Yesterday, I was standing in line behind frenzied school-supply shoppers at a big store. I dutifully thumbed through the popular "movie magazines" as we inched our way up to the check-out counter. You’re sure right. How unsatisfying - how flatly unimpressive celebrity-dom has become, inching along in a consumer stupor. The boyfriend bingo, fashion feuds, the weight-based spirituality. Something mighty is missing. Dignity is the heart of glamor - and goggles ain’t glamor. It’s impossible to even wonder about these people; buried, beyond, beneath banal. 

And yet, contrary to how it all seems, so many in show biz have herculean ambition, raw talent, big love and great heapings of luck (which they are often acutely aware of  - and motivated by, to contribute societally. That’s why entertainment is fusing with politics, nowadays.)

As people, they celebrities cannot all be as pathos-free as today’s 24-year old entertainment editors make them sound. Surely, this lack of depth is a product of juvenile editorial direction.

Dear Hollywood: These are times when it’s more important to be useful than youthful.

Who forgot - this city was built by storytellers?

Just imagine our new Hollywood gatekeepers as film critics - taking the place of a Siskel, Ebert, Haskell, Corliss, Shickel, Turan, Rich, Reed, Mankiewicz, Travers, Christ, Taubin, etc…  The Birth of a Nation - Check out those Friggin’ Awesome Jump Cuts!

Gossip and entertainment media coverage is a form of cultural commentary. There are still plenty of rich, nutritious ingredients lying all over the kitchen; let the really experienced chefs have at them - to whip up some flavor and human interest!         That’s why I think Liz and some of her peers should be paid to take a crack at a new/old celeb-culture format. To riff off their memories, interject context with references from history, literature, philosophy, the arts and their own amazing personal encounters. Cable, streaming web content, Sirius Radio - I’d pay for it.  Wouldn’t that be entertaining and stimulating for a change?

As Bonnie Raitt reminds us, "It ain’t the meat, it’s the motion."  

My version of the Proust Questionnaire includes this question: 

What is a door you wish you never opened?

I think we know what the answer would be in the case of Ms. Houston. It would be brave for her talk about the elephant in that room. 

For Streisand, who seems wisely in the mood to throw doors open and divest herself of encumbrances, downsizing her audience seems part of that process. Whatever it takes to keep honing her raw talent.

And Penelope has learned to be very watchful of doors from Pedro and Javier. I’ve observed them; are all three very generous by nature in a gossipy, ruthless industry. Sometimes, minding the locks leaves a woman more options for her future. Kids, freedom and creative power are definitely on her horizon.

As for Ms. Smith, a door’s just more utile when it swings both ways. 

In life or death, some rare people just seem to connect our little hearts and minds. It’s really quite mysterious. For instance, someone explain this: since all the work I did last year seemed to be on the box (computer) I determined to pull out my paints and make something physical, wet and tangible. I finished exactly one canvas last Fall and a few weeks ago I saw it leaning against a wall, all but forgotten. It’s a painting of Michael Jackson dancing, triumphant, with two shady figures moving behind him. I’m not much of a groupie for anyone, but it seemed like a beautiful kinetic image, pulled out of thin air. Kinda funny, innit?

Wasn’t Twiggy a complete about-face from all the beauty-shop gyrations girls had so long been suffering through? Layers of noxious hairspray, bobby-pins poked frantically into your scalp and brush-rollers with picks that you slept in all nite, like a crown of thorns. Its’a wonder such self-flagellation did not rid a girl of all her sins. Twiggy was androgynous and reed-y and carefree. Sin was irrelevant.

Everything comes back til sumpin new comes along. Don’t ask me why, we’re back to Bardot. And Palin, having adopted the look, seems bent on bringing sin back too. Her appeal is mainly nostalgic.

Bouffant-y—lifted hair is the look. And in case you’re down with big hair, an easy way to get the effect is with Bumpits, available here https://www.bumpits.com/://www.bumpits.com/ 

Lee — Twa-da! Things are changing for the better with social media. Twitter scrubs away much of the web’s unproductive trolling and arguing - and our tiny, timely telegrams can be so energizing, galvanizing (even life-saving) for women, globally. 

With new applications and tools just around the bend (vis: GoogleWave, DevonThink) the mass-collaborative process will soon unfurl beyond our wildest imaginations. If we’re smart about it, new media could tangibly make the Power of Numbers work in women’s favor. Good Luck and encouragement to you all.

I’d like to say human dignity. Man-made, but eroding; chipping off and washing away with each passing day. (Sorry, I just saw Bruno.)

Some things in the world should still be the way they were when Cronkite said, That’s The Way It Is.

Hmmm. Tough question. I’d say that Gwyneyth Paltrow at the Golden Globes on the night if her big win was just lit, incandescent. 

Interestingly, in a room filled with nearly every movie star imaginable, including a still-dashing Gregory Peck, I was taken aback by how old-world handsome Tom Selleck is. He was just sitting and talking to Holly Hunter and turned his head toward her. Terribly strong, dark and I think more real looking, sans his mustache. And I’ll never forget the droll look on Antonio Banderas’ face as he watched the sweat rain down the face of an overweight mogul (who shall remain nameless) because he was so kerfuffled to be standing thisclose and gabbing with Melanie Griffith.

But I have friends as beautiful as all those guys. 

Gratitude must be paid, for the sake of sanity, if not propriety. My son is probably tired of hearing me say, "Your life is not your own!" But he keeps it in mind, when it comes to putting himself in jeopardy; needing to think twice. 

It became instantly true for us both, the moment he went and got himself born to me. 

Man, Lily, that took some ‘ovaries,’ all things considered. So you woke up that morning thinking, "Guess I’ll be moonwalking for Liz in front of Michael. Better go with a lite lunch?" Lord.

Today, loved hearing Stevie resonate with They Won’t Go, loved Judith Hill (singer from London production.) And Loved that Paris claimed her Daddy - to the world who never really considered or regarded him in that primary and pivotal role.

What do we know, anyway? I keep thinking about how media has gotten so circumscribed, we just completely miss the heart of the story.

The person to ask is Michael Jackson’s recently hand-picked attorney, L. London McMillan:

Why did Martin Bandler @ Sony expand the London concert sked to 50, overnight? MJ said he was angry and upset, because he was set to do 10 shows. "I went to bed knowing I sold 10 dates, and woke up to the news I was booked to do 50."

Presumably, this was tantamount to one show for every year of his life and each hundred million dollars of debt. But 50 shows? Insane, considering his history.

Stress kills, especially when it intersects your career and personal reputations, fragile psychological state, labyrinthine financial circumstances, family legacy, your parental responsibilities, kids’ futures - and dire health concerns. Not to mention, his desire to show us all that it was still about the music.

Killer.

Every nite around 3, I wake to a loud splash. I’m sleeping in a liminal world, next to water busily inhabited by water-fowl. It’s Spring and new baby ducks are shifting late-nite feeding routines on the water, as mama geese and ganders crash and dive for midnite supplies. They make the most of the dark hours, when the Heron aren’t around. Last year I spent too much time half-awake on the Web, now I’m sleeping with ducks.