NY Mirror

Meanwhile, my support goes out to dance artist KEVIN AVIANCE, whose recent gay bashing sent shock waves through clubland and beyond. The press response has been immediate and awesome. But it's sad that they all left out any mention of his best song: "Cunty"! (By the way, the Gay and Lesbian Anti-Violence Project helped organize the recent march protesting hate crimes. They've come a long way from when I met with them because I was being harrassed and stalked and the counselor said, "Are you sure you're not just imagining this?")

Speaking of omissions, last week's column (in the paper) somehow shed its final line like a movie star with a Botox needle. After saying how gay the Tonys were, I noted that the big prize went to Jersey Boys, "a show about straight people." Then came the part that disappeared: "But they sing falsetto."

Wait, maybe the awards weren't so gay. I'm still haunted by the Sweeney Todd nominee who, when his name was announced, pointed to the guy next to him and mouthed "my brother!" Could that have been so you didn't think "his boyfriend"? Nah.

Still boyfriends with MARC JACOBS, personable JASON PRESTON tells me that the magazine interview Jacobs gave saying they split—which I quoted from last week—was done a while ago and a day later they were back together again. And still are. So he won't be adding "I don't heart" to his Marc Jacobs tattoo anytime soon.

Cunning linguist MARGA GOMEZ hearts everyone, not just los big names. She recused herself from being a judge in MURRAY HILL's hilarious Miss LEZ pageant the other night, supposedly because she'd been intimate with at least one of the contestants. Instead, she wangled her way into presenting Miss Congeniality—not to herself—"and I still got drink tickets," she told the crowd, beaming.

One of the least savory nightlife acts in a while consisted of two guys—a nerdy professor and his sweaty accomplice—trolling the clubs to round up cute guys for their after-hours house parties. The accomplice—let's call him Groundhog Day—either has had a head injury, is on drugs, or is just repetitive; he'll say hello 10 times in one night, clearly forgetting what happened just five seconds earlier. But he's outgoing and unrepentantly pestered people to come to the bashes—paid for by the enabling professor, who's straight out of Of Human Bondage—which were squalidly festive affairs, with lots of people crowding into the bathroom for God knows what cultural endeavor. I avoided this whole situation like rabies, and sure enough Bondage is now calling everyone to say I was right, seeing as Groundhog Day just did a Winona and walked off with Bondage's laptop and ATM card (after punching holes in the wall) and probably wasn't such a nice person after all. Wasn't such a nice person after all. Wasn't such a nice person after all.


But gangway, world, get off of my runway—I have one more graph in me! LIZ SMITH reported last week that a new movie of the ultimate showbiz musical, Gypsy, might star CATHERINE ZETA-JONES. I think that's genius. (Then again, I liked the Paris Hilton CD.) Totally for free, I will now supply the rest of the casting that would make this project camp-aliciously complete: MICHAEL DOUGLAS as Herbie (duh), DAKOTA FANNING as Dainty June (double duh), her younger sister, ELLE FANNING, as Baby June (hello), the aforementioned Pussycat Dolls as the strippers (and maybe throw Paris and PAMELA LEE in there too), and LINDSAY LOHAN as Gypsy. (Well, she was almost going to do the BERNADETTE PETERS version on Broadway! Here's her chance!) I only pray they remove the one bad song. Come on, let's have the silence of the "Little Lamb."


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