And Then She Ran For Her Life

I am watching "The Actor's Studio" on Bravo with James Lipton, who is interviewing Cameron Diaz with more than his usual sycophantic intensity; he looks like he's about to lunge out of his chair and snap Diaz's neck between his teeth, crunching her bones and broadly wiping his mouth with a big, blood-stained hanky. He wants her so badly his glasses are fogging up.
The audience of student artists and actors ("Hi, um, my name is Elaine and I'll never work because I'm an unattractive wanna-be with delusions of talent, but I was wondering, what was it like to work with Marty Scorcese?") is watching with that particularly rapt, maenad-like hysteria they always have, as though only sheer willpower is keeping them from rushing at Diaz and tearing her body apart with their bare hands,stuffing any little bit of her famous, gorgeous, blonde essence they can get into their mouths.

Cameron Diaz' upper lip is so charmingly lopsided and thin, I deeply fear that she will inject herself with collagen and become one of those Meg Ryan duck-faced Hollywood freaks.
Her favorite word? "Unity."
Her least-favorite word? "Hate."
That is so deep, but I still hated "Shrek."