Are You There, God? It’s Moi, Muddled ….

There’s an enigmatic new celeb on the cultural radar. Can you guess his name? Here are a couple of clues:

There’s an enigmatic new celeb on the cultural radar. Can you guess his name? Here are a couple of clues: He’s omnipotent and he moves in mysterious ways. No, I’m not talking about Kim Jong Il. I’m talking about God. G-O-D.

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Dropping God’s name has been going on for a while, mostly at music-award ceremonies, and often by the likes of P. Diddy. After listening to these unironic acceptance speeches where He is repeatedly thanked, it can all seem a tad unfair: One is frequently left wondering what made the Almighty decide to help Mary J. Blige become a huge success while allowing Whitney to rot and spiral. I guess He really does move in mysterious ways.

Matters reached a crescendo recently when Star Jones Reynolds, after prematurely auto-ejaculating from The View, claimed to have reached her decision to do so “after much prayer and counsel.”

This stunningly illuminating statement clarified things for those of us who have been wondering what God has been up to lately. Upon reading Star’s quote, we plunked down our newspapers, we reached for our loved ones and held them close, and we declaimed, “So that’s what God has been doing! He’s been helping a jolly talk-show lady.”

Instead of calming the insurgency in Iraq or easing the plight of the refugees in Darfur, He’s been guiding Star Jones Reynolds through the vicissitudes of her showbiz career. Instead of dealing with China’s apocalyptic pollution problem, He is helping Star stiffen the sinews and summon the blood for her clash with Barbara Walters, a woman who has successfully managed to convince many people—myself included—that she might actually be God.

Star’s assertion that God is not only interested in her shenanigans but is actually giving her advice got me thinking. Maybe God needs to get a little more focused: Maybe He’s one of those otherwise fabulous people who just needs a little help with his priorities.

There are so many outrages and horrors that are screaming louder and more deservedly for God’s attention than old Star that it’s hard to know where to begin. But let’s try anyway. Here goes:

Dear God: How come you are not doing anything to stop THE FOAM MOVEMENT? I’m talking about this dreadful food trend whereby wholesome ingredients—goat cheese, lettuce, basil—are whooshed through a horrid machine and turned into something which looks, and tastes, like it came out of a spider’s ass. God, foam is akin to puss or drool, and we mortals should not be permitted to spew it on our food.

I called food demi-god David Kamp at his Connecticut weekend retreat and asked him the origins of this revolting culinary development. “Foams were the first thing to cross over from the Spanish food laboratory of the nutball chef Ferran Adrià,” clarified Mr. Kamp, whose much-anticipated book The United States of Arugula hits the shelves in September. He warned me that a new and even fouler trend was on its way: “Hard-core foodies are now rhapsodizing over shrimp-cocktail essence sprayed into the mouth via an atomizer. In other words, we are in a techno-futurist age in which food must appear to be anything but food.”

God! Can’t You leave off chatting with Star about her career strategy for two minutes and do something?

And while You’re at it, please explain why You allowed THE SKINNY JEAN TREND to gather so many disciples. While You waft about in cool, flowing robes, You have allowed us to encase our legs in hot, skin-tight, bunchy denim. When even Kate Moss looks dopey and uncomfortable, don’t You think there might be a tidgy-widgy-wedgy bit of a problem?

And, given that You, our Lord, are obviously such a TV buff, I would love to know why You’re not helping any of the winners of America’s Next Top Model to actually get regular modeling work. JoAnna? Naima? Nicole? Where are they now? I know Vogue is a long shot, but would it kill You to throw a few bookings for medical catalogs in their directions?

Re architecture: If You weren’t so busy taking Star Jones’ temperature, You might have been able to stop THE CHARMLESS CHROME ’N’ GLASS CONDO TREND in Manhattan, whereby institutional-looking apartment buildings with floor-to-ceiling windows in nasty neighborhoods, or overlooking six-lane highways, are deemed to be more desirable than the Dakota. If these high-rises’ commanding views of flowing traffic are now so desirable, why haven’t You, God, gone into partnership with Ian Schrager and bought LaVera City overlooking the 495? I’m sure Your old pal Star would be up for a penthouse.

And God, if You are seriously committed to helping celebs fire up cheesy careers, why limit Yourself to Star Jones Reynolds? There are loads of more deserving folk: Many of Your flock would love to see Matt LeBlanc have a hit show or Adriana back on The Sopranos.

On a more personal note, if I may be so bold, I would like to know why You, our Lord, saw fit to allow the destruction of the birdfeeder that I painstakingly constructed in our backyard. There I was, gazing out at my handiwork one minute—feeling a bit like Saint Francis of Assisi—when a raccoon appeared out of nowhere, threw my feeder into the crook of his arm, à la a Balenciaga purse, and wiggled off into the undergrowth.

Good God, y’all!

Are You There, God? It’s Moi, Muddled ….