Sunday, August 31, 2008

Full Circle

October 1997: My first celebrity sighting in New York was Harrison Ford. I was walking to work. Wearing a sexy mid-life crisis hoop earring in his ear, he crossed my path. I dropped everything in my hands, and he half-smirked.

Today: Some associates and I discuss the term "jumping the shark" which I'm told has been replaced by "blowing up the refrigerator" from the latest Indiana Jones movie. This provokes my question of how much "work" Harrison Ford has had. (I won't say how much but: TONS) My associates inform me that he and Callista live a block away from me. I snarf my Sprite. Now I can stop playing computer solitaire because I am so doing walk-bys. Maybe Harry will recognize me. After all, I still have my librarian look (now stolen by the Republican VP candidate). Maybe he'll let me advise him on scripts. Maybe he could read to me in that melodic voice. Maybe we'll ride on a magic carpet to Candyland and build a fortress of lemon drops and strawberry taffy. At least, that's what I'll see when he gets around to passing me the doobie he must have smoked to make Hollywood Homicide.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Nasty Truckstop Sex with Gale Harold

Now that I've got your attention...Dish took a break from tennis to watch The Unseen, which stars The Second Coming (not Obama but Gale Harold). I'll tell you what's unseen: full frontal. But who cares? Dish just wants art (which happens briefly in a dark bathroom with a girl who is not me, though as usual, it's over in thirty seconds). First thought: Southern accents in movies make me gassy because actors often overdo it on the twang. Gale sounded freakishly authentic. You'd think he actually came from the South. I adore the South. My heart is there with all the artery-clogging food and lush scenery. I could deal with hicksville as long as I could sip spiked mint juleps on a porch and wear sundresses. But back to the flick: In a nutshell, BFFs Steve Harris (who I heart madly) and Gale are estranged due to some terrible tragedy (usually involving Daddy's peen). Steve comes back when his dad dies and clashes with Gale over his little blind brother, Richard Simmons. Richard and Steve bond, which pisses Gale off. Tragedy ensues.

Though it has some slow moments and painful cliches (ex: someone sings "Amazing Grace"), compelling performances by Steve, Gale, and Catherine Dent carry the story. Gale's scene at the end was electric and I lost count in my knitting--a big deal since Dish can multi-task. And sorry, Gale: facial hair, a baseball cap and swigging JD in front of a Confederate flag won't kill my love for you, though I await nicer attire and hair on Desperate Housewives.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Ps to Point Break Up

Maybe it's not so silly to use surfing as a break-up reason. I've had my share of sad excuses to dump people. Ex-BF 2, 9 and 16 dumped me because I was just too amazing*. Most ridiculous is Ex-BF 6 breaking up with me because I was pushing a shopping cart too fast*.

Poor Julia. If it's even true and I hope it isn't. I'd be so pissssssssssed for her.

*Code for "I wanna bang other people."

Point Break Up?

Every thirty years, I pick up a National Enquirer. For reals, not since I'm ten and lovin' John Travolta circa Grease. It seems so flimsy for $3.49, which could get me four rolls of toilet paper. Forgive me, I have some kind of bug, so I figured some noxious gossip would cure me.

According to NE, Julia's marriage is in trouble because Danny is surfing too much. Say it ain't so! Could he really be like Keanu in Point Break? I envision a teary Julia saying, "You got that look in your eye" before Danny squeaks away in his wet suit, ditching her and his three kids. I mean, who would choose a surf board over Julia (and her guzillions and that smile and the amazing amounts of time you could spend in a knitting store with her)?

Message to Danny: You may be hot but if you leave her, you will never find a woman to rename a production company after you again. She is as good as you will ever, ever get. In fact, she is better. Divorce will render you penniless, blacklisted, it will be your fault even if it isn't, your kids will loathe you and you will find yourself covered in barf in a skanky Motel 6 room with god-knows-who next to you, greasy hair and no money. Think about it.

Then again, one should never believe gossip and I hope this story isn't true.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Again Undecided...

