Star Sighting

4:30 p.m. crossing Park Place and Broadway: Mark Margolis with his shirt unbuttoned so that I catch some chest action as I make my way home. He always plays an abuser and molester, most recently in Gone Baby Gone. What a nice way to end my day and I adore him (but not in a "do me" kind of way even with lure of his cleavage).

Date Night

There is nothing sadder than watching Under Siege on a Saturday night--except watching Under Siege in Spanish!!!

Which is exactly what I'm not doing...

Hags in Hell

Dish knew Madons and Guy Ritchie would split eventually. He's too bleh (though probably genius). Madonna's got several million watts of erg in her little pinkie. More power to her as she glosses over any trauma with a new world tour and Timberlake in her back pocket. Just as Morgan Freeman says to Renee Zellwinkle in Nurse Betty, she doesn't need the guys (at least not legally).

My over-forty-scorned-female sympathies go out to Heather Locklear who is now in rehab for anxiety and depression. Life can just blow, especially if you were tabloidally linked to David Spade (he funny on SNL tho and stint as a hotthrob in Lost & Found hilarious!). Would that her peak is still to come after brilliant times as a bitch on Dynasty and Melrose Place. I see the rise of a new Morgan Fairchild once she's regained her footing...

Hags rule!

Sugar Daddy Caine

Dish's new favorite movie moment: Michael Caine explaining what the term "Camel toe" means in The Weather Man. That MC is a dirty, dirty daddy. My ultimate fantasy: for MC to act in the lowest form of entertainment--aside from being directed by Steven Seagal: a douche commercial. He'd still be brilliant.

As for The Weather Man, the flick is overcast, but Michael delivers his usual stunning performance, eclipsing the cliched theme of middle-aged-man-who-just-can't-hack-it-and-needs-a-voice-over-so-that-audiences-will-like-his-unlikeable-self.

What is it with screwed up weather people (L.A. Story, Groundhog Day, To Die For)? It's just weather. Oh wait, lighting is striking Dish: sometimes it rains, sometimes it's sunny, sometimes the storm is a'comin'. Life is unreliable. Like the weather! So, if you're a weather person, do something outlandish, like take up archery. That's what Nicholas Cage does so that he can walk around like a freak in the middle of New York. And if you're tired of the angst: watch Sam Champion, who is super fun, perky, and blond, sort of like what Katie Couric used to be.

Donna Forever

Finally. A break from deleting emails urging me to add inches to my penis. Then I get the ads for Viagra and Xanax, which I desperately need. Like many, I enjoy dulling my senses naturally with excessive television (though I clean up cat vomit and knit mohair villages at the same time).

Tonight I'm reminded how much I enjoy Tori Spelling. On 90210, she was consistently warm and never gave up the goods to horny Brian Austin Green until she was ready. Her Lifetime movies have been excellent (Mother, May I Sleep with Danger?) and she was so loveable in Trick. Fame born of fierce nepostism aside, I mostly adore how odd she looks, kind of like Steve Buscemi. I have to watch and support.

Tori & Dean is standard Hollywood couple reality show and I sense fakery, but I'd like to believe.

How I Might Be Like Brad Pitt's Ex-Girlfriend

Once my acupuncturist removed the needles from my belly, ankles and collarbone, she asked me if I knew about cupping. I stifled a giggle. And then realized what she really asked. A picture flashed in my mind of Gwyneth Paltrow with circle-bruises on her back. Gwyneth had experienced cupping.

"If Gwyneth's done it, I have to do it."

That's next week. I forgot to request that she cup me in a highly visible spot. So others will know.

Suggestions:

Never mix Miracle Whip and mustard, thinking that this is a good sauce for pasta. Go out and buy some ranch dressing instead. Oh. Oops. That's giving away a single-girl secret. Also, never think that crushed potato chips are an appropriate topping for said pasta. Lastly: Laughing Cow cheese does not melt well in said pasta.

