Josh Brolin, Diane Lane

Lisa O'Connor/ZUMA Press

Too much pissy correspondence to get to (yours, of course), but first, wanted to just give y'all a little Hollywoodland update:

Great premiere last week, party afterwards at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Most notable, though (the rest can wait til latuh, really), was that star Diane Lane was def without Josh Brolin, stepson to one Babs Streisand.

Remember not long ago, when everybody was all atwitter about when the Under the Tuscan Sun star was going to marry James' handsome son? Next thing ya know, they hitched it up at Brolin's ranch, a short time before Diane called up the Hell-Ay police during an argument, which led to J.B. getting cited for domestic battery (though charges were dropped).

Then D.L.'s rep said the thing between the two lovers, a "misunderstanding," got all got blown outta proportion. Oh, really?

Still say that, Camp Lane?

Oh, and the flick's Ben Affleck and his acting abilities seemed to have (momentarily) returned to notability instead of notoriety. Just like his right-smack-fine interaction with Jen Garner at the pah-tay. Unlike Diane and Josh. Stay Hollywoodland tuned, fer sure.

Dear Ted:
My heart goes out to poor Matt McConaughey, having to decide how to split his fun time between Lance Armstrong in Florida and Jake Gyllenhaal in SoCal. Things were so much simpler when all three were able to bicycle together in Malibu, then pick a convenient pad in which to crash and party. Not that I am bitter--I'd love to serve as cabana boy for any or all of them. Oil up (suntan, of course), anyone?
  Charles Barrett
  Granada Hills, California
Dear Lubricated Laugh-Riot:
You go, girl! (And dream on...)
Dear Ted:
It was inappropriate and stereotypical of your guest columnist, Cristina Gibson, to suggest that the maid who saw Brandon Davis nude at the hotel was Hispanic by writing por favor. I recommend that you issue a mea culpa and keep your ethnic suppositions to yourself.
  Dana M. Lewis
  New York City
Dear Loco Bitchy:
We here at the Awful Truth often use maligned foreign lingo to create a sense of scene, mood or humor (the latter of which I suggest you search for, pronto).
Dear Ted:
Either you didn't watch Elizabeth I, or you don't know brilliance when you see it. There is no way (in hell) that Annette Bening's performance outshone Helen Mirren's.
  Kendall Foster
Dear Ted:
Although I agree with your point of view on how utterly boring the Emmys were, I have to tastefully (as I know you'd have it no other way) disagree that Annette Bening should have been awarded an Emmy for Mrs. Harris. Her performance was wonderful but paled in comparison to Mirren's performance as Elizabeth I. Fifty lashes with a certain article of clothing from Matthew McConaughey's wardrobe!
Dear Anglo-Viles:
You can both eat my Texas accent. Crisp Helen's more than fine, but bitchin' Annette rules. Get used to that fact in these pages.
Dear Ted:
Okay, I am not from the Midwest, but my parents are. When I read your column about Mance and fancy hotels, lubrication and tabloids, I just could not help wonder if, maybe, Lance and Matthew are lovers.
  Kim Carlson
  College Station, Texas
Dear Homo Depot: Darling, not all lube-lovin' lads are fruits!
Dear Ted:
Your tantalizing references to the recent follies of Travolta, Orlando, Jake, Mance and Cruise all on one page of the Awful Truth--such a tease! C'mon, what do you really know?
  Gaye Dahr
  Washington, D.C.
Dear Phag Chag:
That all of the above baddie-boys love teasing their fagola fans. Doesn't necessarily mean a thing other than that.
Dear Ted:
I was wondering if you were planning on doing any Blind Vices on any A-list actresses who are gay. I think that would be a nice change of pace. Thanks again--and keep up the good work.
Dear Sapphic Seeker:
Sure thing, pet. Let me take a look at whoever's been (overly) kissing Rosie's talent-booker's bum.
Dear Ted:
Is Traceless Turncoat from One Designing Dame Blind Vice Star Jones Reynolds? She strikes me as a backstabber, as well as very fake, and I'm sure she does look like a Muppet in the right light.
  Marie Wackler
  Athens, Ohio
Dear "Marie":
Al, stop it right now, you know very well your wife-unit ain't Trace-babe (who's far too clever to walk in S.J.R.'s Payless jobs). Think prettier, sneakier, even more conniving.
Dear Ted:
I luv ya, Ted, but are you secretly Paris Hilton's part-time press agent?

Dear Misinformed:
I already have enough gray hair, thank you. 

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