Dish is still reeling from CNN/MSNBC eternal gang-banging of Hillary and the setting of Obama in the golden sunlight of virtue and idealism. How much more will they focus on her ugly clothes, her audacity at wanting to run for the White House (hasn't that crazy old lady done enough?), how dare she cry, or complain about media gang-banging, or let her husband get a blow job (and she probably made him do it just to get sympathy). You wonder, and I'll steal this from someone, how many of these pundits have severe mommy issues...It's easy to ambush Hillary for all the rage men feel towards women. Ex-BF 16 certainly loved to do it--call her unattractive, insensitive, corrupt, cold, manipulative and all while overlooking any of her accomplishments. Funny how, even though she's depicted as the Wicked Witch, Hillary is still the big topic for these losers. Mommy always has the last word, mfs.

ps. John King seems the most benign so far.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Wake Up with Gale Harold

Wake: A dick flick with four tormented brothers dealing with sick mommy (hello, story of every boy's life). The brothers converge over the woman who carried them in her uterus, they agonize, they bring home some trampy babes, they take all kinds of pills and dance. Then...someone goes a little too far and, of course, someone vomits.

Overacting is so fun and I adored the cliche-drunk-ex-con brother who wore a fringed swede jacket and stumbled into things. He took to the medicine and liquor cabinets like Dish to a bag of Cheetos. There's an unplugged do-gooder and another drunk brother. Everyone is miserable--at least secretly. Most impressive was Gale Harold who played a different character from the one at our favorite club, Babylon. Here he's tormented, sensitive and cranky (oh wait, that's Brian Kinney, too, but different I swear). Because Gale's so haunted by demons, I just wanted to give him a hug and a box of crayons so he could draw a picture of his feelings (and take off his shirt). I also wanted to forget that he wears his mother's bathrobe during his moment of freakage.

Every time someone said "bro," "man," or "brother," I did a shot (of orange juice since I'm still sick).

If you're already feeling iffy in the emotions department, don't watch this. If you enjoy dark mind-f*ck family flicks about tormenting your siblings and killing your mom, rent it now. Oh, and Martin Landau rocks big-time!

Present in Her Pastels

Dish is officially on board the Obama train thanks to Hillary's amazing speech. Though shivering with a fever, I was warmed by her "sisterhood of the traveling pantsuits" remark and will do whatever she wants. She addressed her angry supporters--me--and made it clear why I have to vote for Obama. [superficial aside: who thought ANYONE could look fetching in orange? Hillary blossoms in her pastels.] While her pissed off tone often worked against her, it was exactly what the floor needed last night. Liked too how she acknowledged that McCain was her friend. This is business, not personal. Well, maybe a little personal.

More on celebrity stuff after I view Wake, which promises me a little Gale Harold. First, work and sweating out this boogie fever.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

The Hair and the Fury

Tonight, my hair hurts. Dish has thick hair so growth causes pain. It's nice to have this problem, right Bruce Willis and Donald Trump? In addition to icing my head, I'm watching tennis and creeping ever so slightly over to the Dem convention. Truth: I'm one of those angry female Hillary supporters. Because I'm never passionate about politics, my rage doesn't feel baseless. I wanted this woman who'd been beaten around by everyone (She asked for it, right?) to be on top. For all the times when I was ignored in college Latin over boys, endless directives by all-knowing paternal XYs and didn't feel confident enough to say "shut up," the shoddy treatment by crude oil traders when I was a secretary, touchy-grabs in the office, a vicious mugging by men whose fate and mine were decided by men, the expectation that I would fall in line and breed and marry--as sexist as it is, I wanted Hillary in the most powerful office. Poor me, right? It's tough being human, having people focus on your clothes, your cheating husband, your privilege, your skills of manipulation. It's tough being anything these days.

I came of age during anti-female backlash fresh from the 70s so having a strong visible enduring female role model other than my mother is special. My excitement for this election is gone but I can't wait to see what Hillary will say tonight. I am trying to like Obama but my dinner keeps rising at the thought of voting for him. I'm sure he's a good man. I feel sympathy for Michelle because now that Hillary is out, interesting media has circulated around her failings. Despite my hesitancy, I'll do the right thing--more likely, the left--though I'll have an empty stomach when I pull the lever.

Sorry for the rant but there's nothing on TV tonight and I have no desire to watch Deja Vu, the one with Denzel and not Stephen Dillane (which is corny but kinda fab). And my hair hurts.

Last Night's Freaky Dream

Prepare yourselves: I dreamt I massaged Liev Schreiber's ears. He was totally into it and I was a skilled ear-masseuse. Not sure I would do this for myself, much less anyone else. Who am I kidding, I would totally massage Liev's ears if he asked. This batsh*t crazy dream might have happened because I slept in my pearls, which sometimes hurt.

