Publicists warned that my attempts to snag a phone interview with comedian Kathy Griffin would be futile. I realized they were right after an exchange of e-mails with a Griffin rep, who insisted on knowing if Kathy would be a SW cover story. That flack stopped communicating with me as soon as she realized the answer was no. Harrumph. Who do they think we are, trading coverage for access—Vanity Fair? Try as Griffin might to play the struggling artist on her Emmy-winning TV series My Life on the D-List, she’s not doing too badly for herself these days. (She has four Seattle shows scheduled through Saturday.) And regardless of the snub, I remain a major fan of Griffin’s candid observations of celebrities, their ludicrous behavior, and, most important, their aversion to her. What makes Griffin so appealing is that even as she continues to accumulate fame and fortune, she’s never going to be invited over for dinner by the Jolie-Pitts. She’s forever stuck hanging with folks like Lance Bass. And, well, us. The Paramount, 911 Pine St., 292-2787, www.ticketmaster.com. $42.50–$72.50. 7 p.m. ERIKA HOBART

Nov. 20-22, 2008