Left Over Stuffing

What did your favorite celebrity do for his or her Thanksgiving weekend? Well, if your favorite celebrity is Joan Rivers -- and to that one poor soul whose favorite celebrity really is Joan Rivers, seek help! -- I do know she had a sumptuous feast at home with her boyfriend (do you call them boyfriends when they're over 50?) and a rather unusual guest: Dame Edna Everage, the proper, plump, crossdressing Broadway sensation currently breaking box office records with her hit show "The Royal Tour." Though I'm quite sure Everage celebrated our corpulent American holiday out of drag (as her alter ego Barry Humphries), I can't help but picture these two mounds of multicolored hair peering over the turkey and criticizing the fashion choices of everyone at the table. Give thanks you weren't at the pointy end of their bitchy wit that evening!

Sandra Bernhard spent her holiday in New York, as I spotted her the next night at the smash downtown cabaret hit, "Kiki & Herb: Do They Know It's Christmas?" Nestled in her booth with a gal pal while I observed from the next booth, Sandra cackled uproariously at Kiki, another middle-aged drag persona (performed by the brilliant Justin Bond), this one prone to mangling classic rock songs in the shape of poorly rendered lounge music. Afterwards, I approached the press agent for the show and mentioned what a delight it was to see Sandra. "We didn't want to let her in," the press agent said gruffly, alluding to lifelong spats of bitchy, intolerable behavior. "But Kiki wanted her there." Bernhard is having a New Year's Eve concert in midtown, and, according to other sources, interest has been so low that the concert may have to be canceled. Welcome to the new millennium, my darling Sandra! A vast doorway of obscurity may await you there!

Oh, what did I do, you ask? Nursed a hangover and played Triple Yahtzee for hours. How fabulous is that?!

Brad And Jen's Excellent Adventure

Meanwhile, my "celebrity brother,"* Brad Pitt, caught a British Airways flight in time to make a New York Thanksgiving with his presumed fiancée, Jennifer Aniston. (*Henceforth, I will refer to Brad as my "celebrity brother" due to the repeated intertwining of our fate upon this earth. From some info, see this column. More to be revealed later.) If you haven't heard, my homie Brad and his Haircut unofficially announced their engagement over a week ago at a Sting concert, when the pair lept to the stage and Jenny flashed a monster-sized rock on her finger while Brad sang a line with the elder Police-man about marriage. Such drama -- and Brad's busy shooting sched -- can easily tire a couple out, and our photogenic lovebirds spent the holiday relaxing far from the camera's eye (but not mine, isn't that funny?).

On Turkey Day Eve, Brad treated Jen to some margaritas at a restaurant called Café Friday (I assume this isn't the militant wing of TGI Friday's), and The Post reports that the jovial restaurant owner reportedly "lost the check" out of his apparent appreciation. I'm sorry, but don't these two people make a little bit of money? They couldn't have paid for one damn drink?! Anyway, loaded up with booze and unspent margarita money, B and J swung up to Central Park to watch the inflation of the Macy's parade balloons. As the guts of a gigantic Snoopy were filled with air, the two reportedly snuggled in peace.

For Thanksgiving proper, the duo had a sumptuous meal (possibly with margaritas) with some friends and then spent the next day shopping. I think it's very telling to note that they had all this free time and didn't bother to stop by to nurse me through my hangover and play Triple Yahtzee with me. Fine celebrity brother you are!

What's the secret of all this sweet lovin', you ask? Perhaps it's nicotine. A sighting days after the Sting concert but obviously before Brad left town to return on the day before Thanksgiving (see how tricky my job is, keeping all this straight?), Brad and Jenny were eating at swanky Upper East Side eatery Zocalo and requested a table up near the front of the restaurant so that they could smoke during dinner. Afterwards, their tummies filled with delicious Mexican food and even more margaritas and their lungs filled with delicious and cancer-causing Pall Malls smoke, Aniston snatched up the bill and paid with her American Express card before Brad could object. The owner of Zocalo, however, did not "lose the check."