Notes on Last Night's Television

The Closer: Love how within four minutes we see Detective Sanchez topless. Two topless men in consecutive episodes. Dt. Sanchez is a dish, ever since Under Siege. He can't help himself even when he's covered in blood. And are you noticing how Fritz seems to accompany Brenda on all her cases now? What's up? Does the FBI really do that? I'm not complaining at all (except for the hint of middle-aged faux-hawk). I would love for the show to be all about Fritz.

Tennis: Too much pomp and not enough sweat and temper tantruming, I got bored. Waiting for Nadal and Venus to spice things up.

Democratic Convention: Tunned in just as Ted Kennedy made his speech. He is the first politician Dish ever got into. I adored his passion and gift of gab, which so few politicians possess nowadays. Even though he has made major mistakes, I'm sad for him and his family.

The Hills: Didn't even make the cut. Yay, me!

Monday, August 25, 2008

Too Much TV on My Hands

What to watch? Tennis, the Dem Convention, The Closer and The Hills? I'm leaning toward tennis since I'm not over Hillary's defeat (I still heart you, Hills, and will do whatever you say!) and everyone wanting her to go home and keep her mouth shut. The Closer hasn't lit my fire this season and I vowed never to watch The Hills again. Yah, we'll see how long that lasts.

My goal: to watch EVERYTHING. My eyes will develop eyes. My fingers will roam over the remote like Apollo Anton Ohno glides around a rink. As Michelle Obama--who I kinda heart--delivers her "groundbreaking" speech, I'll flip to James Blake slapping Doug Johnson silly on the court. Brenda, Fritz, Heidi Montag, Ekaterina Tennisaceski...--same diff. It's a satisfying reward to my delivering Breakup Speech #1 to Mini-Tom this afternoon. Usually, it takes me about five speeches to cut the cord but Mini has the message that I live with a ghost in my head and my love for another hinders my ability to move on romantically. That's true, but there's also Wonder Boy in the wings. He's unemployed (but has interviews), homeless (but owns a house) yet gorgeous. Smells like a Super-Scheister but beauty is all Dish cares about.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Tom Cruise Dream #29489

Once again: Tom Cruise appeared in a dream last night. We have a coffee date. As we walk down the street, I tell him how beautiful Katie Holmes is. He couldn't have chosen a better wife (except for me maybe). In my dreaming mind, I think, "I'm totally sucking up to Tom Cruise. Why would I ever do this?" Sure enough, Tom seems turned off by my gushing. So I rapidly change subjects: "Aren't the Papparrazzi annoying?" I ask. "How do you deal with it?" More turn-off by Tom. He checks his watch and says he has to go. Scene change: I'm in a large ballroom. Katie Holmes and I are walking together. I gush, "you just get more and more beautiful since you married Tom." As if I could call him "Tom." She smiles but is onto my brown-nosing. I'd have to try harder to impress her. "Oh Katie, you were always great, but in interviews, since you married Tom, you have such interesting things to say." Of course, Dish feels the opposite. I keep gushing, compliments spewing everywhere. I have become what I hate and wake up to a cat paw poking me in the face.

Why the desperation, Dish? I won't say a thing about my super-nasty Jude Law dream the other night. I'm not even into him but we almost went to jail for our crimes. Bad Jude. Bad Dish.

All the Sh*tty Horses

In support of Damonetics--the new religion sweeping the country--I am immersing myself in All the Pretty Horses. Damonetics preaches adoration of Matt Damon but after twenty minutes and the endless equestrian focus, I'm ready to declare this a sh*t sandwich. Even with Billy Bob's involvement, I like Brokeback better. Maybe Henry Thomas and Matt Damon will make out--or at least lighten the thick accent so I can understand them. Sadly, this puts me on the Sacred Jihad List kept by the Pope of Damonetics.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Jacqueline Dishett

Dish's brain is teeming with stars. I've decided to model my new middle-aged life after Jacqueline Bissett's. She never married or reproduced. She and I have the same measurements--except I am way fatter. I'm fluent in French and could play British if I worked with my dialect coach friend (who coached Ralph Fiennes recently in Bernard and Doris). I've got the big blue eyes and now all I need is hot mojo, clothes, and the haircut JB has had since the 1983 classic Class with Rob Lowe. Done!