If a movie lists Ryan Reynolds as a romantic hero, strap on some beer goggles and imagine that he's kissing a boy instead, which is far more appealing and realistic. Dish doesn't believe he's straight, though he could be today's John Ritter. Oh, that's so genius. I did like him in Blade: Trinity.

Watch A Mighty Heart, just to pay homage to the Pearl family. I had a hard time not noticing Angelina's plump lips and curly wig, wanted more character development, but the story reminded me of that shocking month where the world was waiting for news about Danny Pearl. I remembered how sick I felt when the news was released about his death...and how he died. And I wondered about that poor woman, who'd loved him, who carried their baby, and now she was a widow. I don't know how she survived. So sad.

Star Sighting

Spotted at 6:50 p.m. somewhere in Hell's Kitchen, 6/20: Frank Miller reading the paper. Even though I was celebrating Duran Duran bassisto John Taylor's 48th birthday along with the summer solstice, I couldn't help interrupting FM and asking about The Spirit, starring Samuel L. and Eva Mendes and others--due out this Christmas. My most important question: Did he ever throw a big hissy during filming? Yes. And that's all I care about. I love hearing about diva moments and fantasize about the day when I can explode over getting Evian instead of Volvic. Also, he enjoyed Iron Man. A general expression of love by me for Robert Downey, Jr. ensued.

And now, it's time for Jason Priestley's new trashy movie on Lifetime and ironing. This makes me think of Sheila E and her song "The Glamorous Life."

Finally, One of *Those* Dreams...

Dish is thankful. While repellent in waking life, my beauty has been redeemed in the subconscious. The universe has given me what I've always wanted: An erotic dream about Gale Harold. I didn't ask for it and for once, instead of Tom Cruise or Burt Reynolds (so not fun), I got my dream-dreamboat Gale. I won't go into detail in case my aunt is reading but my R.E.M. state did such nasty, ungodly things last night and it was so good, I'm actually having trouble walking today--though this is probably lower back pain from thirty years of long-distance running.

Life is beautiful again. I wish this on every fan of Gale.

It's Not About the Blonde

A girlfriend of mine once made an omelet for Lance when he came over for a cycling-cluster-f*ck at her house. He told her that her legs were too fat (they're not). Then he asked her to remove the yolk from his omelet. There's other stuff too but I'm nice (ish).

It's fun to watch these super-stars date. Like a business. Mashing Kate Hudson is an excellent move considering her rising star power. She's sparkly, laid back, and does a brilliant impersonation of Drew Barrymore. I kind of like her, though I love her mother. While I could more easily go drinking with Sheryl Crow than KH, I can see why he moved along.

After all, Sheryl has too much yolk. She's ancient and not as camera-ready. And she's probably not *really* a blonde, which is crucial in today's world.

Something New from the Farrelly Brothers

I adore innovation. So when I saw previews about a commitphobic forty-year-old male enduring all sorts of angst, I immediately put The Heartbreak Kid on my Netflix queue. And since There's Something About Mary, Shallow Hall, Stuck on You, I knew there would be many of the following:

Something gross involving genitalia.

Something gross involving the butt.

Something gross involving skin (Woogie!).

Crazy family dynamics.

A lot of poopy, caca, c*ck, p*ssy language.

Crazy sex.

A heroine with a heart of gold.

I was not disappointed! With Seinfeldian precision, an earnest Ben Stiller pinpoints all that's wrong with his girlfriends then marries a hot blond skitzoid after dating two months. And said skitzoid farts, embroiders, and burns out in the sun. Sure, she automatically spits out apple juice with her nose because she's done so much blow and that's kinda gross. But then Ben finds the suitably bland non-farting Monica Monaghan (who didn't fart or burn in Mi: III either and landed Tom Cruise!) on his honeymoon and they go through so much for their love. The best part, of course, the part that will have you rolling with abdominal pains, is crazy old Ben's father, who CRAZILY enough dates a Vegas broad with a G-cup sized breasts that float in a Jacuzzi, who talks about "crushing p*ssies."

All this in an hour and forty minutes. I don't know about you, but I totally want to get married now.

A Shot of J.R.

