NY Mirror

When I asked Jane Horrocks if she's a gay man trapped in a woman's body, she said, 'No! If so, I haven't discovered it!'

Oh, as for the movie, Johnathon told me he had to work out a lot because "it's pretty scary to get inside a milk can and not be flexible." Since he was booked to do Regis and Kathie Lee the next day, I begged him to submerge Kathie Lee in a milk can for a really popular stunt.

In another feat of magic, the W New York Hotel premiered the same night, and though I was nervous about the place's advertised emphasis on "whole foods" and mildly New Agey slogans, like "Come to a place where sleep itself is inspired," the bash was worth staying awake for, thanks to the sleek mix of cubist shapes and wall tapestries, not to mention the sumptuous eats— whole or otherwise— which brought out the pig in me.

There's no place like Ohm, which— like the W— has its own evocative slogans. One says that the Flatiron restaurant-club's name "suggests the currents of electricity as well as a soothing mantra." Their salsa night last Wednesday underscored that dichotomy— the thuggish door staff sharply contrasted with the obsequious waiters— but this might still turn out to be a fun place for mixed salads and metaphors.

And, though people were leaving the 800th grand reopening of the Limelight mouthing "horrible," I thought the club looked fine— especially the large, George Michael­ready bathroom stalls and the H.R. Giger room, a VIP area filled with scary, winged creatures and Donald Trump. Each room had its own soundtrack, and on the main stage— where club kids once cavorted like heathens— a topless dance troupe (with pasties) turned the old raunch into new pretentious choreography. But they had divine tushes.

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