Season Four of The L Word--so far

I love gay soap operas such as Queer As Folk and The L Word (not as engrossing, but equally glam cast and I can't stop watching). Logo is a favorite channel and I've logged too many hours watching movies like The Broken Hearts Club and Jeffrey. As the clouds turned, the rain came, I hunkered down to watch Season Four: Disc 1 of The L Word.

I'm a little disappointed by the start, yet the appearance of Cybill Shepherd brightens up a slightly dreary landscape of women making bad choices--though Dish loves Shane and her shenanigans, (except, Shane's stylist, her hair looks too much like a tepee. Please stop! I get it, she's SUPER gay and trendy). Particularly upsetting is the fact that, once again, the brainy fox that is Jennifer Beals makes ANOTHER bad decision--to have a fling with her TA (after kidnapping her child with Tina, then not suffering repercussions from this). I foresee sexual harrassment charges when she realizes her impulsiveness. As for Alice, she never wound up with the chef, as I'd prayed since I adored them as a couple. Impossibly petite Jenny is still a narcissist (who almost killed the President in Season Two of 24) but now a published author (zzzzzzzzzzzz). Oh how I was on the brink at the end of Season Three. So many possibilites for captivating storylines. So why haven't I given up on the show? Well, because Disc 2 arrives tomorrow. And maybe Cybill will get some.

An Evening with Glenn Close

Last night, after pouring myself a glass of scotch and lighting an imaginary cigarette, I slipped Evening into my DVD player. Why did I want to watch this? Three reasons:

1. An abysmal failure (Gigli, Glitter) is fun for its trainwreck appeal.

2. Was there chemistry between Hugh Dancy and Claire Danes since she left Billy Crudup for him? Answer: Not so much. In fact, he looks like a less twinkly Billy Crudup--though his British accent, I'm sure, is what convinced Claire to drop trou. She totally went to Yale and is all smart.

3. With such a talented female cast, you know one of the ladies will go batshit.

After an hour and a half of languid storytelling, I finally got my wish. Who else does better batshit moments than Glenn Close? When her son dies, she writhes, yells, convulses, and finally falls down. Yes, I started laughing. Just as I did during her batshit moments in Dangerous Liaisons and Fatal Attraction. Like, she's having the time of her life being crazy. I recommend the movie because of this and the precious scene where Meryl Streep and Vanessa Redgrave (reteaming after Julia, centuries before) are in bed together. Two legends sharing a mattress and being all actressy. For one second, I was hoping they would make out. Surely, that would have helped things.

Lesson learned: a fit of hysterics always livens things up. Examples: Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment, Mary Tyler Moore in a repressed twitch-tastic batshit moment via Ordinary People, Sally Field and Diane Keaton in everything, and Sigourney Weaver in Copycat.

Another Star Sighting--We Totally Forgot!

It's sometimes easy to forget soap-star sightings because these pancaked emoters are crawling the streets (especially from All My Children and One Life to Live--not that we watch these religiously). On October 5th at 4:20 p.m., I was on the 2/3 train and it had just stopped at Chambers Street. Consumed by a foul mood, I was about to scream when there, across the platform, was the original "Todd Manning." Yeah, the one who raped "Marty" and then they became friends afterwards (like Luke and Laura). In any case, seeing Todd made me smile. Several years ago, while watching my much older brother running the marathon, I espied Todd huffing and puffing toward the finish line. I instantly whipped out a Capri menthol. How dare he do that to Marty and then marry Blair, who'd been raped by Max (and I think they're a couple in real life).

Star Sighting and Massacre Countdown

'Twas a gloomy morn, 10/10/07, 10:15 a.m. as Dish stumbled to get coffee cheaper than that chez Le Pain Quotidien. Besides, deli has decaf hazelnut, which is far more delicious than LPQ's watery decaf (plus, I think someone gave me real caf there so I'm still pissed and a little shaky). The clouds parted as I crossed 19th and 7th Avenue. There, I noticed this shaggy-haired dude with a cigar hanging from his lips. Hmmmm. His swagger set off alarms. Why, it's G.E. Smith minus the Saturday Night Live band! He's shorter in person, especially without the camera god-shots, which add at least a foot. Okay, that was mean....

