Heartthrobs

Thanks to VH1, Dish is reliving the 80s after a day of walking around New Mexico. One funny note: I was reminded of the Shaun Cassidy craze. I thought he was hideous. All my friends had pinups of him in their lockers and I had to avert my gaze. Another 80s phenomenon was Kristy McNichol and I'll admit, she was my first girl crush. I wanted to be her friend, well, be her. My parents wouldn't let me stay up to watch "Family," and I hated them for it. Who knew then that Netflix would come thirty years later?

No Crash Diets

Dish is going through her usual pre-flight meltdown. I hate, hate, hate going anywhere but have been flying since I'm in the womb. This time, I'm bringing a portable DVD player and endless episodes of Will & Grace.

Since I may die in a mid-air collision tomorrow, I'll admit this: I like Denise Richards. I always have. She beguiled me first in that bland TV movie I Do, But I Don't. Then I watched her in that Neve Campbell, Kevin Bacon menage flick. Charlie Sheen also amuses me but only on screen. So last night, I caught reruns and the finale of Denise Richards: It's Complicated. It isn't complicated at all. She goes from one event to the next, eating scones, talking about how fat she is (I do the same thing), and she's afraid of flying as much as I am. Her distinctive laugh makes me laugh. I don't believe her hatred for the paps at all, or her sudden need to set the record straight (it's far more dignified to do it by deed than reality show, c'mon). Oh well, I still like her and support the expansion of her body mass. She could be like Belinda Carlisle in the 80s, pudgy and cute--always so much thinner than Dish.

TJ Rules!

I'm in love with Thomas Jefferson. He's not so cute on a 2$ bill. I'd also heard he had red hair, which does nothing for me. And yet on John Adams, Stephen Dillane's TJ is hotter than all those dead white men put together. Compared to John Adams, who can't shut his piehole, Tom is mute and gives us time to savor his smoldering brown eyes. TJ also loves France. Any country that reveres its pastries gets my vote. My only obstacle: I'm fighting visions of Nick Nolte (OMP) as the founding stud in Jefferson in Paris.

In addition to TJ, Dish is obsessed with Liz Tuccillo's How to Be Single. I'd thought the real star of He's Just Not That Into You was Greg Behrendt (who was great doing standup in NYC a few months ago), but now that I'm reading LT's book, I see she's a skilled storyteller and I'm eating up this chicky tome.

Indirect Star Sighting

Dish insider (and ex-BF10, though was never a real BF, yet his accent, love of felines and ABBA can be charming) reported that Alan Cummings carried a Chiwawa at his boyfriend's art opening on Forsythe Street last night. Suppositorily, he and his beau live near ex-BF10 so additional reportings are forthcoming. This excites me because AC is a sexy beast. Ex-BF10 also saw Dianne Wiest and said he "liked the look of her," that she was a woman who "answered to no one." Would it have killed ex-BF10 to take me instead of a date who'd put out? My joy at seeing Dianne and Alan C. would surpass ex-BF10's ecstasy over getting serviced.

My insider reported, too, that he once worked on a commercial with Tom Wilkinson way before The Full Monty. I asked, "Did Tom do anything weird?" No, Tom was exceedingly polite and nice to everyone, but he wore a nasty scarf.

Voice from the Past

I toiled over a Sudoku when my ear caught a familiar song. Two voices as one. It was: Barbra Streisand and Don Johnson's "Till I Loved You."

He was so cute then (cocaine) and, illegibly, they were an item. But my question: isn't it awkward to sing "I love you" in a song when you're kinda just having sex? Or does one ever just have sex with Barbra? Loving her is a given. I usually save the "I love you" for when the flu hits and I'm deluded enough to think nice words have a positive outcome. Babs does giggle at the end of the song, which could mean she's just kidding.

More importantly: Poor Don chose to start a singing career at his peak, much like Bruce Willis, Eddie Murphy, Patrick Swayze (better), and Al Pacino (just kidding--it's my fantasy).

Hmmmmm

Headbands can make your hair hang so perfectly sometimes...

Clash of the Blonds

What makes me laugh: that Rock of Love is having its third season. Poor Brett Michaels, the mayor of skankopolis. His peak was two decades ago (just like Dish's). It's so funny to keep rehashing on yesterday's fame. Kinda like Dish's preposterous re-entry into dating, after 25 years of failure. I feel you, Brett. And I'm with you on being all about objectification. If he's not pretty, gay, obsessed with me, who cares?

