggs every time I visit. (I love 'em!)

I could fill the whole website up with madcap stories of Perskys and stray deers and Chinese Chicken Salad and Goldie Hawn but there was one specific night a few years ago that I'm thinking about on this Memorial eve.

I'll get killed for this, but I can't for the life of me remember what Bill cooked that night. Perhaps it was Shrimp Remoulade. It might've been Chilean Sea Bass. I don't know but it was great.

The night was a lot of laughs and around the time we were packing it in, somehow it was suggested (I am pretty sure That Girl was the culprit) that I would "run" Mr. Posner and wife to where they were staying in Southampton. I happened to hear this in the background and started to freak. It is not fun or quick to "run" someone from Shelter Island to Southampton on a Saturday night. And by the way what in the hell was I going to say to Vladdy Posner for the interminable car ride?

I was getting myself together to head to Shelter Island for a Persky dinner when Bill called. "Phil and Marlo are coming and I need you to give them a ride," he said. "Pick them up at the dock in Sag Harbor. See you at 7:30, darling." He calls guys "darling" sometimes. (He's Old School Straight.)

I was on the dock at the appointed hour with my used Honda eagerly waiting to take That Girl to That Guy's dinner. I was feeling a little skittish about Evelyn (my hand-me-down car from my mom that was full of sand) when I suddenly notice the Mount Rushmore of the women's movement approaching my car. I discover I am not only giving Phil (!) and Marlo (!) a "ride" but Glo Steinem (whaaaa) and her hubby (double whaaa) are joining as well.

"Ok kids, cram into the Honda, it's only a short Ferry ride to Shelter Island," I promise. Phil calls shotgun and is stag with me while That Girl and the Steinems gamely cram in the backseat. As we wait in the line to get onto the ferry, Marlo asks how long it usually takes to do the whole ferry thing. I assure her that there is never a line and that we'll be in Persky territory in the blink of an eye. Phil flips down the visor to cover the sun in his eyes and comes face to face with my "You're HOT STUFF" sticker pasted onto the mirror. Classy! The left side of the sticker picks that moment to detach itself from the visor so Phil spends a few seconds trying to re-apply it to the surface.

"Oh Lord take me out of this particular situation," I implore.

I sped to our destination and we were greeted at the dock by the Perskys and that madcap Russian Vladimer Posner. It was clear from the guestlist that Liza and I were destined to be the "kids" of the night, which was absolutely perfect for us. Marlo thought we were a wonderful couple and took our pics. Bill outed me about a second later.

I cornered Joanna in the kitchen and freaked out. "Please don't make me take Vladimir Posner to Southampton. I don't think I can take it. I still kind of don't get who he even is and me so tired," I pleaded. "And then am I going to have to come back to get Glo and Co.? What is happening to me?"

"Billy," she said in a thick and quick Southern Drawl, and pulled him into their pantry. When that lady says "Billy" you duck and cover because plans are afoot. This is when the Bill-is-a-good-guy thing comes into play.

"It's settled," Bill announced. "Vladimir, you don't want to schlep all the way to Southampton tonight. It will be miserable. The guest house is yours. We'll continue our conversation in the morning. It'll be fun."

There was light negotiation and then it was over. Vladdy was sleeping over. I was saved. I packed the Free to Be crew into Evelyn and we cruised the winding roads towards the ferry. My passengers were tired. I was quietly quizzing Phil about his show, it seemed like That Girl had cutely dozed off. Alongside her, Glo and hubby cozied up in the backseat. I pulled up to the ferry and there was a massive backup -- at least a 20 minute wait. I heard the unmistakeable voice of a very awake Marlo: "I thought there was never a wait for the ferry, Andy."

At that moment I started wishing that I was driving my bf Vladdy to Southampton because I didn't want to be responsible for cramming a bunch of legends into my tincan for a midnight wait for a ferry that I had no faith was coming. Who wants to make Marlo wait? And what about the Man who gave birth to Dame Oprah? Want that hanging over your head?

When I got home the phone was ringing. It was my fellow "kid" Liza wanting a full report. "By the way, I think my dad and Vladdy are making popcorn," she laughed.

