Today, 12:00 p.m., Le Pain Quotidien on 7th Ave and 18th: Pleasantly diversified actress Frances O'Connor was walking in as I was walking out. I hogged the door for a split second while trying to place her. Sleepless again, I felt like death but got a nice perk at this sighting. Lovely woman, no makeup.
Hers is the only character on Cashmere Mafia that I like and FC ain't even Amurican!
Speaking of foreigners doing American accents, that Johnny Lee Miller is amazing on Eli Stone. I've decided.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Last night, as I scoured Michael Caine's bio on imdb.com, I learned that he didn't enjoy working with Steven Seagal in On Deadly Ground. I don't blame him. What right did Steven have to direct the great Caine? Then I realized that I'd just had my pre-travel Steven sighting, which happens without fail right before I fly. These last ten years, it's become a tradition to watch a Seagal movie the night before a flight. Tonight, it's Fire Down Below, which often describes the sensation I feel after I eat spicy food. In Seagal terms, it's where the evil Kris Kristofferson dumps toxic waste, down below. The power of good, i.e. Steven, helps the Hillbillies stand up for themselves and falls in love with Marg Helgenberger, who makes honey and wears lovely cotton dresses. I adore Marg because she looks exactly like me. Okay, I'm hallucinating, but she's very pleasing in everything she does, even as the token girlfriend. On the dark side, Kristofferson hangs out with strippers and derides his son, therefore, he deserves to go to jail where Seagal promises he'll get his dues from "Tyrone." That Seagal, he takes care of everything. And I hope he is the angel who carries my plane to safety tomorrow. My friends think this fondness indicates brain damage, but I don't care. We all need tricks to get through this life.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
You'd think it was a holiday. And if so, why are stores closed for this holiday? I guess it does give one hope that after death, one can return. That would justify all the zombie movies out there. If Jesus hadn't risen, I might not enjoy decapitating chocolate bunnies or the sight of Peeps on Duane Reade shelves. The actual Peeps themselves are disgusting but visually stunning.
Speaking of stunning, Dianne Wiest rocked my afternoon in Hannah and Her Sisters, perhaps Woody's most uplifting movie. This flick came out when I graduated from high school and I wondered then, who is this fluttery-voiced chick with the perpetual squint? She's amazing! Her character is sort of what I might have turned into, except that I've have been in only two professions--if you don't count the dry cleaning stint. She can't sing, can't act, has some talents and bad habits, along with a string of disappointments, but a nice spirit, which I hope New York bitterness hasn't killed in me. Please, though, I hope very much that I don't end up with the Woody Allen type.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Happy Resurrection of Jesus! Dish really isn't Christian, but Jesus was probably awesome when he was alive. To celebrate (the Vernal Equinox) Easter, I tried to watch for the first time The Ten Commandments, but Anne Baxter's lusty character makes me cringe. I'm sure she was awesome as well, but frankly, the acting sucks in the movie. Maybe that's why it's such a classic? So, I turned to The Sound of Music and my heart began to thump. Not only do I wish Julie Andrews were my best friend, but Christopher Plummer is a hot hardass-turned-softie. The chemistry between them is palpable. I want to cry already, but I'm not that big a ween.
Okay, maybe I am. Will bury my Kleenex before BF gets here. I'm subjecting him to Hannah and Her Sisters. Woody Allen and Jesus. Epic.
Friday, March 21, 2008
It's trendy to be mean online without a voice or face, and I don't want to automatically criticize, but I will anyway: I really hated the two movies I watched this week. What I hated most was that the movies starred actors I respect. I still respect them for choosing to be in these movies.
First, Dedication. Billy Crudup is talented but can't he do something light, where he's not a protagonist on the edge? I can tell when he's about to say something heavy when his eyes dart to the side. Ah, the actor tricks: the Russell Crowe forehead scratch, Tom Cruise eye flicker, Malkovich monotone, Diane Keaton shriek, Julia Roberts voice modulation to the point where I catch myself mimicking her. In any case, Dedication seemed to be filmed all in navy, which instantly said "this will depress you to pieces." Tom Wilkinson = always a pleasure to watch, Crudup = had moments, Mandy Moore = enjoyable and I'm intrigued by her movie choices. The story slows the instant after Moore and Crudup hook up while looking at the stars -- because somehow, she penetrated his rough exterior cos she's so kewl! He, of course, flakes out because he's such a quirky children's book writer, realizes his mistake and goes after her. Guess what happens next?
The lesson learned from Becoming Jane is: being a woman sucks! Also, you have to be an upstart to acquire fame. You must wake your family up by playing a vivacious piano piece in the morning, be a hot mama with lots of men proposing to you and go for the irresponsible turd who insults you. Insults = True Love! Because you're so noble and probably never crack a fart--not even for revenge against your siblings -- you ditch the turd for the world's betterment and wither away as you spread your gift to the world. Second moral of the story: You can either write or get laid, but not both. Such as it were and blessed be.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Ask me how much I love cigarettes and I could go on for hours...especially now that I don't smoke and talking takes the place of my depleted tar levels. So, I'll confess my vice: I love Dr. Phil. Sure, the opening to his show reveals him as kind of an egotistical warrior psych-jock, on the move to heal people, the go-to superhero when your teenage babygirl is flying to the Middle East to meet a man from MySpace. Dr. Phil is obsessed with T.D. Jakes now, so much so that I'm waiting for them to kiss. The cheese, hype, sometimes fast-food answers to complicated problems, and repetitive phrases ("Someone in this family needs to step up and be a hero..." and "What were you thinking?") cannot be denied. Sometimes, I get bored and turn off the TV. But today, I cried as he gave a victim a little can of whoop-ass, along with a little love. To the many blogs that bitch about him, I say he's doing more good than harm. (Of course, like everyone, he could be hiring $5,500 prostitutes). How many can say that?
