Oh, that awkward first kiss! Oh, his fumbling nervous hands on her young, newly developed bosoms! Oh, those embarrassed, adoring looks from her Secret Service men! L'amour springs from the chasm of scandal this week, darlings, as we find poor Chelsea Clinton has fallen, quite naturally, for a budding Hollywood hunk. (Seemed inevitable to me, readers. Frankly, I'm surprised Matt Damon hasn't tried already.) It seems that Bill and Hill's tormented offspring has developed a "thang" for October Sky hottie Jake Gyllenhaal, who's also a freshman at Columbia University. The two had been close for a while -- friends, you see, platonic, lunch room pals -- until Chel broke it off with that relative nobody Matthew Pierce last fall. (I would *hate* to be the ex of a daughter of a world leader, wouldn't you?) Of course, she and Jake have never been seen at any major public functions together, but that's a good thing. Leave the girl be and let us all speculate! The last thing Chelsea needs right now is to take a chemistry exam, get to the extra credit and find, "What strain of molecule would adhere a president's love seed to a Gap dress?"

Noah's Love Muffin

One of the remaining pleasures of watching ER is Noah Wyle with his hair mussed after a difficult surgery -- "difficult" here meaning a ticking bomb in a body cavity or Siamese twins having a baby -- or a painful intervention to help a druggie friend of his. He's wholesome and hot at the same time! Anyway, Gregoire had to be rushed to ER when I heard that Wylie had announced his engagement to his longtime girlfriend Tracy Warbin, a movie make-up artist whom he'd met on the set of The Myth of Fingerprints. I'm sure she's a wonderful girl though I hate her with every fiber of my being. The bedheaded lovebug even asked Tracy on Valentine's Day, which is even more painful because you know there was a horsedrawn carriage and a beautiful sunset involved. So cute! My heart just stopped! Somebody get me a drink, stat!

Blow Up

Here's a bachelorette party I would have loved to have crashed! Seems that before slinky mannequin Rebecca Romijn married John Stamos -- yes, that John Stamos -- her friends held a doozy of a party for her in Las Vegas, consisting of a fully equipped male blowup doll (are they sure it wasn't John?) which was handcuffed to the sexy model after she was blindfolded. She then traipsed through a casino for almost four hours stuck to the plastic love tool until she was apprehended by casino police, who must have been drooling. No word on how Stamos measured up to the doll's ample blessings.

So Much for the Toaster

Bisexuals are doors that swing both ways. You don't know if you're gonna be let in or be smacked in the face!! So say I in the case of clubowner Ingrid Casares, Madonna's token lesbian buddy, who has given up her lesbian ways and run to embrace the straight race. Hello men! Casares was seen last week at a New York fashion show, where she revealed that she's been seeing a male model named Jeff Monroe. This did not faze the female model in the show who kept blowing Casares kisses and later accosted her in an elevator. Casares left disgusted and went to call her boyfriend. Take that!

A Case Of The Reds

In general Lynn Redgrave rather bores me -- she's Jan to Vanessa's Marcia -- but this catastrophic divorce thing is too good to be true. Aaron Spelling has barely come close to the tawdry details that have been revealed this week. John Clark, her hubbie for 32 years (children, stop hissing!), has indeed admitted the grandchild sired by the personal assistant his son married is in fact his own child, certainly an awful bind for the tot's future PTA meetings. But, as if to divert attention from this trainwreck, Clark proclaims that Lynn had a few extra-marital dealings of her own, with the likes of Brian Dennehy, who's currently wowing crowds in Broadway's Death Of A Salesman, and Brandon Maggart, who is the father of none other than spoiled rocker Fiona Apple. (With that bony, tortured figure, at least we know she's not Lynn's!)

In the midst of this mudslinging., Clark has repeatedly shown up at the public functions where Lynn's been, obviously desperate for attention. He made an appearance at last week's Screen Actors Guild awards, but Lynn had already cancelled his tickets. I would flatly call him a sleazebag, but I'm afraid he'd stop revealing ghastly details of the Marriage From Hell.

Gold Guesses

Since we're on the topic of Lynn (Oscar-nominated for Gods And Monsters), I suppose I should address my picks for this years Academy Awards. I should mention, of course, that it doesn't matter what anyone thinks; Oscar voters, all 5,500 of them, are so assaulted with "critic's picks" and "Oscar odds" that nobody votes for who really deserves the awards. For instance, anybody who's seen Central Station knows without any doubt that Fernanda Montenegro should be given the Best Actress Oscar. But would that make for fabulous TV? Dear God, no!

Best Supporting Actress will obviously go to Judi Dench for her three-and-a-half second appearance in Shakespeare In Love, though my personal favorite is Rachel Griffiths in Hilary And Jackie. I mean, I haven't seen such pathetic winsomeness since Joan Fontaine! I really don't want anybody to win in the Best Supporting Actor category -- can't they give two for Best Actor and not give this one out? -- but I suppose Ed Harris will win for The Truman Show because together, he and Monica proved that the beret can be a viable fashion accessory. (Since somebody has to win, my fingers are crossed for James Coburn for Affliction, because you know he's going to say something really embarassing on stage.)

I'm going against the flow and saying that Cate Blanchett will take the Best Actress Oscar, thinking of course that people will assume that having a hot sex life with Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt constitutes the equivalent of deserving the other hot naked golden boy. (Of course, I'd give up an Oscar anyday for that!) The Best Actor race is the toughest but I think Hollywood will be kind and give it up for the foreigner Roberto Benigni for Life Is Beautiful, as the only way a comedy will ever win a serious award is if it is subtitled. The gay British thing could also pull Ian McKellan the award, and I would obviously appluad such an honor. Unlike Ingrid, I don't think Ian will start dating Rebecca Romijn anytime soon.

Best Director? Stephen Spielberg. Best Picture? Saving Private Ryan. Don't even fool yourself.

And if you are reading this after the awards have been announced, and Shakespeare In Love has swept the ceremony, please know that I have then discarded my three-martini prediction method.

Until Susan Lucci wins something,

Gregoire

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