NY Mirror

But hey, you're gonna love this: Two recent celebrity sightings were less than glamorama. Patrons of the Market Diner were stunned when a messy-looking Whitney Houston walked in accompanied by a police escort and promptly went downstairs to use the bathroom for god knows what bodily function. Even less pretty was my spotting of Quentin Tarantino, who was stumbling alone down lower Broadway one night, looking rather blowsy and unapologetically conducting a heated debate with himself! Does this kind of behavior verge on the disturbing? Well, I've been known to do it quite often—so yeah.

Finally, at the party for The Ballad of Ramblin' Jack on the roof of one of those gigunda Times Square cineplexes, I talked myself into getting up the nerve to meet the hotties from Making the Band—a perverse choice considering that the place was crawling with real folk legends. As I panted in an extremely age-inappropriate manner, the Band guys told me they're on the verge of naming the pop group they're forming, and the top choices include Union, Atlas, Vision, and Symmetry. My suggestion? Kitsch 'N Sync. "You look like the dentist from Waiting for Guffman," one of the guys interjected at this point, as my hard-on wilted and I crawled away in horror. He later had me summoned over to say he hoped I wasn't offended (he loves Waiting for Guffman), and I proceeded to snap my fingers—longhand.


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