Tune in to the latest on Duran Duran's new album Red Carpet Massacre and their collaboration with Timbaland/Timberlake. http://musicbox.sonybmg.com.au:80/?bcpid=18089611&bclid=137170317&bctid=1184669434

In these precious ten minutes, Nick Rhodes says the word, "Patience" (which sounds so much better with a British accent, like "Pieshints") and Simon Le Bon uses the phrase "harmonic structure." I swear, you'll feel electric sparks. In addition, their new single "Falling Down" is their best since...since...well, in my opinion, since "Rio." (Though I love all their songs equally, no preference whatsoever. I will pay for all of their college educations).

Martha, Martha, Martha

BF and I don't disagree often, but when we do, it's usually about celebrities (Does the Oscar Curse exist--I say yes, he says no; Hugh Grant's career died after the prostitute bj--I say no, he says yes). The other day, on a street corner, we bickered about whether or not Martha Stewart was a good thing. She broke the law, she's mean, she makes people feel bad about their lack of housekeeping/cooking skills, contends BF. Who doesn't break the law (Dish once shoplifted four Duran Duran filled teen magazines by stuffing them down her pants) and she makes us aspire to beautify the little things, I assert. Lots of people are mean and "a good thing." Supposedly Bill Clinton flies into tantrums, yet is beloved. Barbra Streisand f*&ck-sh&ts her way through movie shoots and is revered for her brilliance. I don't want to be Martha, but I'm mesmerized by her gift. She inspired me to bake a coconut cream pie from scratch and I pride myself on knowing how to fold fitted sheets. Not sure I will glitterize Styrofoam skulls for Halloween, but I'll watch her do it.

And for an older broad, she's kind of hot. C'mon. You know you were thinking the same thing.

The Guardian: The Movie Sucks But Actors Are Pleasing

What happens when Top Gun and An Officer and a Gentleman have sex? They give birth to The Guardian, no doubt the product of a group of writers/producers desperate for a hit--and hoping audiences are stoopid. And poor Ashton. The boy has talent but his character is utter snoresful--the fault of bad writing. He tried real hard by spouting his first line in a southern accent. But that went away and he fell back on the cadence used in Punked (highly enjoyable adolescent instigation). He's got such charm yet here wastes his energy being all stern and manlicious.

You can guess the plot: down-and-out Coast Guard rescuer, taking all kinds of pills because a mission went bad and his wife left him, has the chance to refresh while instructing other rescuers--hello, Bull Durham? Enter Ashton who's a youthful seemingly emotionless Costner. He's not a team player (gee, I wonder if he'll learn), but an excellent swimmer. Cos and Ash go against the grain, butt heads, flash each other testosterone-laden scowls. Eventually, they're buds. Then suddenly, there's a real test--oh crap! Dish isn't all the way through, but I know the drill. Maybe Costner will die, after all, the formula of screenwriting dictates the mentor's death. Maybe Ash will save him and they'll kiss. Sigh, maybe I'll watch Gossip Girl instead...

I believe in both actors. They just have to stop choosing mediocrity.

How a Tap Teacher Destroyed My Dreams (for now)

Since I was five, I've wanted to be Gene Kelly. While hanging in the French Alps, one of my father's students taught me basic tap on the floor of their classroom. Centuries later, in 2004, my brother and I went to a beginning tap class at Steps on Broadway--but it was for ADVANCED beginners. We sucked. Three years later, I was watching An American in Paris with BF. I had goosebumps during the "I Got Rhythm" song. So, I decided to try a remedial class at Steps on Broadway. I even checked with the front desk to make sure it was appropriate for someone who was, shall we say, not at all graceful.

I had high hopes. But then, I noticed the other students were twirling, stretching and tapping. They had marvelously toned bodies, like Gene--not like me! Was this truly a beginner's class? Ah, the teacher announced that it was. So it began. In the first five minutes, I was brilliant. The teacher even picked on another girl. Then my horror and humiliation began. For the next fifty minutes, this teacher singled me out on almost every move. Barked at me even when I did as she asked. This was like every bad teacher movie where the instructor is nasty because they know it'll toughen up the crappy student (who will then be grateful). In at least three instances, tears welled up in my eyes. I was only going there to have fun. She even asked me my name in front of the class, announced it, made fun of it, noticed my near-sobbing face and pointed out to everyone that they shouldn't feel overwhelmed. Thank you, dear lady, I will never take yours or any other %&$*&ing class at Steps again.

And if anyone who works there reads this, I already know it's probably a great place to take classes. Just not for me. I already went to public school in France where public humiliation (and corporeal punishment) was a daily part of their grading system. Yes, poor me. But at least I still have the goosebumps.