Great news: My marriage to my hot rocker first cousin has been approved by his parents--as long as we don't reproduce. At 2 years old, he proposed to me and today, I demanded he make good. So Dish is marrying Paul Mercurio (see photo), who is on his way to fame and fortune as the Best Guitarist in the World. Ideally, I would push my husband to play for Duran Duran. He recently played on Bob Schneider's tour and dazzled everyone. Because I am a starwhore, I will ride on his coattails--though his girlfriend is soon to be famous too and I'm sure she and I will get along great, especially since she's a knitter.

It's been a fabulous day. Matrimony, Rich and Famous, and dark chocolate to end the night.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Friday Truth or Isn't She Lovely?

Billy Joel is not my fave, but I adore "Allentown," which is playing. No clue what the song is about--some coal mine stuff, people treated unfairly, Pennsylvania. It's deep, I'm sure. I'm not into his freaky life, the young wife, though unlike Perez Hilton, I think his daughter Alexa is gorgeous, talented, and more striking than either of her parents.

In other news, "Tom" is proving to be a font of celebrity info. Dish is still not into dating. I'm like a cat being pulled into a full bathtub, but Tom has compensated with the truth about: Harry Connick, Jr. and James Gandolfini. Maybe dating a public person could be beneficial. The key to my heart is extensive name-dropping and brushes with stardom. Thanks to Tom, I'm much closer to having Julia Roberts as my best friend. And this weekend, I'll watch Copycat with new eyes. First things first, I'll satisfy my girl-crush on Jacqueline Bissett with Rich and Famous. Why do I think Candice Bergen goes topless in this? Not that this feature helps my enjoyment. But it doesn't hurt either.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Star Sighting--Finally!

12:30 pm, Bubby's on N. Moore and Hudson: On the way to toilet, Dish spotted Gina Gershon with a bearded gentleman (who was hiding his hotness under the hideous beard). She wore a grayish blue T-shirt and gestured with her hands. No makeup and zexy. Made a stink about my sighting to my lunch mates who then systematically made their way to the pissoir.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Project Terror

I have a secret fear of Heidi Klum. It's no secret anymore, I guess. When I look into those black eyes, I see the ending of The Stepford Wives, when what's-her-bunny looks into the camera. So, I can't watch Project Runway. I know she's not real and Seal is boinking a programmed Stepford wife. You know they exist. Then there's the fact that Heidi's ex-dog lives next door to me and pisses on my doorstep. The little bitch let me pet her once, then peed.

Tonight, the tide turns. I'll brave Heidi for one reason: RuPaul. I love him-her. RuPaul will blow everyone away for me.

RuPaul will wash away the pain and shock of seeing childhood nemesis Nannette Fabray on The Love Boat this evening. I gasped, then realized my irrational on-sight hatred still exists. Now I know why: the creepy nose. See below.

There's a lot to be scared of in this world.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

One Week Pass

Not that Tom will turn into a thing, but I did stress that no boy would ever get in the way of my real/imaginary affair with Gale Harold. I showed Tom my computer wallpaper (see hot image). He nodded and said, "I understand."

So, yes, boys and girls, when I close my eyes, who knows what freakiness is happening. Bottom line: the whole world thinks Gale Harold is hot. Desperate Housewives can't get here fast enough (Did I really write that sentences?).

Uphill on The Hills

I'm not sure why I watch The Hills. Stupid people make me laugh. Bad acting makes me laugh. People who think they're cool but aren't make me laugh. The Hills has all of this and more. The problem--these people do less in a half hour than I do in a minute. I vow never to watch again but then I'm drawn to:

Lauren's attempts to be good to everyone. She so looks like Marcia Brady and I'm wondering when someone's going to throw a football in her face. Or at least emphasize her moustache. Maybe I'm seeing things but I notice a thin hairy sheen above her lip...

Spencer's obvious evil, though he's probably super-nice in real life. The slacker act is poorly done and someone with more brainpower could pull it off. I'm thinking he'll be President someday.

Heidi's expert working of the system. It heartened me to see her acne last night. I love how her life-attitude is so adult and she's only, like, 21.

Okay, that's it. I'm never watching it ever again.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Tonight's Closer

Would like more scenes where Jon Tenney is in the shower.

