Brad Pitt’s new movie with zombies, the undead, the world ending, has made folks — other than his producers — ponder the hereafter.
Nicole Kidman: “Graveyards fascinate me. Inscriptions trigger your imagination. I’ve picked a spot in a Sydney churchyard where I want to be buried. I’ve even kissed in one cemetery. Never made love in one, though. Too macabre.”
Peter Fonda: “I don’t want some lead-lined casket that keeps bugs away. Wrapping myself in tinfoil is a waste of underground property. I want synergy with those little insects. For a tombstone, I’ll have: ‘Finally, a good sleep.’ ”
Jared Leto: “A cheap, low-key affair in my favorite forest. Hole dug. Fresh soil. My naked body under a light layer of dirt.”
Anthony Hopkins: “Put my ashes in an egg timer because I really haven’t done a true stroke of work since I’ve been on the mortal coil.”
Ross Bleckner: “I want to be ground up. Have my assistants mix my ashes in an oil-paint vat. Disperse that into little jars. Distribute to my 10 favorite painters. They’ll use the mixture, me in that paint, then hang it in a group show held in my honor.”
Russell Crowe: “I’ve had a rich life. I just want to donate my brain to medical science.”
WWE’s Vince McMahon: “Be devoured by Earth’s biggest, baddest carnivore. Then the thing should get indigestion and whoops me back up.”
Coolio: “No fuss. Better the family should enjoy the inheritance. No tombstone. No nothin’. Let the county handle it, so they don’t pay for it. Then take the money, buy a car, a house, whatever. Have a good-ass time on me.”
Listen, it beats World Heritage Site 3,000 BC Stonehenge, 90 minutes from Heathrow. A monument to the departed, it’s prehistoric 20-ton boulders up on pillars in a circle. Why, how they got them there when my contractor can’t even hoist in a new stove, I don’t know.
Worms for office?
Oy, Spitzer sticking his two cents — or whatever’s been his usual payment — into our political campaign has to make Weiner go limp. Too many johns spoil the broth. Next up Gary Hart creeps out of retirement. And his running mate? Dominique Strauss-Kahn.
Spitzer the shpritzer, however, benefits Scott Stringer’s comptroller election. With limitless cash, Eliot self-funds. However, his enemies list beats his bankroll. The cast of thousands — vaults like Dick Grasso, Hank Greenberg, Ken Langone — have told me they’ll empty piggy banks to beat that big piggy going to market. Part of the NYC public finance system, Scott’s captive in terms of spending. Wall Street dudes? Not limited. Watch the birth of Super PACs. Narcissists Spitzer and Weiner need sex or politics — adulation — to feel empowered. Otherwise they know what we’re realizing — in reality they’re both worms.
B’way beauties
Debra Winger: “I loved my Broadway debut in ‘The Anarchist’ with Patti LuPone. Found it awesome. Terrifying. Like childbirth. You walk out on that stage, face everybody, and, no matter what, Do It. You have no choice. I waited so long to appear on Broadway. You know why? I always felt it’s unfair to be in a play when you made your name in films — but now all the stars do it.”
Odds & ends
Dylan Lauren getting Dylan’s Candy Bar its own app . . . 1953 TV Guide ad features prime steak dinner, potatoes, salad, veggies, pastry, coffee — $1.75 . . . Reeve Carney hit the rush line to buy seats for his own show, “Spider-Man, Turn Off the Dark.”
“Sorry I missed your husband’s funeral. I was waiting for the air-conditioning repairmen and you never know when they’ll show up.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.