I'm suffering from transference. My acupuncture posse take such good care of me that I love them now. One of them is male and yesterday when he took my pulse, my eyes started to fill. Last week, my general physician declared me fit, then chatted me up about semi-prescious stones. I now desperately want to be girlfriends with him. So last night, while watching Primary Colors -- primarily to relive the Clinton era and counteract the Obama kids approaching me on the street -- Larry Hagman appeared and my heart pounded with love. Maybe it was leftover euphoria over the notion of Father's Day or residual worship of J.R. Ewing, one of the best characters ever.

Or maybe, I'm starting to respond to dirty old men. This has to stop immediately.

Fill Up on Phillip!

The only reason I rented Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead is to see a fattie pork a hottie (Sorry, Mom!). Phillip Seymour Hoffman has the audacity to infiltrate the Tomei Kingdom and I want to view all the jiggling, grunting, and flattening of internal organs. Just think of the nasty things they can do with their Oscars.

Dish has a nostalgic fondness for porkers since ex-BF-15 and ex-BF-16 sported six-month pregnancies. I didn’t care. The best part about fatties was that Dish could gorge on sugar, since they wouldn’t dare complain about my bod. By contrast, dating professional athletes was a nightmare of starvation and three-hour workouts during his nine-hour workouts. But seriously, why do hot guys get all the fun on screen? I’m delighted to see PSH plunder Marisa’s depths and he so better steal the scene from Ethan Hawke or else I’m running straight to The Cupcake Café. Okay, I may do that anyway. Fatties unite (though I myself am not fat)!

My favorite PSH performance is not Capote, but as Sandy Lyle in Along Came Polly. This clip is a must-see of acting excellence. http://youtube.com/watch?v=9ig_DcWz1AI

Flatliners

I love this damn movie. Where else can you see young Hollywood wearing glasses and playing intense medical students (oops! Grey's Anatomy--zzzzz). Oh, the mullets, the intense obsession with death, the gathering of gorgeous actors on the brink of megastardom! Like another day here in Dishland, if you ask me. It tickles me that Kiefer and Julia prob'ly raunched out in each other's trailers during filming, fell in love as he dared to "die" longer than anyone else. That is so David Blaine and I'm not sure I'd want to be with such a risk-taker. Why not vow to avoid visiting strippers for five minutes rather than cheat death? Or he could dare to be excellent for a whole half hour.

What's great about Flatliners is that while playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, a plethora of celebs lessen the degrees. Though, I forget who accidentally kicks it in the story. Let it not be Julia!

I'VE ABANDONED MY CHILD! I'VE ABANDONED MY BOY!

Calm down already, Daniel Day. I get you're intense, a bad father and shameless opportunist. After your shrieking in The Crucible, I avoided you. But then your fierce handling of knives peaked my interest in Gangs of New York. Kinda disappointed by the movie in the way that a few Scorcese movies leave me saying WTFwasthat? Now that I'm watching There Will Be Blood, I've got you nailed.

And yet, I still love your devotion to highly literate scripts--albeit interminable--and crazy fashion. Damn you, with your piercing eyes, huge honker, and sexy ear-loops. You've never sold out (Last of the Mohicans was a hair commercial, but I get why you did it). Not to mention, you gave a nice Oscar speech about Heath Ledger. I could feel your pain. The most important reason why I'll support you is that my mother once saw you dining with Isabel Adjani in Paris. Mom's eyes still glaze over when she talks about it (you were wearing a purple shirt). I mention your name and she blushes. The woman doesn't get swoony over stars--just you and Colin Firth. That's enough for me. But beware, I'm onto you.

The Bucket List

You'll have to excuse me. I just got back from Iraq (sucks to be there!) and had to fire another opinionated employee who is polling to see who could be my VP of ass-wiping. To bury the monotony of this endless election, The Bucket List found its way into my DVD player. Not a bad concept, but the script smelled; Jack and Morgan focused on all the wrong things. Beware, this is a spoiler alert. So here were some items:

Kiss the most beautiful girl in the world. Jack pecks his twinkly granddaughter on the cheek, provoking an aww moment. I say, he should have found a hot transvestite, made out with her, then felt something harden on his leg.

