With all the tragedy and atrocity of the latest news sneaking into my normally insulated existence, I have been too horrified to even concentrate on entertainment gossip. I actually picked up a Time Magazine this week -- Somebody call a doctor! -- to catch up on current affairs and even discovered which one of my cable channels was CNN. And all this time I thought it stood for Country Nashville Network or some such.

Anyway, I've regained my faith in gossip after receiving an adorable letter from a reader thanking me for helping them to "forget the problems of the world for five minutes every week." I'm tearing up, really I am! Then again, I hate to burst your bubble, reader, but Gwyn's problems, Madonna's problems, Reese's problems -- in truth, all the hardships of all the famous souls whose lives I pry into -- are your problems as well. If Antonio cheats, readers, it ain't just Melanie who feels the pain. It's you, readers. It's moi. It's us. Hold my hand, because the troubles have just begun ...

Model Behavior

Remember that horrid film The Fifth Element, about a bunch of Jean-Paul Gaulthier clothing floating around in the future, with occasional interruptions by a bizarrely platinum Bruce Willis? Well, its creator Luc Besson and his model girl tool Milla Jovovich -- who was also in the movie, because she didn't get there for her acting talents! -- have announced they are getting a divorce, citing the usual problems we all face: she was in LA and he in France and they simply couldn't maintain love in a world of champagne and jetsetting. Lament! Up until three days ago, I always got Milla and Liv Tyler confused, because they were both pouty and distant. Now, with Milla's marriage dissolved, maybe we, the audience, will be able to connect with her burgeoning acting craft on a more personal level. Seems Besson still thinks so; Milla's readying herself for Besson's next movie, cast as that original Diva (Burned) Live, Joan Of Arc.

Barkin Up The Wrong Tree?

So who is Revlon lord Ron Perelman dating? Some reports have him locked in the vices of l'amour with Ellen Barkin, the hot blondie who's the one redeeming feature of an otherwise dreadful upcoming film entitled Drop Dead Gorgeous. And yet, as I go to press (and I by that I mean bench press, bien sur), I've also heard he's been linked to Rhonda Shear, also known as the ubiquitous star of the classic television programming USA Up All Night. The couple were seen on a date just last month. Ronnie, who are you playing? I think I smell the makings of a really dirty Celebrity Deathmatch.

[Speaking of Celebrity Deathmatch, Gregoire, I LOVED the preview I saw of Drop Dead Gorgeous. En garde! -- BG]

A Civil Re-action

I had placed a moratorium on Gwyneth sightings, but this one I can't pass up. Last Monday a friend of mine went on jury duty -- that most loathsome of civil responsibilities -- and whilst waiting patiently for his name to get called, whose did he hear before his own but none other than Princess Paltrow. She appeared, flanked by bodyguards, and the room was apparently electrifyed with more excitement than the judicial system normally provides! I was thrilled to get this scoop until The Post scooped me. Bastards!

Anyhoo, my source was uncertain whether she was selected, but medoubts it. I mean, how distracting would that be? "Your honor we find the accused ... glamorous! Ooo, I mean guilty."

Penis Ennui

The bizarre tale involving Oscar-nominated former Weight Watchers spokeswoman Lynn Redgrave and her psycho husband John Clark still has some twisted twists yet to be revealed. Clark told Variety that he was planning on getting penile implants because he has been impotent for five years. He actually claims -- gentlemen, start your guffaws! -- that had he received the implants earlier, he could have avoided impregnating the secretary who later had his son Zachary and married his other son Ben. This freak is now fighting for joint custody of the child, who is simultaneously his son and grandson -- a decision Ben, who is the boy's father and brother, is naturally fighting. Meanwhile, his daughter Kelly just recently had twins; should we do blood tests now or wait until they're old enough to be mentally scarred? Thank God Lynn's having a career comeback, by the way. Could you ever face all this madness without knowing you'd at least get to hang on the arm of Brendan Fraser once in a while?

And while we're talking implants, have you seen Bob Dole's absurdly serious commercials on the topic? They play like political advertisements, except the gist is "That smile you see on Elizabeth's face during her election campaign was put there by me, baby!"

Finally, last week in NYC our very own Betsy saw comic Chris Rock standing near a Mr. Softee ice cream truck. Should we call Bob?

SEEN!

Sometimes, boss woman makes my star-sighting responsibilities sinfully easy. Breakup Girl, Paul the Intern, Chris, Betsy, and even Jane 2000 attended a smashing benefit for The Associates -- Breakup Girl Live's comedy troupe (her own personal X-Men, by golly!) -- where they enjoyed the comedy stylings of Fred Grandy, known as Gopher by some, Congressman by others, President (of Goodwill Industries International) by still others, and Dad by his talented daughter Marya, who is an Associate.

Also, at a benefit for The Big Bam! Foundation (a groovy volunteer organization that benefits young women in the fight against breast cancer), BG and Betsy talked up two stars of Spin City: Big Bam's celebrity spokesperson Connie Britton ("ever lovely!" raves BG) and Alexander "Sandy" Chaplin ("geniunely adorable and hilarious"). Apparently Sandy -- who does a mean Mandy Patinkin impression, for some reason -- kept interrupting his conversation with BG to ask, "Where's my wife?" (and "Where's my stylist? ... Oh wait, I don't have one!") (which I believe to be Betsy's delicate way of saying charming though he is, he could use a few fashion tips).

As for myself, I did see one star this week -- Dame Judi Dench in the wonderful new Broadway play "Amy's View" -- but as she was in character on a stage, she was too preoccupied to notice me. Always a professional, unlike Nicole Kidman in "The Blue Room" who broke character to shout "Darling!" at me and blow me a kiss. (Okay, so that was a slight hallucination brought on by Robitussin and martinis.)

And finally -- file this one under "I Broke up With Scott Wolf. I mean, I Broke up WITH Scott Wolf" -- a most tragic sighting was reported by one broken-hearted reader,who had gone to a restaurant in midtown Manhattan to meet her boyfriend. By the end of their dining experience, they had broken up in a teary, anger filled exchange, all within earshot of Party Of Five's Scott Wolf, who was sitting at the next table. My sad source ran right home after the horrible exchange, turned to the television to obtain some soothing, emotional comfort and what just happened to be on TV? Party Of Five, natch! On behalf of my poor wounded bird, I'd just like to say, Scott, you thief of hearts, take your brand of subtle emotional sorcery back into the flames of hell where you belong! Foul dimpled demon!

Until my debut on the Fox live-action special When Gossip Columnists Combust!,

Gregoire

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