Damnit! Have we lost another one?

I'd read reports recently about one of my perennial favorites, Janeane Garofalo, acting bizarrely on the streets of New York, looking strangely thin and blonde. And I admit I was worried. From interviews, I knew that she was vulnerable to the pressures of Hollywood, the imperative to mold your body and spirit to a stunted, repetitive ideal that involves a lot of hair bleach, exposed collarbone, and minimal lipping off. I thought, Janeane, do I really have to watch you become Brittney Murphy?

I wanted to take her aside and say, Janeane, darling, have I told you lately that The Matchmaker is one of my favorite movies evah, seriously, evah? No, really, I just made Tea watch it with me a couple of months ago. And that you are one of two reasons (Steve Zahn, you know you're the other) that I will sit through even ten minutes of Reality Bites, gritting my teeth and biting my tongue on all the instinctive Winona-hate I have to endure to do so? Have I told you that there are so many of us out there who love you with your dark hair and your short bangs and your normal weight and your barbed and charming wit?

Clearly this is a conversation I should have had with her. And now it may be too late.

Janeane Garofalo has been -- sob! -- heard praising a Scientology project, in chorus with -- no, no, no! -- Leah Rimini. Next up: Janeane will be seen holding hands with Kelly Preston.

This is what comes of focusing too much on the lost cause that is Katie Holmes. They distract us with that puppet show and steal our loved ones right out from under our noses. Pirates! Brigands! Thieves!