Love all shows about kids who kill animals and grow up to be serial killers. Would have enjoyed seeing Sergei's development then murder by crazy bitch girlfriend on "Snapped." [second best show ever]

Was I too busy moisturizing or did Brenda say she didn't want baby Fritzes? How dare she refuse to breed. You know there'll be a breakup to stir up conflict. Brenda'll sleep with that geezer ex, and then Fritz could marry me instead! I'll push one out for Fritz, though my eggs are ancient.

ps. All should buy the new issue of New York Magazine, which features Rafael Nadal. You're welcome.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Shhhh. I'm right here but don't tell anyone

Dish loves Perez Hilton's blog and it's always heartening when he displays John Mayer's douchiness. Ever since I saw the chanteur in the Swiss Army store, I've wanted to beat him up (terrible, I know) because he's hideous. I have a problem with "on sight" hatred. Some people make me clench my jaw and I can't bear to watch them: Dane Cook, Brian Dennehey, Nannette Fabray, Kim Kardashian, Carol Channing, and, I confess now, Russell Crowe. I want to love everyone but if you see me looking down at the ground, it's because I'm trying not to commit murder. Total insanity.

Saturday, August 16, 2008


I just watched I'm Not There and it's brilliant (read: I have no idea what any of it meant). Great performances and layers of narrative. My formal education stopped in 1997 and I only understand pee pee ca ca jokes. But I get the sense the movie is amazing. It's another Heath Ledger performance that makes me wish he were alive. Why did Jesus take him? Oh wait...if Jesus was thinking what I think about when I see Heath Ledger...

According to the movie poster, I'm Not There is about Bob Dylan--or things related to Bob Dylan. I never got his appeal (like the Grateful Dead). My mother liked him, though made a passing comment that he beat his wife. I was eight so I've lived in fear of Dylan ever since. Great musician -- maybe beat his wife. He doesn't really sing either. He kinda whines, a little like Tom Petty, who I also never got (and who has big teeth like Hillary Swank and Julia Stiles). Never mind, I'm blaspheming. You're not allowed to speak ill of certain icons (especially Jesus who really did make a mistake for taking Heath even though he was doing a lot of blow).

ps. For those offended, don't worry: Yay Jesus, Dylan, Petty, the Dead, Pink Floyd, Springsteen, Bono, Sting, Obama!

Didn't Revisit Brideshead

Instead, Tom and I saw Tropic Thunder, which made me laugh so hard I almost felt sick. I tend to avoid Ben Stiller because I've heard from several sources he's a puppy-kicker. Fear not, he's barely noticeable in TT. This movie is truly funny and well written. Robert Downey, Jr. is genius at playing Russell Crowe who's so method he has to dye his skin to play a black man and then adopts cliched black-isms throughout. Jack Black is bombastic and fatter than ever. Surprise and synchronicity to mini-Tom, Tom Cruise appears. And he's frightening as a beefy psychopathic studio head! I giggled every time TC said nasty curse words because he's such a goody-goody. At the end of the flick, Tom said, "A lot of people tell me I look like Tom Cruise but I don't see it." Hee hee. A lot of people tell me I look like Marilyn Monroe but I don't see it. It kills me when people compare themselves to celebrities but in Tom's case there's some truth.

So, yes, Dish highly recommends Tropic Thunder. Brideshead Revisited seemed too snoozy for a Friday night, though we loves the Emma. As I plied myself with a post-movie scotch, Mini-Tom lamented our not going to a "date movie." What a wuss. But an adequate diversion from my ongoing heartbreak. At least I get to go to the movies I want this time.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Do I Have To?

Pssst. I have a date with Tom in about 45 minutes. I *don't* want to go. In fact, I've revived Librarian Dish to frighten him away--replete with unflattering clothes and hair pulled back tight in a bun. I almost donned my glasses but that would be overkill. Hee hee. My professional opportunities of late have me grounded in the world of gay men. And that's where I want to stay. No swoony, kissy, footsy, so-what-was-your-childhood like nonsense or relationship hassles. Later tonight, I'm in luck because Queer As Folk is on Logo at 3:30 a.m. I'm so there even though I own every episode. But first, I'll sit through Brideshead Revisited (Mini's choice). Oh wait, I'm sure that's full of gay boys...Never mind!

Thursday, August 14, 2008

The Fourth Sign of the Apocalypse

Nooooooooooooooo!!!!! When those lard-ass bikini pics of Jennifer Love Hewitt surfaced, I was so happy. They made me love her because Dish also has a monstrous backside and had recently splashed around in a frightening bikini. I didn't care who saw my fat freckled backside. But now, the Jennifer I love is gone and she's got Lollipop Head like all the stars. Why? I know, it's to get jobs, but still...doesn't she care about the little (jiggly) people like me?