Go skydiving. Please. The whole skydiving, daredevil thing was cliche after Point Break and Bush Sr. did it.

Laugh until you cry. Before his surgery, Morgan informs Jack that he's been drinking cat shit coffee. Harharhar. I say, watch a porn flick in fast-motion or light each other's farts. So much funnier.

Drive in some fancy car. And Jack and Morgan go drag-racing. Morgan gets a little impish when he slams into Jack's car. Who cares? More exciting: Drive a car really fast and jump out of it as it goes off a cliff. That's way more impressive and Steven Seagal does it in Fire Down Below.

Travel around the world. Nice product placement of beautiful places but we've seen it before. If you're going to die, why not take an LSD trip around the world? Or visit international whorehouses? Bring Mickey Rourke with you, though Jack probably knows where to go. That Morgan Freeman needs to loosen up.

Climb Mt. Everest. Oh, that's realistic when you can barely breathe.

I forget the others on the list. Here's one I'd add:

Try it just once. If I were going through such an intense experience with someone, I'd probably totally go Brokeback. Why not? It's not like anyone will see it, no blackmail pictures, and you know you've always wondered about it. Woulda been nice if just once, Jack and Morgan shared a steamy kiss.

All that said, I bawled like a baby at the end. Did appreciate Sean Hayes's performance and love it when he's not Jack (though I love Jack too).

Helping My Karma

In an effort to be more positive and PC, I'll just say this mantra:

Puppies, unicorns, Obama, Snuggles fabric softener, save the whales, Tom Hanks/Steven Spielberg/Ron Howard, KY for him AND her, it’s organic, Jamba Juice, end hunger-racism-homophobia, my child is so gifted, that Hillary is such a shrew, maxi pads…with wings, do you have a minute for the environment?, Tickle Me Elmo, Derek Jeter, meds, pretty horses, Forrest Gump, produced by Justin Timberlake, only one period per year, Kaballah, Jesus, the eyes of a child, Bipolar Disorder, reality show to explain the truth, all proceeds go to charity, Gwen Stefani, babies, Oprah and Ellen, the Mets not the Yankees, spirulina, Buddhism, love is all you need, green tea, did you see Project Runway last night, stomach stapling because nothing else worked, Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins, When Harry Met Sally, R.E.M., rehab, closure, and lastly: Sting and Bono.

Today's Favorites and Most Hated

The song Dish keeps playing over and over: "Vida La Vida" by Coldplay. Even though Chris Martin always sounds congested, I can't get enough.

Most hated song today: "Keeping the Faith" by Billy Joel. Give me a break. The jaunty tune is annoying enough but I don't need some drunken OMP telling me to keep my chin up. There's enough faith in the world to bring about the acopolypse...or is it the Acropolis?

Observation: Cher is never more beautiful as in Suspect, though the hair is bit mopish. Who knew she could act lawyerly with such finesse? And, giggle giggle, Liam Neeson plays ugly but we all know he's really smokin' underneath that beard and blazing freak eyes. I fantasized that during shooting, Dennis Quaid went home to Meg and talked about Cher, maybe even shouted her name during The Act. "Honey, today I made out with Cher." We're talking THE Cher. Did Dennis develop a secret crush on her? The villain is Martin Crane of "Frasier", though here he has a combover. Characters with combovers are always the bad guy.

Most hated movie: It's official--Dish can no longer watch You've Got Mail and control the gag reflex. They are all perky despicable liars!!!! I especially hate the long, thoughtful emails between Tom and Meg. People are always so much more articulate in emails with strangers. But after five minutes of living in reality, Tom and Meg would revert to their true selves. The only fun aspect is Dabney Coleman who plays a rich, ruthless, womanizing OMP. Love him madly.

Happiness Is...

Julia Roberts filming a movie within seven miles of me. She's probably knitting, too!

Reading Page Six and eating greasy chicken.