Oops. Gotta go: The Closer starts in one minute. I have a warm fuzzy feeling after my birthday surprise last week. My one suggestion: Wouldn't it be interesting if Fritz had a high maintenance moment and, for once, Brenda picked up the pieces? Maybe Fritz buys some Chivas (like Dish just did!) and has one bad thing happen after another. Maybe he cries...

Miranda Hobbs Haiku

Cyn, you so pretty

Why red snapper on the show?

Bad, bad hairdresser

Dish watch too much Sex!

Eating cashews, tummy ache

Cyn, why you squawking?

Miranda smartest

Work hard, lawyer, yell at men!

But that Beeker hair...

Ralph Wears Eyeshadow

If you love watching rich people be miserable, rent Bernard and Doris, directed by the great Bob Balaban. Lauren Bacall is my fave Doris Duke because she's so much more Lifetime and tragic--plus it comes on the heels of her losing the Oscar for The Mirror Has Two Faces. Susan Sarandon sexes up the part, with boys coming to service her (which is how I'd spend my millions once I was done with charity, Sephora, and yarn). I enjoy Ralph Fiennes's evolution--from sweaty English Patient stud to sweaty makeup-and-Steven-Seagal-robe-wearing butler. It's not the best movie I've ever seen but Susan raises that all-important question: What's the point of all this? We learn it at the end when her gazillions go to charity.

I wonder too: What's the point of all this? I'm not sure yet. But I hope when my butler injects me with happy medicine, I'll have some clue.

Founding Feathers

I thought I'd lost my sanity when I bought Music & Lyrics (twice) from Duane Reade's 9.99$ rack. But no, I ordered myself a Bedazzler 30 seconds ago. Is it wrong to fantasize about Bedazzling my hideous felted purses while watching John Adams? Laura Linney would never Bedazzle. She probably spends her time studying scripts, having intelligent conversations, looking at art, drinking espresso.

I'm going to spend my 40s Bedazzling. The Declaration of Independence would have been much prettier if Ben Franklin had Bedazzled it.

Majestic Meryl

Loving Meryl Streep is so cliche. She sings, acts and dances beautifully in Mamma Mia. She's sexy, can wear sequins and overalls, do cannonballs, and romance three different men within two hours. Plus, I'd thought she was healthy (chunky), but she's so thin, which makes me want to hate her but I can't. I'll just have to postpone my plans to "let myself go."

I first saw her in Kramer vs. Kramer soon after my parents' divorce. My dad kept pointing out the areas where he identified with Dustin Hoffman (the drinking, the introducing-new-babes-to-the-kids, the lousy cooking). Then I wondered, who's this upstart whore? Why is she such a bitch to saintly Dustin Hoffman? It's obvious she's a crappy mother. And why would SHE get the best actress Oscar? All she had to do was cry and ask for a divorce. Throughout the 80s, I avoided the cliche of loving Meryl Streep. Her damn accents, those edgy dramatic roles, whoopdidoo. Then I watched Adaptation, Postcards from the Edge, and The Hours within the same month and the love hit me hard. So, I had to see Mamma Mia with my mother.

My enjoyment came watching my mom. When she laughs really hard, her nose trembles and she snorts. I could see her fantasizing about high heels, sequins, and Abba. Also, she secretly joneses for Colin Firth. The man (and fellow Ambien lover) has excellent comedic timing despite being so Darcy-Swoontastic. We are going to see it again...and again.

For those who like happiness, Mamma Mia is worth 12$. If you're lucky, you can guilt your mother into giving you a pedicure afterwards (which is what Meryl does for her daughter).

Butterfingers

Birthday note: To cap off my celebration, I received a phone call from one of my favorite celebrities: Fritz from The Closer. I saw his name on my LCD screen but couldn't pick up the phone. I'm retarded that way. Fritz left a nice message, informing me that he was using "hands free," that everyone on The Closer wished me a happy birthday. When the message ended, I called my brother to thank him. And to wallow in my birthday message, I pressed the rewind button on my answering machine--which was the erase button.

This is why, I can't ever come in contact with those pod people.

But the overall birthday feeling is that I have the best brother in the world and he must have threatened murder to get me this special phone call (which makes Fritz a big ween to be so scared of Patrick).

40 is the new 100!

Confession: Today when I got my carry-out, the server asked me my name and I said: Julia. Hee hee. It's my birthday so I can lie.