In the Caniston

It's laughable how the media plays up Jennifer Aniston's pathetic love life. If they only knew how hoards of Jennifers live and breathe and are relieved to unload another loser. There's yoga, reading scripts, hanging out with friends who have outlived all the bad relationships, and maybe, an edgy comeback when you become wrinkly and can kinda pull off Helen Mirren sexiness. I'll wait for that and avert my eyes as the dorks pass through.

How could one seriously date chick-magnet singers anyway? They're the worst kind of investment. Think of the flaming pustules oozing from their orifices. I'd totally coat myself in Purrell first. Celebrity dating seems like the New York Buffet only more agonizing because it's in public. I live in dread of running into Ex-BFs 1, 6, 9, 12, 15, 16 on the street, and I'm thankful that I'm no one and don't have to read about them in the papers...

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Marked for Scotch

I was caught in an embarrassing situation but it's my fault. A dreamy former classmate met me for a drink at Penn Station and found me reading Seagalogy: A Study of the Ass-kicking Films of Steven Seagal by Vern. I was lost in the brilliance of this text and didn't think to stuff it in my bag before detection. Discussion ensued. Why didn't I bring Proust instead? Because I was in the mood for Seagal and Vern captures how Steven is an enigma wrapped in a riddle.

It's fun to wallow in the past and my friend was a blast to spend an hour with. True, he's not so fixated on Naomi Watts' baby bump or how Carla Bruni went from Vincent Perez to Sarkozy, but we shared dating stories and the fact that we're still hung up on our exes but trying to ignore it with a mighty influx of inept substitutes. And, I admit, it's nice to be around beautiful people (though Penn Station has more than its share of uggos!) and I try to do this as much as possible.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Big Life

Dish got caught in the rain. Wearing light pink. Okay, I wanted there to be a spontaneous movie scene where the heroine runs toward shelter, her boobs glowing through her top and somehow, she makes it underground before the aliens infuse her with heart-stopping goo. Instead, I got home with a sac full of damp paper.

To begin my night, I watched Two Weeks, a choice inspired by my ongoing love for Sally Field. She can do anything -- TV, movies, Osteoposis commercials. I'd love it if she could change the lightbulb in my chicken...I mean, kitchen. Hmmmm, someone ate too much sesame bean curd. Anyway, if Dish didn't know this was based on a true story, I'd venture that it was a snoozefest. Well, it was. Probably because the real story is so huge, so unimagineable, it's impossible to capture on film. Sort of like the first time you have sex--not like in romance novels where all the parts fit perfect and ecstasy ensues. Two Weeks is about a mother (always played by Sally) on her deathbed and how the spawn deal with it. I'd like to say there was no crying, vomiting, crapping in one's pants and morphine but I'd be lying. You kinda get the gist. And yet again, just like in Forrest Gump, Sally dies! Why Sally??? If she dies on Brothers & Sisters, so help me... In any case, parting thought: I feel for whoever went through this experience. It's truly awful.

Monday, August 11, 2008


I'm just not feeling The Closer this season. Could be my seasonal ADD as I wait for the fall's lineup. Summer fries my brain. Last week, I was excited because Brenda and Fritz got into a fight. But this episode, all was resolved and Fritz's milk chocolate leather jacket offended my sense of aesthetic. I wanted more yelling, more impaling on the painful relationship sword. Instead, they boobed up today's episode with the ever-excellent Jennifer Coolidge but the case made my butt fall asleep. I need me some decapitation, post-fight elation, sugar mastication, another Fritz-Brenda altercation.

To perk myself up, I'll read the latest issue of Fitness:RX where Jackie Warner is calling me. I love that hot lez, though my friend L. insists her nose is not real. Say it ain't so!

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Dark Nights

During these dark nights, Dish likes to spend time with her good friends, Scotch and Dark Chocolate. It's the ideal amuse-bouche for The Dark Knight, which Dish just saw. Review: Too Freaking Long. Not enough cool Batman antics. Heath had the best lines, moments, but was a mite cliche-crazy. I still enjoyed it, loved everyone in it--and by everyone, I mean Michael Caine whose claims on my heart remain ironclad. Heath's portrayal of this hideous villain only made him more sexy to me--the green hair, the purple suit, poorly applied lipstick, what a hunka hunka. I'd smear his makeup and let him freak me out anyday. It's so sad to think such talent is gone. I hope he gets the Oscar for this (but really it would be for Brokeback Mountain).