A York Peppermint Patty for dessert because it has less fat. (But sadness is a fat-filled cookie right after)

Jessica Alba choosing yet another freaky celeb name for her daughter (Honor, which is as bad as Dish's name). Audible Science and Pilot Inspektor being the freakiest choices.

With Cheetos by my side, watching Cher get it on with Dennis Quaid in Suspect tonight!

Knowing that, during this heat wave, Ex-BF-16 has no air-conditioning at work. Hahahaha!

I forgot Nick Rhodes's Birthday

How could I have forgotten? Oh, Nicky Mc Nickerson, my collossus of Rhodes, fabulous wearer of coral lipsticks, excellent eye-liner, trippy photog, dyer of foamy locks, jamming keyboardist of note, oh Nick. Happy 46th birthday. I can only excuse my memory lapse because of my belief that all Geminis are batsh*t crazy. Except for you, of course.

Grumpy Old Men and Lars

I hate the name Lars so I hesitate to say out loud Lars and the Real Girl. I can't do it, so don't ask me. The movie has a few yucks and is an interesting yet predictable character study. Once the doll appears, you can guess the rest.

So then, I was walking to the gym to run on the treadmill (see my unattainable crush) and I saw a flyer for the next Grumpy Old Men picture. Though the real name of the movie is Righteous Kill starring old farts Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino. I can smell the denture cream already just like I will when The Bucket List arrives on my doorstep. Will there be incontinence jokes or can DeNiro and Pacino be all tough for one more movie (before we start laughing)? Will Pacino scream his lines? Please say yes.

Here's my script for the above picture:

AP: I WONDER IF THERE'S A BODY UNDER THIS SHEET!

RDN: Brilliant deduction, Rosie. I'm hoping this Righteous Kill is my ex.

AP: WE GOTTA RIGHTEOUS KILL HERE! A LITTLE HELP!

RDN: I need help. My knees are hurtin' from squatting.

AP: I'D LIKE TO GET YOU ON YOUR KNEES, SARGENT!

RDN: Let's ditch this case and hit the nearest motel. You and me, candlelight, magic.

AP: JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I WAS OUT, YOU PULL ME BACK IN!!!!

This ties with my latest trend: worrying about Dish's favorite old farts, who seem to leapfrog each other into the hospital. I'm so ready for The Women coming out this fall. Annette Bening and Meg Ryan on the same screen. Two hot and cranky crones--now that's more like heaven for me.

Death at a Funeral is Death But Kate Is My Shot of Adrenaline

Couldn't post yesterday because Mercury is in retrograde and no wireless I could piggyback on while in the boonies.

So yeah, the boonies. To deal with the silence, I wanted a light comedy about death but Death at a Funeral was more a tiresome farce, with no full frontal and an old man crapping in someone's hand. Am not into farce. Tennis is much more fun. I do applaud the casting of Peter Dinklage, Rupert Graves and the latest Mr. Darcy (Matthew something--too lazy for imdb.com).

While my family basked in fitful slumber, I crept into the TV room, looking for something to steal. Kate & Leopold, that romantic comedy where Hugh Jackman sweet-talks Meg Ryan back to his time. Watched it--but not avidly. The film promotes distant relative incest. Liev's great-great-great grandfather is Hugh, but Liev also copped with Meg for four years, Meg who bred with Hugh. That's so sick! No wonder she was angry and blond. I'd be livid if I wasted four years trying to make a relationship with my great-great-great grandson work. This is the flick she made after she and Russell "Phone Thrower" Crowe broke up, so she's double-pissed! Understandable, but she's better off. Also, Liev is cute throughout and what a bear would look like if you shaved all the hair off its face. I mean that in a nice way.

As I made my way back into Manhattan, I listened obsessively to Fiction Plane's "Two Sisters," drowning out the loud people behind me. Dish dated Two Brothers once, back when life was a soap opera. #1 didn't know about #2, and #2 was separated with another girlfriend. So I was the Other Other Woman. Today that would get me a reality show.

(Ps: Get well soon to Dish's father!)