And so can David Duchovny in Californication, which is great fun. If I ever met a writer like him, I'd run screaming, but he is cute. And married to Tea Leoni, whom I like even more, especially in Deep Impact, which is about a reporter with daddy issues who deals with the end of the world! This flick came out around the time of Armaggedon but didn't have as much turbo-testosterone or absurd science.

I digress. Thank you to all those who've called me today with good 40 wishes, especially my brother, Patrick!

Closing Up Shop

Re: Tonight's new The Closer. I loves my Kyra Sedgwick. Brenda Johnson is crazier than I am...and she solves crimes! As usual, Jon Tenney cleaned up her high-maintenance mess (I wonder if he has practice!) and she says thank yewww. It wasn't my favorite premiere, not as fun as her finding body parts during a pregnancy scare. I burn myself every day while ironing clothes so recovering a charred body does nothing for me. Spoiler: the villain is always the guest or semi-star (not the obvious one in Jason O'Mara, who is creepy city), and Dish spotted him immediately as the fairy-warlock from Charmed. Bad (zzzz) arsonist!

To prepare for tonight's premiere, and while fighting a headache from hairdye inhalation, I watched Something to Talk About, starring Julia and Kyra. My favorite part was when Julia poisoned Dennis Quaid and he yakked. Hahahaha!

Star Sighting

7/12/08, 7:10 p.m., 46th and 9th: I was about to get anesthetized at my pre-fortieth birthday party when I spotted Ray Bokhour, one of the charmingest, talentiest celebs of my generation (meaning he's in the vicinity of ancient the same way Dish is). He's been on Law & Order and is the guy whose head pops up over the computer in Changing Lanes (am waiting for dirt on Ben Affleck and Samuel L, but so far, Ray is mum and I've stopped caring anyway). He's been in commercials galore, comedy shows, and then on one afternoon when I was crying over some bozo, he made me laugh in I'm With Lucy (Monica Potter is so underrated). If dementia serves, he's now on Broadway in Chicago, no doubt dazzling audiences with his distinctive flair and unforgettable voice. RB is like one of those good omens, as is his equally enigmatic wife Christine, who is responsible for my newfound serenity thanks to acupuncture. Now that I'm forty, I am allowed to have run-on sentences.

Ps. Why do I love Sean Hayes? Because despite the fact that I proposed marriage to him on behalf of someone special (not me), he autographed a pic for me.

Pps. The big surprise from my brother: A photo shoot of me! The only thing better than being around a celebrity is to feel like one. I can't wait!

Dish Officially Endorses Sean Hayes...

...as the Nicest Celebrity of the Year to Dishuponastar. He was generous when he didn't have to be. Will say why tomorrow and wish him well in Damn Yankees on Broadway.

In happy birthday news, it seems Angelina Jolie will be having a scheduled C-section--the sanest thing to come out of celebritydom--on the same day I turn 40! Finally, I'll have something in common with the Jolie-Pitts, other than piercing blue eyes.

Who's Having a Birthday?

Gale Harold's birthday (today) is five days from mine. I guess this means we should marry. But because some Cancerians secretly want to dominate, I'll talk about MY birthday, which is the same as that of Arianna Huffington, Jacques Derrida, Jesse Ventura, Forrest Whitaker, Brigitte Nielsen, and most importantly, Beverly Hills 90210 veteran Brian Austin Green.

In 2005, I saw the Bri Guy at Lombardi's canoodling with Megan Fox. They were so glitzy and actually ate the pizza. Megan spent a lot of time licking her fingers. I wanted to say hello, but Ex-BF-15 and I were still in that awkward new couple phase. He didn't yet know how crazy I was about the stars.

But getting back to Gale's birthday, he must be so happy to be turning 39, which is way better than 40. Let us be grateful for the parents who had sex and gave birth to him so that we could enjoy watching him (esp. on Desperate Housewives this fall!!!).

Love Won't Hurt Anymore

My evening: Four episodes of The Love Boat -- the only place where you see Suzanne Somers in a transparent tank top, John Ritter in drag, my hero Kristy McNichol kissing a Scott Baio zygote, Jimmie Walker being Jimmie Walker, Julie McCoy sparkling from cocaine afterglow, Gopher and Isaac still being cute, and Doc nailing all these hot babes. The crew knows every passenger and gives them each words of wisdom. People come aboard with problems and leave with solutions (Scientology?). The only person who got seasick was Charro and even that was adorable. She stayed in Doc's cabin, wink wink, with her nose job and boobs/hips in perpetual motion.