Friday, March 14, 2008
How brilliant that a girl could become famous by sleeping with someone reputed to be good. Now, Spitzer’s former escort will have a singing career. Sure, no one will admire her for her brains, survival instincts, or grit, but she’ll be rich and noteworthy. People will ogle her at parties, want to meet the girl who contributed to ES’s downfall. I cringed at today’s Post, but sheesh, what an overnight sensation!
Watch out, Jimmy Carter. I’m coming after you. Wink wink.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Daniel Auteuil. How il me dazzle avec his annual portrayal of a cold, repressed homme who finds his inner warm fuzzy. And there's that fabulous nose of his that runs on a severe diagonal. J'enjoy that he's famous sans adhering to les boring standards of beauty. Not to mention he was married to the formerly chaude Manon of the Spring, Emanuelle Beart, who filled her lips with Michelin tires to do Mission: Impossible. It's like beauty and the beast, only he's beauty now. With my petit naivete streak avec le scandal Spitzer, how can I believe le Daniel hasn't had chirurgie plastique lui-meme?
But, Daniel, pourquoi does he make the trite movie Mon Meilleur Ami? My French upbringing forces me into viewings of le cinema francais and sometimes, je fais le mauvais choix. What is Mon Meilleur Ami? Oh, le cold Frenchman, he has no amis. For some spontaneous reason, his colleagues challenge him to trouver un friend. All his choices reject him, except for the quirky taxi driver. Cold Frenchman screws over Monsieur Taxi, but says he's desolay at the end. Somehow, ils reconcile! Quel surprise! Dish will always profess amour for the Auteuil and now chantes the praises of Dany Boon, whose on-screen panic is tres realistique. Bonnes performances, but scenario merdique.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Maybe the universe wants us to be happy again. That's why Duran Duran is returning. They're like my favorite kind of stomach flu. Everytime they're near, I feel happy...and sick. The trauma of our governor's hooker-hobby will fade to my subconscious, where no doubt, he'll appear in a bunny costume and tango with Tom Cruise. At least that's how my dreams usually play out.
I'm thankful for this guilty pleasure even though it carries with it some adolescent pangs. My first love looked like John Taylor and he broke my heart, ate it, puked it up, spat on it, then set in on fire. Is it wrong that I love their latest album so much? That "The Valley" gets me on the treadmill? Or that "She's Too Much" bolsters my confidence in fatherhood? I'll be naive for a while, believe that Simon Le Bon is the perfect, loving father to three girls, that Nick Rhodes really is as genius as Einstein, that not everyone leads a secret life, and that my cat, for one night, won't pull my tablecloth and spill my coffee all over my books. Who knew Duran Duran could stay in my life for a solid six months (okay, it's really been twenty-five years), having so recently graced Broadway.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Update: My bad. I thought our governor was a pimp but he's Just Another Cheating Spouse. Luckily, BF confirms I'm the only one he would hang out with in a D.C. hotel room. This makes Dish's day.
If only our elected officials could have happy hooker experiences without the onus of the pesky law. Makes me think of recently-released-from-prison Al Pacino in Frankie and Johnny when he hires a working girl to spoon him. Or in Living Out Loud when Holly Hunter hires Eric Somethingwithazinit to give her a "massage." Only in these two instances is prostitution understandable...well, except in Nevada.
Oh, and there's The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas--which Dish's pious Baptist grandparents took me to see. It was totally their idea, too. That Dolly Parton can do anything. There, ending on a positive note.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Just when you thought you could trust someone...The truth is: Daddy is getting hookers for potential supporters of a potential future campaign. I'm just guessing. But wait, Dish, these high end call-girls are getting top dollar. Two pervy politician visits a month would be a decent living for a girl, maybe a key to Pretty Woman status. Maybe not. I mean, did anyone see what happened to the prostitute in Heat? This is more fuel for those cynics out there, soon to be me. I'm just waiting for the reality show...and for Hillary to reveal she tortures rodents for fun.
In other news: the Matt Damon franchise is pregnant. Maybe he owns a factory overseas where he employs children to work twelve-hour shifts.
Dish hasn't been inspired. What is there to say? It's all about the election. Wa wa wa wa wa. My momentum is slowing down, as is my passion for the next President. I still want Hillary in office but CNN no longer holds my attention. I'm sickened by the coverage, in general. In other news, Angelina is pregnant--contributing to worthy causes while encouraging overpopulation (blasphemy, Dish!), no one cares about Britney, "rehab" did nothing for Amy Winehouse, Jon Stewart fared better at this year's Oscars, the writer's strike is over, J. Lo gave birth, and poor, desperate Jennifer Aniston still has no mans so she might have gotten her eggs frozen.
The good news? A friend of Dish met a nice guy while on vacation. This should give hope to even the ever-suffering Jennifer Aniston. Moviewise, Dish might have figured out the bad apple in the well cast chick flicks Evening and The Jane Austen Club. It could be the unending angst (which is mostly just ennui). And yet both films contain Hugh Dancy. Coincidence? Not sure. He's a lovely actor and I wonder if he regrets his choices.