Overheard outside the Barker Center...

BOY : When our theses are done, we're gonna get so smashed.

GIRL: Fuck that! When our theses are done, we're doing crack.

BOOTY OR A BEAST?

So I've been asked a few times whether I think Matt Damon, Class of 1992, was an appropriate host for last week's Cultural Rhythms and I barely think it deserves any more thought. Matt Damon's a nice boy and all, but what a lame-o choice. In an effort to find someone mega-famous, the producers of the show forgot to find a truly "Cultural Artist" to be a representative of all the performers' hard work. Matt Damon isn't cultural. He's a super celebrity. But he isn't cultural. And I'm sure he knew that too, from what I hear about his performance...(I'll take this space to offer my opinions on Winona Ryder. What's up, Winona? Why haven't you made any good movies lately? Circa 1992, we all used to think you were the bomb. Is Christina Ricci stealing all your roles?)

The most intriguing news of last week was the rumor that Jennifer Lopez would be the host of Cultural Rhythms. When that one hit my desk, I fell out of my chair. If there's anyone less cultural than Matt Damon, it's Jennifer Lopez.

Now I don't know Jennifer personally. She doesn't return my calls. But I'll tell you what I do know. Jennifer Lopez loves to talk about how she used to be fat-now, of course, she isn't, due to the wonders of dieting, lypo, etc. And Jennifer is a workaholic-her three careers have yielded her equal fame. First and foremost, she is an actress. And sure, she's made a name for herself in studio flicks like Selena and Out of Sight, but she's also starred in highbrow indie fare like Anaconda. Second, Jennifer is a singer. Not a particularly good singer, but nothing that mixing and heavy background vocals can't cover up. I actually like listening to the parodies of her songs more than the originals: "If you had my butt / And I asked you 'bout its size, would you lie to me? / And say 'It's tiny...' But Jennifer's third career is definitely getting the most attention lately-and that, of course, is her bitter war with Mariah Carey over who can wear the least clothing to a public event. But the war ended last week. Jennifer wins. The dress-uh, veil-that she wore to the Grammys was the reason they invented the new TV ratings system. How it stayed in that position is anybody's guess (then again, if it fell off that means more publicity; and plus, with Puffy in the wings, I'm sure she wasn't planning on wearing it that long...).

In any case, I think Jennifer Lopez is slowly digging her own grave. Nowadays, hype can only get you so far-and then you turn into Carmen Electra. And Jennifer is happily promoting her own image as all ass and sass, no talent to back it up. In this month's Talk magazine, her diva demeanor is on parade. She tells us that her two best friends since childhood keep her grounded-but then we find out that these girls are also her "personal assistants." Meaning that she forks over a wad of cash and they "draw her baths at the Ritz." Now that's friendship. When traveling, Jennifer "requires that she sleep on sheets with a minimum thread count of 250 and that she be driven in a black Mercedes with a male driver" (hmmmm...). And she has the ability to demand the Body Shop's opening after hours in case she needs an extra canister of "Body Butter."

In any case, Jennifer Lopez will probably be here today, gone tomorrow. (Then again, that's what they said about the Backstreet Boys.) I just think I'll leave it to an Los Angeles producer who put it best, "One false move, and she's Charo."

SPEAKING OF CHARO...

Where did she go? Charo is way cooler than Little Miss Big Bootie. Charo used to be the only reason to watch Hollywood Squares in the '80s. Now they fill those squares with supporting actors from TGIF shows. (Moral of the story: The '80s were so much cooler.)

MIRAMAX MANIPULATION

The Oscars are such a farce. The Academy voter's average age is probably 60-and they can't differentiate a movie from its hype, even after having seen it. In other words, if you "tell" a voter over and over that you have a good film, well, then, it must be a good film. And no other studio has exploited this minor "flaw" in the system like Miramax. Miramax honchos Harvey and Bob Weinstein know that publicity is the key to everything in the movie business. So every year, they pick one of their films to sell and they shove it down Academy members' throats repeatedly until it becomes a surefire nominee. In past years, it hasn't been especially controversial or noticeable since Miramax usually has one of the best films of the year-The Crying Game, The English Patient, Good Will Hunting, Il Postino and Shakespeare in Love. This year, however, their slate was freakin' weak. But quality doesn't stop the Weinsteins. (A friend chimes in. "I waited on Harvey once in a restaurant. He's so fat.")

Back to our story. So this is how I figure it went: "What about Cider House Rules?" one of the brothers must have muttered during a particularly exasperating Oscars strategy meeting. "Can I have another doughnut?" said the other.

Forty-three ads in Variety later, Cider House Rules finds itself with seven nominations. Deserving films like The Talented Mr. Ripley, Election, Toy Story 2 and Being John Malkovich get shut out by a cheesy Republican movie. Miramax preserves its streak. The story ends happily for the Weinsteins. Ah! But wait... It's more complicated. See, last year, the race boiled down to Saving Private Ryan vs. Shakespeare in Love. Saving Private Ryan was a Dreamworks movie, Shakespeare, of course, a Miramax one. Ryan was the heavily favored juggernaut-but the Weinsteins orchestrated such a monster PR campaign with literally hundreds of trade ads that they planted the seeds in voters minds that maybe Ryan didn't have to win. And so, the old geezers at the Academy got confused (so much information! Their brains can't handle it!). They vote Steven Spielberg as Best Director, Shakespeare as Best Picture. Huh?