The show jumps the shark when Gopher and Julie fall in love. Sometimes that happens, though, when you're just so desperate and stuck in the ocean for ten days with a lot of really old movie stars. You turn to the first person you see (after three margaritas and some blow) and mess everything up.

Like that ever happens.

Definitely Maybe Not

A Resurfacer: a boy or girlfriend/flame/unrequited crush who keeps reappearing in your life to 1. get support 2. test the waters for reignition 3. or suck the life out of you--mostly all three. A resurfacer often pops up around the holidays or other events that incite lonely-horniness. 98% of resurfacers' intentions are evil and you rarely feel good after they strike. Beware.

Definitely Maybe is all about resurfacers and how it affects Ryan Reynolds (oh, and his daughter who is resurfacer spawn). It starts when Ryan picks up Abigail Breslin (the only child actor I don't want to kick) from school where, at eleven, she finally learned about sex. Sorry, most kids know the facts earlier. My parents told me the truth when I was five: sexual intercourse occurs when two people love each other, then fall asleep.

Ryan burdens his daughter with the story of how he and Mommy sort of but not really fell in love and all the other women in his life (Daddy is a whore). Mommy turns out to be one woman, but Abby tells Daddy that he really loves another. So she helps Daddy win back her future stepmother--which makes her a next-generation resurfacer. I'm sorry but if I were that little girl, I would have scratched Isla Fischer's eyes out. Not only is Dad perpetually lovelorn, he now has a new woman to take over his life.

I'm fascinated by Ryan Reynolds, mostly because he's often miscast. John Ritter was miscast in the romantic drama Heartbeat where he wooed Polly Draper as she carried her mean ex-boyfriend's child. John is so much better falling over couches (though fab in Slingblade!). RR is today's John Ritter and belongs in a duck suit or stumbling over a stray roller skate.

Birth of a Nation

I forced myself to watch the dead white men who founded our country in John Adams, executive produced by big swinging phallus Tom Hanks. My heart skipped upon encountering the trifecta of hotness: Ben Franklin (played by omnismokin' Tom Wilkinson), George Washington (David Morse--you look so much like my 1$ bill!), and, pant, pant, Stephen Dillane as Thomas Jefferson. Great performances and a palatable way for me to learn stuff.

Laura Linney, playing Abigail Adams and the only woman in the cast, kills her children with an innoculation--but she's an intemellectual and John Adams can't really wipe his butt without her input. Go Laura! You're the one who wore the prairie skirts in the family.

In other news: Nicole "gave birth" to a girl and named her Sunday Rose Kidman Urban. Because of this, I've decided to name my child: Half Past a Monkey's Aster S----. To be a star, I have to traumatize my child with an unusual name (especially since I have one). I kid, Nicole. My love is boundless.

The King of Wimbledon

I knew my girl Venus would charge to victory, but I've waited for that little eff Nadal to win Wimbledom for AGES! And as soon as Federer sank the ball into the net, I burst into tears--though it could have been screen nausea. Federer is a god, but that little Spanish scrapper has touched my corazon.

Maybe the tide of 2008 is turning.

Boundary Issues

Due to my "cable problem" (I pressed the wrong button), I was given a month of free HBO. So, after a night out, I am ecstatic to tune into The Patriot, starring Steven Seagal. Steven plays a holistic doctor who feeds his village dried flower petals to combat a deadly virus (that he never gets). Screw the pharmaceutical companies (except for the makers of Ambien), nature provides healing. And Steven provides the can of whoopass necessary to extinguish the bad plague-givers (military crazies).

This Sunday will be fun-filled. My star-love often spills into sports venues. These athletes inspire me to shrink my body mass (hide it under roomy material) and hit balls with a racket. Today, I'm eating cookie dough ice cream and rooting for Nadal. Now that I'm almost 40, I fantasize about what it would be like to be his proud mother (cougar wife). I'd cut his hair, though he probably hides behind it. I do that, too.

Suspicious Dish

My milestone birthday fast approaches. I'm not embracing 40 gracefully but a few members of my entourage are behaving suspiciously. Let's just say: I'm onto you! Only a celebrity would get me off my couch. And who but a schemer would volunteer to do my hair for an event to which I planned on wearing jeans and a t-shirt?

So here's what I think could happen during my birthday celebration next Saturday:

*Julia Roberts will call me to tell me how great it is to be 40 (tho it sucks). But why would I need to get my hair done to get a phone call?