Star Unsighting...and YOUR boyfriend

17th and 7th Avenue, 6:13: Dish did not see Lorenzo Lamas eating waffles and scratching a large scab on his inner thigh (he was wearing shorts).

But here's a trivia question: What do Jane Wyman and Olivia Newton John have in common?

More Female Excretions

Just when I thought I was safe: I viewed Dating Games People Play. Instead of crap, I got hurl, which is what one of the female characters did on her date during the act of love. Such a way to impress and Dish loves those gratuitous gross scenes. Leslie Mann loses it on Steve Carrell in The Forty-Year-Old Virgin, Hillary Swank tosses tequila cookies on Harry Connick, Jr. in P.S. I love you, and my favorite: Aitana Sánchez-Gijón blows dainty pregnancy chunks on Keanu Reeves...and they fall in love in A Walk in the Clouds.

Key Takeaway: I will find some way to ooze pus or project liquids--or maybe I'll just pee--on my next date. It's another way to give of myself and will incite his protective instincts.

Deepak Invades My Chakhras or Cameron Needs to Change Her Freaking Hairstyle

Just when Dish could close off from the world, especially as CNN and MSNBC sling mud at Hillary (maybe giving a historic speech on gender would have helped her!) and invest in another copy of He's Just Not That Into You, I am choosing The Path of Love by Deepak Chopra who is the Deepakest of Chakhras when it comes to insight. I don't love everything he writes, but I am so ready to present my warm, quivering vulnerable soul to cosmic slaughter.

Before I turn my powers to good, I'll get one last bitch on. Could Cameron Diaz change her freaking hairstyle? Truly, I love her (though a reliable source says she figuratively kicks puppies) and support her repertoire of actronization. But I want new hair. Something short and sassy, except no brunnette!

Okay, one more rant: I can't help but notice that two women have pooped their pants in movies this past year. Charlotte in Sex and the City and Jennifer Jason Leigh in Margot at the Wedding. Both deal with weddings. Is this a sign? Yes: Love is Laxative. Well, Deepak, I got my one-ply Scott tissue and reading glasses ready!

Pics from Duran Duran Concert 5/31

Thanks to Nici for supplying these pics! I was busy freaking out and my camera would've shook even more than hers. First is of Dish having a quiet soul-bonding session with the band pre-rain. Second is that amazing Warm Leatherette sesh. Third is evidence of Nici's sudden lust for John (she was always more into Nick). There are more pics, but I have to affix myself to CNN for the evening.

Brilliant!

Tatum O'Neal is the smartest person ever!

Celebrity craziness = revival of career!

Girlfriend is on the cover of The Post two days in a row and I see that smirk on her face. It worked! I'm sorry but if I were really buying crack, I would send my personal assistant to get it for me. As Whitney says, crack is for poor people and my PA would be sucking down Ramen noodles to get by. And buying my crack!

In the next life when I'm famous, I'll do the following to build the buzz:

Suffer endless waxing and flash my chocho everywhere

Make a sex tape with Collin Farrell and leak it right before my movie/book is out. Or maybe I'll *be* Collin Farrell next time around. Even better!

Enter rehab (that's a no-brainer, though it's kind of cliche now)

Generally hang out with young people

Drive drunk, especially with kids in the car

Do something cute yet disgusting (poop my pants like Charlotte, barf Cheetos and red wine at black tie event) so that stars can lovingly refer to it in Oscar Night show banter

Sleep with a high-profile politician--well, that might be too oily even for Dish.

SATC was...

...pretty fun and the movie's longness didn't bother me. I could watch that damn show for hours. Oh wait, that's what I did. Enjoyed most of the fashions except for that awful bird and the huge flower on Carrie's chest. Samantha didn't do enough crazy stuff, though the sushi is a nice idea for when I encounter romance again. Samantha is always my fave, along with Big. Some of the major turning points didn't make any sense and I wanted more Jennifer Hudson. I want more period! Love having a babe-centric movie can pull in gazillions of dollars. Let's get more women to take over the movie industry!