Who knows what's in store this summer on Shelter Island.

HAMPTONS PARTY TRUISM
Originally blogged August 1, 2006

I am in Los Angeles but I didn't have the balls to walk up to the front desk of the Chateau with my laminated People magazine Andre Balazs mis-identification trying to get a rate on a room. I am staying in adult Beverly Hills. When I checked in, the attendant did say, "It's an honor to have you, Mr, Balazs!"

Of course, that did not happen when I checked into my hotel, but it would have been funny. It also would have been funny if I used Monday's blog in the way it was intended, to tell you something about my weekend in the Hamptons....

There is something so fun that happens at Hamptons parties, and that is that, besides scoping out who the guests are, one spends a good chunk of time scoping out and discussing the waitstaff. They're not waiters, you see, but invariably actor/model twentysomething Newbies fresh off the bus and (literally) hand-picked for maximum preening and pawing by sad Hamptons people like myself.

I was at one such party on Friday night, a seated dinner for 50 lit by torches, doused with caviar, and covered in flowers. I talked to Lorraine Bracco at length about Top Chef and was seated with Julie Chen and her husband, that guy Moonves who runs CBS. The real attraction of the night (and I think Julie might concur) was the waitstaff.

I was particularly drawn to two Texans who have been in New York City for three weeks and looked like they are now living amongst pod people and loving every minute of it. One was assigned serving the coconut cake, and he did his damndest to get everyone to put a piece on their plates as they faced 15 other equally appealing desserts. I watched this process with the alertness usually reserved for a Runway elimination ceremony.

As Barbara Walters selected her desserts, and skipped his coconut cake, the Newbie drawled: "I think you forgot to take some coconut cake, ma'am." The queen of The View and more replied that she did not forget to take some cake, but rather she didn't want any cake. She had enough on her plate, it seemed, and was walking away. Newbie was having none of that. He said, "If you don't take this coconut cake, you'll wake up tomorrow and every morning after that regretting that you didn't. THAT'S how good this cake is. Now, would you like to reconsider?"

I think Miss Walters likes a challenge. I know she liked that particular challenge from that particularly amazing Newbie because she had a sliver (she demanded only a sliver) on her plate quicker than Sue Ellen Ewing could put away a martini. (I am trying to make an analogy that Newbie might understand, even though he will never read this particular blog.)

I got the sense that Newbie had no idea who BW was. Five minutes before he didn't recognize John Mellencamp, that much was clear to me as I ignored my dinner companions and sat gripped with the drama of the coconut cake area. He continued to taunt the lady with his drawl and a wink, "Now I'm going to check in on you sometime real soon and see how you liked that coconut cake."

The coquette was aflutter and responded to the effect that all he would really see is how the coconut cake might appear on her butt. It was going to make her fat, see. She walked away with a smile. And some coconut cake.

No matter who we are, and no matter how good the party, we all wind up falling for the waitstaff. That's the sad truth.

FAB IN VEGAS
Originally blogged April 6, 2006

I'm in Las Vegas dropping in on the Fab 5, who are shooting several mind-blowing episodes of QUEER EYE.

My Vegas threshold is usually 48 hours of entertainment before I want to throw a match on the town as I watch it disappear in the rearview mirror.

Some things about Vegas are unavoidable. There are amusement park-style lines for everything, and I am not amused. There are people wearing badges with their names and the company they represent, and I don't want to know. "The Price is Right Live" is considered a viable option for a night out at the theater, and it sounds kind of good. It costs four bucks per transaction at an ATM regardless of where you are. There is bad, multicolored, ill-advised patterned carpet everywhere and it's only a matter of time before they just carpet the streets, throw a roof over them and make the whole town indoor.

I landed at 10 pm, waited in a 40-minute taxi line, and then waited in a 20-minute check-in at the Paris hotel -- which is more like a Hilton than a city. I dropped off my bags and bolted to meet Carson, Jai, Thom and the fab Scout Productions team of Michael Williams, Linda Lea and David Collins at the Imperial Palace -- which was neither Imperial nor a Palace.