*I will be flown out to LA to be Teri Hatcher's kissing double on Desperate Housewives--though I would probably need a horse-sized Xanax even to shake hands with Gale Harold.

*Through my brother's friend, I will get backstage after "Chicago," which I've never seen. That would be nice.

*Duran Duran's tour schedule says they'll be in Italy for my birthday, but really, they're coming to serenade DISH!

*I will be on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy--since I saw the culture guy at a party once and so we have a mutual friend--because Dish desperately needs a severe makeover (which I could do myself but I'm too lazy and why bother?).

*Jon Tenney will show up, which will make me immediately lose my appetite for cake. Because he gets to make out with the amazing Kyra Sedgwick, his starpower has doubled, rendering me nauseous with excitement.

*I'll be made up to attend the premiere of Mamma Mia, where I'll meet the famous Meryl Streep, who is my favoritest.

*Or, I get to be an extra in a film. Though I know what extra work is like and I'd rather have root canal--unless there's a speaking part.

Stay tuned. I'm trying to break my brother but he's revealed nothing, which it very well might be. At least it gets my mind off my barren single wrinkled state.

Dish Lievs Naomi

I heard Naomi was preggers again and felt intense jealousy. But it passed within five seconds when I remembered how much I love her (and want to brush her beautiful blond hair). I thought I was all about Liev, but really, I heart Naomi so much more--though why compare? I'm sticking with the girls these days. Besides, she's amazing in The Painted Veil. You'd think she'd go the traditional Hollywood blond route and play the girlfriend/wife to a box-office male. But she chooses mostly intelligent parts. She's a real actron.

Today, I'm forcing my family to celebrate her with a viewing of Le Divorce. A Cholera epidemic might be too intense for the Fourth, though apt, in my opinion....

Maybe the Universe Is Trying to Tell Me Something...

...my cable is out. Till next Wednesday. Big Eff.

Kathy Fourth of July!

I'm not a fan of July 4th. But I love Kathy Griffin. We are polar opposites, except for the red hair, whoring for a buck, and we don't care who sees our panties. She says all the nasty stuff I mean to say but my synapses don't fire as fast. What else to do tonight--Thursday--except watch her on Bravo?

In other news, my mental database sputters out Tom Cruise as a birthday. And what's the big deal with A-Rod, Madonna, Mrs. A-Rod and Lenny Kravitz? People act freaky everywhere. Put A-Rod in one of Madonna's bustiers, snap a photo, and I'll be impressed. A-Rod would look fabulous as a girl--but not as spectacular as Hal Sparks in Queer As Folk when he walked in the Pride parade.

Hats Are So 1980s and Even Then They Were Sad

I must proclaim the following:

The Mr. Amy Winehouse look, which I've seen too often lately in NYC, is TERRIBLE. That hat/jacket/shirt combo is only appropriate for someone going to a McKee seminar and even then he should be smacked to death. In addition, the faux-hawk is over and sad. Men are so pretty, why not have pretty hair?

Today's inspiration: Gorgeous and serene Sigourney Weaver in a smoking white suit on Regis and Kelly. As I approach 40, evidence of smoldering womanness appears everywhere. Maybe Crones are the New Black. Make way for Meryl Streep via Mamma Mia!

Also excellent: The Savages. But we all know Phillip Seymour-Hoffman is like my porn. Laura Linney is fabby as well.

Silk Pajamas

Dish doesn't know the purpose of blogging, except to get attention. My arms will turn into flippers with hands reaching the keyboard. At night, my jaws clench from too much screen action. All this to say, it's time to be intellectual and dive into some Deepak (my MA in French Lit is for sh*t). I must read books again and watch fewer celebrities.

Who am I kidding? I have on my purple silk PJs with the remote set on Oxygen.

Tonight's pet peeve: I hate how Dean McDermott calls Tori Spelling "Mama." He seems okay, though how tuff it will be for him to get cast in a movie.

Recommendation: Go see Wanted, if only to see how Angelina dodges a bridge--quite poetic and I'm trying to do the same thing in daily life. The falling motion, however, hurts my knees and witnesses are prone to laughter. Not to mention my wrists are so puny I can't hold a gun for more than three seconds (convenient only if I try to aim high but really want to hit below the belt). ps. Don't you love how movie posters repeat themselves? Angelina and Antonio were together in Original Sin (which kinda blew).

Embarrassment: Always, having an IT person see my Gale Harold wallpaper, which happens far too often. Why couldn't he fix my computer at home, where my wallpaper is Hillary Clinton?