In other news, a friend of Dish met Alec Baldwin and he looked at her boobs. I'm so jealous. And another friend saw Clive Owen in a wine store mid-May. Friend said Clive didn't look as good in person, but I know straight guys never appreciate another straight guy's hotness. Well, except Ex-BF-11 once admitted to wanting to spend jail-time with Johnny Depp. No wonder it didn't work...

Ps:

Programming note: After Saturday night's concert, it's official that Dish is far more at ease observing stars from the comfort of her computer or as a quick hit on the streets. So please, all stars, don't make eye contact or engage me in conversation--I may just hurl. That goes double for Duran Duran, Julia Roberts, Gale Harold, Liev Schreiber, Kathy Griffin, Jennifer Connelly, Meryl Streep, Russell Crowe, the cast of "The Office" and "Work Out," well, actually celebrities age 35 on up. The younger ones can mostly eat my shorts.

(And many thanks to the acupuncturists at The Swedish Institute for helping with this overall retardedness)

Duran Duran Triumphs Over Stormy Weather

First: a testament to fortitude during adversity--keyboardist Nick Rhodes found out his father died three hours before the previous night's performance and he STILL did the shows! I send out healing comfort vibes to him and his family.

I was so dreading the General Seating thing, but there was no line and the audience area was pretty empty. Somehow, my spidey sense took us to a certain part of the Rumsfield Park half an hour before the concert started. Within minutes, squealing erupted and there was the super-blond Simon Le Bon, about 40 feet from me. He smiled and waved to us--I waved back thinking he would see me. Then the ever-stooping John. Later, Roger and Nick went into the trailer that was RIGHT IN FRONT OF US. Honestly, I almost barfed I was so thrilled. We were sickeningly close to the stage, closer than I'd been in 20 years. It was almost too good to be true. Because it was sticky out, my left ear got blown out from the speaker and I'm horribly claustrophobic at celebrity centric events (am a wreck during star-studded plays), I went for some fresh air and passed Yasmin Le Bon, whose beauty twenty years after her modeling peak is still heart-stopping. Also, the girl was grooving like a groupie, which was fun. Who says marriage goes stale?

The band sounds even better twenty years later. Lots of energy, funk, and popness. The crush of people in front was overwhelming but then the rain came down. Several idiots whipped out umbrellas but my friends and I refused all barriers. I was thankful for my armorlike padded bra.
I'm not sure I'm up for noisy crowded concerts anymore but it was exciting to be that close, after waiting 25 years. Pictures to come when my friend, who illegally recorded parts of the concert by accident, sends some good ones.

Style points: All wardrobe was fantastic, though I imagine the boys were sweating like stuffed pigs in July. We were right up near John Taylor (who used to be my favorite but now not so much, though he is my friend on MySpace). He's succumbed to the I'm-going-to-dye-my-hair-a-really-dark-color-so-you-don't-notice-I'm-old phase but is still the cute one. He and Nick keep brushing their hair forward to mask the receding hairline, as if we won't notice. And if my eyesight is correct, Nick has a gut, which is interesting considering he's a vegetarian. Vegetarians are usually pale, thin, and always have colds, though maybe he overcompensates by eating dessert, which is what I do even after a cheeseburger. Keep eating, Nick! It's all fuel for your artistic excellence! Simon has the eternal short blond spikes and is sleek, sassy and rubberlike on stage. I hope I am in as good shape when I'm 500. Roger is quiet, powerful, and efficient--the only drummer for me. Yasmin Le Bon has blond highlights and is just the picture of gorgeousness and health. Nick Rhodes's girlfriend (Meredith?) is tall, blond, and lovely and was holding up some kind of technology and jumping up and down. My friend told me a Le Bon daughter walked right behind us. Also, as we were leaving, Waitress, Serenity and Desperate Housewives gynocologist actor Nathan Fallion was spotted.

Panic and overexcitement aside, it was a brilliant night. Duran Duran FOREVER!

ps: To those who stood, danced, and pushed up against me for two hours: Thanks. I'm totally pregnant now.