"Hollow" Ricci

Like many of you, I spent my post-Triple Yahtzee holiday at the local cineplex, catching such fine fare as Pedro Amaldovar's "All About My Mother" (hear me now, Pedro has a lock on an Oscar nod for Best Director), "Toy Story 2" (loved Barbie!), and "Sleepy Hollow," which is all about Johnny Depp and not at all about Christina Ricci, who should definitely stick to being crass, cynical, and sarcastic in film roles. Chrissy went to Leo D's favorite nightclub, Life, last Friday and shook her sexy groove thing with a variety of other celebrities including Gaby Hoffman, Jay-Z (who's such a fixture there they might as well pay him to pour drinks), and, most excellent for all surrounding him, Leif Garrett, the drug-riddled ex-heartthrob with the blond, flowing locks and pouty lips. How much money would you pay for a picture of Leif Garrett dancing with Christina Ricci? I, my fellow celeb whores, would pay with my very soul if, in fact, I still had one.

A Blooming Success

On the topic of holiday movies, the future looks bright for "Magnolia," Paul Thomas Anderson's serious looking follow-up to his delirious "Boogie Nights." Apparently, a brief but intense appearance by Tom Cruise is building Oscar buzz in the Best Supporting Actor category, which would be mondo-glamorous, especially if Nicole Kidman's much-hyped performance in "Eyes Wide Shut" takes Best Supporting Actress. Tom and Nicky have always been sort of a supporting couple and not a real couple anyway, so here's hoping for Oscar gold!

Why, the fabulons are already debating the merits of this three-hour film! An unusual gaggle of B-list celebrities -- including Sharon Lawrence, Matthew Modine, Todd Solondz, and our friend here at the G-Spot Michael Rapaport -- has seen a sneak preview and were overheard arguing about the film's finer moments at a well-lit powwow in an uptown restaurant in New York last week. The film is already being screened to rave reviews, but then Cruise's last effort, "Eyes Wide Shut," was also greeted with optimism, and we saw what a big, swarthy piece of unmentionable unwatchability that one was.

Eye Spy....

-- Jerry Seinfeld limping in the Upper East Side by himself. What was wrong with his leg? No word, though just a couple days earlier he was seen getting a haircut nearby at Salon AKS, where his soon-to-be-wife and later-to-be-ex-wife Jessica Sklar gets her coif crunched. My God, what did they do to him there?

-- Ellen Barkin waving that gigantic engagement ring around -- not worried about theft, I see -- at her soon-to-be stepdaughter Romy's 7th birthday party, held at fancy Serendipity 3 by her father Ron Perelman. Funny, but I had my 7th birthday party in the back dining room of a McDonalds. Do you think l'il Romy had orange drink and played with plastic handpuppets like I did?

-- Suave Perry Farrell and some members of Metallica drinking and smoking cigars together at the sleek Hush nightclub last Tuesday. I wonder if it would have bruised their rockin', masculine personas to know that Hush used to be a popular gay bar where perfectly scandalous things used to go on in the very banquettes they chose to relax in?

-- Breakup Girl and Breakup Girl Friday schmoozing and snacking at the release party for Cynthia Rowley and Ilene Rosenzweig's new book "Swell," ...featured right here at home this month! Also looking swell-egant were sassy Sarah Jessica Parker, Alan Cummings and Frank Whaley. Even more swell was New York Channel 7 newsanchor Robb Hanrahan, who took time out to lick Betsy's facial cheek and touch BG's gluteal one -- a privilege reserved only for precious few. I mean, Laurence Fishburne was allowed only to look.

Touched By A Celebrity

And finally, my favorite gossip tidbit comes gleaned from Mirabella Magazine, wherein it's reported that many, many celebrities believe in the existence of angels (angels like Ben Affleck, I assume) whose holy, seraphimic presences have gotten them through a life of neverending stardom and glamour. For instance, Gary Busey -- who, if you ask me, was whacked BEFORE the motorcycle accident -- saw "balls of light" and heard "an androgynous voice" while unconscious with injuries from the crash. Sounds like he saw Pee Wee Herman, not God's heavenly hosts! (Breakup Girl and The Breakup Girl Legal Department thought they spotted Busey at the Union Square Farmer's Market recently, by the way; but looking back, maybe they really saw some sort of archangel.)

In an upcoming book entitled "Celebrities And Their Angels" -- you can't make stuff up this rich, folks! -- famous people like Marlo Thomas, Loni Anderson, Eartha Kitt, Whoopi Goldberg, and, ironically if you ask me, "Exorcist" star Linda Blair, actually draw what they believe angels to look like. If Brad drew his angel, would it look like Jennifer Aniston? If Ellen Barkin drew her angel, would it look like a big fat diamond?

And what would my angel look like, dear readers? That's right, Gary Coleman, broken halo and all.

Until I'm touched -- and I mean touched -- by an angel named Matt Damon,
Gregoire

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