NY Mirror

And what awaited there? No Pleasure Emporiums, though the fabulous new Whole Foods Market in Chelsea is the next best thing to a cutting-edge sex club. People scour the place at all hours, drooling over the magnificent assortment of pâtés, sauces, and wraps, orgasming when they come upon a whole new shelf of soy products. This is as wild as nightlife gets these days.

Moving on to fruit salad, the party at Beige for New York magazine's gay issue was teeming with powerful queers, though it figures that it was at the big gay bash of the year that I was hit on by a woman! (And not an inner woman either.)

New York's inner First Lady, Donna Hanover, celebrated her role in Series 7—a minor but engagingly sick spoof of reality TV—at Fez, an appearance that made up for no-shows by Pablo Alfaro and Lou Bega. Director Daniel Minahan told me he cast Hanover after seeing her as Ruth Carter Stapleton in The People vs. Larry Flynt. "I thought it really was Ruth Carter Stapleton," he said, not having realized the woman's totally dead. The real, live Hanover told me she wasn't part of the big Vagina Monologues "V Day" thing recently because "my daughter was having a slumber party and I needed to supervise it." (Too bad. She could have done the Rosie Perez part—"My vagina is angry!") After some more friendly chitchat, I told Hanover that her rendition of Vagina's climactic, as it were, monologue was the ultimate in faking an orgasm, and she laughed, then said, "Nice to have met you," and walked away. I don't know where she thought I was going with that!

And now, where I'm going is back to that Judy Garland TV movie, which was so fab (despite the portrayal of Mickey Rooney as a sort of dinner-theater queen) that it couldn't even be ruined by the commercials for diet pills, Prozac, and Sa rafem. As for that pill of a Grammy Awards—sorry, I'm stuck on this—no one's noted that in Eminem's "Stan" song, the increasingly psychotic fan seductively tells Eminem, "We should be together," making the rapper hit his most agitated note of discomfort yet. Oh well, as Madonna said, he's just a boy—26!

Nice to have met you. . . .


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