What this loveable dump did have was "Dealertainment!" Celebrity-impersonator dealers lorded over each table. "Michael Jackson" ruled the roulette, "Blondie" brokered blackjack and "Marilyn" massacred the memory of Monroe. Led by Carson (wearing white pants, Gucci loafers and a white Ralph Lauren cashmere sweater), we parked at "Gwen Stefani's" 15 dollar-minimum blackjack table. "Gwen" was on fire and I was up. She dealt for an hour before hitting the stage next to our pit to perform her number. (Dealertainment involves the dealers actually performing.) She sang better than Jessica Simpson, which is unfair to "Gwen," who really could sing.

Thom got a call from Kyan and disappeared to go direct him how to get from Caeser's to our table at the Imperial. We stayed put and ("True Blue" era) "Madonna" dealt. I was down.

Thom reappeared with Kyan in tow about 40 minutes later, looking like he just survived a war and frustrated beyond belief. Though he was directing Kyan from Caeser's, which is essentially across the street, in Vegas crossing the street is not a simple equation and often involves monorails and popcorn. It was very "who's on third," though hilarity never ensued. Tom was on the walkway above the street and Kyan was on the crosswalk below the walkway. It took them some time to realize that they were splitting hairs over the meaning of "crosswalk" vs. "walkway" because they were trying to convince each other by phone that they were in exactly the same spot. Oh, Vegas!

The sight of the Fabbers together (minus Ted) at a dumpy casino was too much for the crowd at the Imperial Palace. The guys are treated like rock stars and the people who are the most excited to greet them are the straightest of straight guys. Lumberjacks, truck drivers and jocks line up to fawn over Carson and Co., and there is something very sweet about the whole spectacle. Seeing them out in public makes you realize what an effect they and their show has had on guys who might not otherwise be stopping to shake hands with some queer guys.

The rest of the night is frankly something of a blur. I know that "Madonna" left us to perform "Like a Virgin" and "Marilyn" approached. Carson thought she was "Joan Rivers" and we all got a creepy vibe. Sometime after her set, "Madge" was back. I asked (ok, I think I begged) her to sing "Hung Up" and she said that she was wearing the wrong wig but she had a new (feathered) one at home so I should return. At some point, "Whitney" hit the stage and we flipped out for her. "Whitney" made a beeline for our table and took over. She was fierce, fast, and furious with her cards and threw a lot of attitude around.

I was on New York time and sobered up enough to realize that 6:30 am in NYC meant it might be time to go back to Paris. After all that time I came out a whopping 60 bucks ahead. I left the Fabbers at the Palace with "Whitney" and look forward to hearing what happened after I left.

My Fave Blogs of '06, Part IV

December 29, 2006

As a New Year's treat (to someone who cares), I am giving myself the opportunity to re-live meeting Madonna in March of this year. I am also taking a trip back to the Hamptons to tell a magical Marlo Thomas fable brought to us by the fun loving Perskys, and to explore a party truism that will live beyond time itself. I wind up the New Year's romp back in time, appropriately, in Las Vegas.....

I MET MADONNA
Originally blogged March 6, 2006

I spent the last 48 hours on social turbocharge with my sometimes sober, but always charged, pal Bruce experiencing the magic of Oscar weekend in LA, where anything can happen and you don't know who you'll meet or see. When else could I have possibly run into Keanu Reeves 4 times over 3 days?

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My Fave Blogs of '06, Part III

December 28, 2006

The celebration of one year of Andy's Blog continues today with a trip down memory lane...to a trip to Paris that Bruce and I took in January for fashion week. If I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I can still smell the Hotel Costes. Why don't we all just get it over with and move the hell to Paris!

BONJOUR FROM PARIS
Originally blogged January 22

Runway fever is in full gear as I report from Paris. What - or who - could get me to fly here for a long weekend? One of the few living fashion legends, Valentino.

My travel companion, interpreter, wing man - and one of NYC's most eligible bachelors - is Bruce Bozzi., Jr. Bruce and I made Mr. Valentino's acquaintance last summer (another blog entirely....) in the spot that's on the tip of jet set tongues worldwide, the Dalmatia Coast of Croatia (book it NOW!)