As for the Batman, I used to fantasize about someone making up a "Batman" dance. I mean, the costume is ripe for excellent club moves, with horns darting, cape swirling, mysterious identity. Just a thought.

Saturday, August 09, 2008

Lethal Hair Weapon

You know what's fun about the Lethal Weapon series? Enjoying the evolution of Mel "Sugar Tits" Gibson's hair. Watch and learn:

Lethal Weapon:

Lethal Weapon 2:

Not much change between 1 and 2. Perhaps in 2, Mel's hair is more sculpted, less wild, which relates to Riggs's character. That's so deep, Dish.
Lethal Weapon 3:
Trust me, there is much more Mel hair in this film. It flies, it floats, it's glossy and buoyant. He even sexes it up by putting it in a ponytail.

Lethal Weapon 4:

He cuts that sh*t off because frankly 44 + Mullet + Alcohol + Cigarettes = Sad OMP!

And just for fun:

What Would Brian Kinney Do?

OMG, John Edwards had an affair? Another politician behaving badly? Shocking! Dish is so over this story since Page Six and National Enquirer called it 500 years ago. Did anyone believe me then? My respects to Bernie Mac who I always thought was clever. Very sad when the talented and the good die too soon.

Now onto narcissistic affairs--Dish had a date with a "Tom" last night. He was nice, attractive, but I might chew through him in five minutes. Dating again feels wrong and yet I will attend to this new list of suitors anyway. How does this relate to celebrities?

Welcome to my nightmare. After drifting off to Steven Seagal's The Glimmerman, I dreamt I left Tom on the street and went to my building. He followed me, did a Dustin Hoffman "DDDDDIIIIIISSSSSSHHHHHHH" on the glass window and tried to break into my apartment. So, needing sanctuary, I packed a suitcase, went to the airport and flew to Georgia. Who was there to pick me up but Justin and Brian from Queer As Folk! Justin was pissy as he drove because Brian was paying attention to me. Brian said, "It'll be all right."

I woke up and figured that Brian Kinney would waste 0 brain cells on any of this.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Mad Dash

Re: Rachael Ray's cooking show. Ya know, I kinda like her--except for the whole "yummo" thing--but her dishes seem like a one-way ticket to diarrhea-town. She makes food preparation look easy and I enjoy her roundness. And yet, my intestines bunch up in dread over oily grilled sausage, surrounded by marinated, oily, garlicky eggplant, etc...

Speaking of dread, never ever ever watch Mad Money. I only got through twenty minutes. It is a gross misuse of talented actresses. Even Diane Keaton and Queen Latifah can't polish this cat-sh*t. Sadly, too, my once adored Katie Holmes begins to show an awareness of the camera matched only by her husband (except in Jerry Maguire and Lions for Lambs where he's fab!). Her character is perky and dim, tall and misunderstood. I was so bored and outraged, I couldn't finish my ironing. Truly a cinematic suck-fest.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008


Where to begin? My long trip is over but it was fun. Thoughts: Anderson Cooper and I should be related. Loved hearing him diss the Lohans on Regis and Kelly this morning. His laugh might annoy me after a while, though who wouldn't want such a smarty-pants in the family?

Speaking of family, nothing says love like Nicole Kidman's devotion to her son in the atrocity remake of a remake, The Invasion. Delicious and ciggie-worn Daniel Craig tantalizes her with undying friendship. Not only that but hunktastic Jeremy Northam vomits on Nicole, thereby infecting her (FUN!). And yet HAPPY HAPPY ENDING for all!!! My heart yearned for a creepy scene as in the previous installment, where Donald Sutherland points and yells at the non-zombie human. I wonder, is this Nicole's response to Scientology?

Lastly, Dish was awarded a creepy scene in the form of Zac Effron, who invaded a dream. Isn't he, like, really young and girly? Am I officially a cougar? My internal summit concludes it was another "gift" to help with the agony of dating, which in New York is like a buffet--your date/boyfriend is constantly on the lookout for a better girl, but he'll be with you in the meantime.

This afternoon is devoted to Mad Money, which could be madness itself.