With a long tradition of nasal congestion, chiropractic visits, pogroms and matzo brei, Judaism provided more than enough material for a second Jew night from the CACOPHONY SOCIETY, which packed MR. T’S BOWL with a motley congregation of whimpering Valley J.A.P.s, faux-Hassids and assorted schmucks and schmendricks. BRUCE ELLIOT’s “Who’s the Jew? Bingo” was challenging (so many famous Jews!), while “The Strip Dreidel Game,” hosted by a plump JESUS, was made up mostly of exhibitionists, some pretending to be shy Jewish girls. HARVEY SID FISCHER’s set featured a spirited “Hava Nagila,” which inspired some lively hora dancing with MC SYE GOLDSTEIN, MOSES, and THE JEWISH PASSOVER BUNNY hoisted up in the air on a chair. But the highlight of the evening was the extremely rigorous “J.A.P. 2000 Triathlon,” in which a gaggle of big-haired, long-nailed Encino Jewesses battled it out no-holds-barred for the coveted title. They whined, belted out BARBRA STREISAND medleys, played Fiddler on the Roof–style violin, sang their ABCs backward and complained that Daddy bought them a Beamer rather than a Benz. Why was this night different than any other night? The bread was unleavened, and the gefilte fish was disgusting.

—Adam Bregman


While most Angelenos are busy lying about their ages, poet WILLIAM McLAIN, who’s known for his ribald rhyming verse, has been over that for . . . oh, probably about 50 years. He recently celebrated his 89th birthday at Hollywood’s B-12 GALLERY, with an open-to-the-public bash that went on ’til the wee hours. There were readings, performances, a groaning buffet table and, as one guest put it, gallons of “headache” (i.e. plain-wrap) vodka. Many of the revelers were gorgeous gals, including MICHELLE CARR and a couple of her VELVET HAMMER vixens. The whole party was being filmed for posterity by BOWERBIRD INTELLIGENTLEMAN, and caught on tape were readings by local spoken-word luminaries such as KENNON B. RAINES, WILLIE SIMS and G. MURRAY THOMAS. Amid the gallery’s fine Oriental rugs and industrial-looking exhibits, it was hard to tell what was real and what was art. One startled guest mistook another guest for a mannequin, and as he expressed embarrassment, the woman’s boyfriend consoled him by saying, “Don’t worry, I just went to the bathroom, and I wasn’t sure if it was really the toilet or if I was about to piss on an installation!”

—Pleasant Gehman


“Vaginal reconstruction!” “The Kabbalah!” “Sharon Stone!” These were just a few of the topics shouted out to funny girl ELLEN DeGENERES (pictured) at the close of her recent “work in progress” gig at LunaPark. The comedian ended her act — which featured deadpan ramblings about everything from fashion (“I tried the Gaultier pointed bra, but it didn’t work for me”) to God (“She’s a big black woman”) — with an interactive question-and-answer session in which the boisterous audience could ask about anything that popped into their heads. Her responses? She didn’t know much about the first two, but Stone (who stars with Ellen’s gal pal ANNE HECHE in the upcoming HBO special If These Walls Could Talk II) is “one of our biggest supporters.” Heche was silent but beaming like a proud mom at a grade-school play during the show and the shout fest that followed, kneeling on a chair with a camcorder glued to her eye. Trying to wind things down, Ellen pointed out chum Veronica’s Closet star KATHY NAJIMY, who was celebrating a birthday, prompting the loud ’n’ rowdy crowd to serenade her, after which one of the many alterna-butch chicks who turned out to see their idol approached the stage and gave Ellen a fuzzy toy dog for “inspiring me to come out.” But wouldn’t a plush pussycat have been more appropriate?

—Lina Lecaro


It’s not often that big art stars travel to our little burg, so everyone was all fired up when Brit duo GILBERT AND GEORGE came out for the opening of their first solo West Coast show at the Gagosian Gallery in Beverly Hills. It was the art-world equivalent of a splashy Hollywood premiere or a visit from the pope. And yet, the opening was curiously lackluster. Perhaps no one had any enthusiasm left after creeping through the snarl of Bev Hills traffic to get to the gallery. Or maybe tongues were too busy wagging over rumors of New York art titan JEFF KOONS being flown out on a private jet to even make merry. When we pointed out Koons, a pal asked, “The one dressed like a chauffeur?” Yes, but he was dressed like a very rich chauffeur. Nonetheless, the Best Suit Awards go to the dapper Gilbert and George, who must keep a tailor on retainer. Director RIDLEY SCOTT welcomed his fellow countrymen. DAVID HOCKNEY, a former Limey, translated. ED MOSES made a pilgrimage from Venice (California), while Lehman Maupin Gallery’s DAVID MAUPIN trekked in from New York (New York). Minimalist MARY CORSE gave her nod of approval. Conceptualist JOHN BALDESSARI towered over the crowd, and model TONY WARD picked a few key spots in which to pose. Young hotshot gallerist DIMITRI wouldn’t leave until he got his picture taken with G and G. Now that’s showing those Brit blue-chippers how to work the room.

—Gordy Grundy

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