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My Fave Blogs of '06, Part II

December 28, 2006

I've written some of my favorite blogs on my blackberry while watching TV. Here's how it works: I watch the tube, the tube filters into my brain, my brain reacts usually with insane wisdom and throws in some nasty or love, then those thoughts go straight to my fingers which jam them out on my blackberry, giving me a hint 'o carpal tunnel along the way! Today we revisit four blogs that fully express my love of Donny and Marie, My love of Oprah and her Legends, My hatred for ET, and My love of Liza and Soaps...

TV IN REAL TIME: DONNY AND MARIE
Originally blogged May 17, 2006

I was trying to wind down last night around Midnight when John Hickey called me. "You're going to want to turn on Larry King," he said.

I lunged for Channel 10, and there they were, my number one obsession of '76-'78, framed by a chyron that screamed: "DONNY AND MARIE OSMOND 30 YEARS LATER. FIRST TIME ON TV TOGETHER IN 5 YEARS: MADE TV HISTORY 30 YEARS AGO WITH "DONNY AND MARIE SHOW."

Marie sounds like a smoker, with a throaty laugh and new baritone hue -- could it be? She's a full-figured Marie now, bigger but still beautiful. Her wig is pretty massive. There was a moment a few years ago where she was the home page of http://www.awfulplasticsurgery.com/ -- no more though. Her face has totally "settled" and so has his. Donny is a grandfather.

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My Fave Blogs of '06, Part 1

December 22, 2006

For the next week, as I baste and booze away memories of 2006 in Miami, I am going to use this space to look back at the best of writing Andy's Blog. I started on January 3rd of 2006 and it's run the gamut from a creative blast to a pain in the ass. (Is that a rhyme?) Today I am reprinting two early blogs that got a lot of attention but, since they both came early in this blog's life, you may have missed. The first one is about my girl Oprah and the second is about a pitch meeting like no other with Cybil Shepard. These two gems are my Chrismukkah presents to you all!

BUT WAIT -- as an added Kwanzaa bonus, I am throwing in a random blog from September that I wrote early in the morning on my Blackberry that conveyed my moment perfectly, and made me a happy blogger.

I LIED TO OPRAH
Originally blogged January 29, 2006

Last Thursday's James Frey episode of "Oprah" is idling in my DVR. I am too terrified to watch it. I am scared; I don't want to see "mad" Oprah. I can't handle her being mad at anyone. I think it's because she's been mad at me. I want her to love me so bad, but I have screwed up one too many times.

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Eddie, Dame Judi, and Tara Connor, Oh My!

December 18, 2006

EDDIE MURPHY is on a special two-hour Inside the Actors Studio tonight. Whether you're interested in Dreamgirls or not, it's a great show. He is funny, open, and revealing. He's given a decade of low-key, weird interviews but this one is like the "old" Eddie. I think Jim Lipton made him feel right at home!

SURVIVOR -- Watching the finale live last night was exhausting. I fast-forward through the challenges when I normally see the show and am more committed to that than ever to continue doing so next season. I just want to know who won and then get them back to camp. They are bo-ring. And confusing.

Who is buying those buffs that they keep advertising on the show? I've never been at the gym or an airport or a casino and seen someone working a buff from "Survivor" -- they have to be getting rich off of buff sales, I just don't see them. Let me know if you see them somewhere in America. Once I had a pitch meeting with someone who used to produce on Survivor and he brought me a buff and I was so excited until I realized that it probably only looks good in Fiji on the actual show. I think I got rid of it.

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Mary Wilson: Dream Girl #1

December 15, 2006

I have made no secret of my love for the movie Dreamgirls and all the ladies who inspired the film. After seeing the film, I was hungering to go back and re-read DREAMGIRL: MY LIFE AS A SUPREME, which is Mary Wilson's unvarnished account of the group. (The book would make a great xmas gift, btw) When I last spoke to Wilson, she expressed some degree of irritation that the Broadway folks never publicly came out and acknowledged that the show was inspired by her group. The movie folks are spreading Supremes love, though, and Diana and Mary are at the center of it...

MARY MARY, WHEN WE LAST SPOKE, YOU DISCUSSED BEING SHUT OUT OF THE WHOLE "DREAMGIRLS" PHENOM WHEN IT WAS ON BROADWAY.... AND NOW HERE WE ARE IN DECEMBER... IT IS 24/7 "DREAMGIRLS" AND THE SUPREMES ARE ON EVERYBODY'S MIND. YOU WERE AT THE PREMIERE THE OTHER NIGHT IN LA... WERE PEOPLE BOWING AT THE FEET OF QUEEN MARY?
I didn't think about it like that but people were so gracious! Beyonce was so nice and saying how the Supremes were part of her parent's life. I don't know..maybe I am so removed I don't take it as you put it. People really were nice and sweet. The most surprising - wasn't about Beyonce because I knew her parents are around my age and had grown up with us. Bill Condon, the director, surprised me because he was so excited when he heard I was there. He ran over to me and told me that he'd begged his dad to see the Supremes in Brooklyn when he was a kid! He'd said he was so excited to see us and his dad did take him. It's good to see that the movie has embraced a little of the initial inspiration for the writing of the play. Those two guys who wrote it - Tom and Henry - they grew up with the Supremes and so did the director so I am sure they had that as inspiration. The original idea was based upon the Supremes and that timeframe.

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To Dish, or Not To Dish

December 13, 2006

PARTY WITH CHEFS:
Tonight's Top Chef delivers exactly the kind of holiday spirit I like as it highlights all the food and booze that come with holiday parties. People have been asking why the chefs are often drinking and carrying on and if producers force them to do this. Producers only force them to execute challenges - their drinking is by choice and few occupations produce people who can party like chefs! (Maybe longshoremen can party like chefs?) We happen to have an especially feisty group this season.

PARIS DOES COKE?

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Dreamgirls Premiere

December 06, 2006

I had never before been to a premiere where almost a thousand people rose to their feet for a thunderous ovation IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOVIE! Until last two nights ago.

It was Dreamgirls at the Ziegfeld with Eddie Murphy, Beyonce, Jamie Foxx, Jennifer Hudson and the cream of the NYC crop completely electrified and ready to be more electrified before the lights went down. The movie disappointed no one. (I asked everyone, see -- and a qualm was had by no one!)

There was applause after pretty much every song (also rare) and I probably don't have to tell you savvy Andy's Blog folk when the ovation came ... and maybe that's why Beyonce didn't stick around to watch the actual film and was nowhere to be found at the premiere party. Or maybe that is just me trying to stir something up.

I am a student of all things Diana Ross and it was jawdropping watching Beyonce channel Diana into Deena, the poses, wigs, photo reproductions, stage banter -- it is all Diana. And indeed Jennifer Hudson kinda does make you forget for a minute the other Jennifer -- but there is room for both those ladies on this earth. Eddie Murphy is sublime as a cross between James Brown, Little Richard, and Marvin Gaye. But Bill Condon is the real star of the film. It is everything it should be and everything a fan of the great musical would want it to be.

The party -- I mean The Gays in Entertainment Convention -- was beautiful and at Gotham Hall (a former bank?) at Broadway and 36th Street. I ran into some friends who'd been at the Kennedy Center and gave me the whole sad story about Chestica Suckson's botched fiasco of a performance of "9 to 5" honoring (torturing?) Dolly Parton. I am speaking of Jessica Simpson, and if you have read this blog before you know what a no-talent loser I think she is, and hearing the story after seeing real talent onscreen separated the girls who use the big potty from those who use the little potty.

The short version of the story is that Chestica not only did not know the words of the American Karaoke classic and, further, could not sing it. Is there an American besides this one who canNOT muster a halfway decent version of "stumble out of bed and I fumble to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition......"??? If Lindsay Blowhan, Britney, and Paris are the NY Post's 3 Bimbos of the Apocalypse, throw in Chestica and call it Mount Lushmore. (I know that was stupid but I am tired this morning.)

Dreamgirls starts a limited run with exclusive $25 dollar showings, soundtrack included. It's a deal!? I am trying to determine how soon is too soon to see it again.

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