I Don't Remember Shoplifting Those Magazines

Though I didn't hear him on Larry King, Chris Brown supposedly doesn't remember beating the crap out of his ex-girlfriend Riyanna. If that gets me five years probation, I am totally going on a crime spree. The world will forgive me. I'll still be on TV. My coffers will replenish themselves once the public conveniently forgets my evil deed and finds me cute again.

I once stole four magazines from a pharmacy. I was in boarding school, desperately in love with Duran Duran. I had no money, couldn't run back to get some. My pants were enormous and time was of the essence. I rolled them up and stuffed them down, walked out the door. Now I cringe over what could have happened--suspension, calling my parents, reputation as a lame magazine thief. Thieving is not my bag and, even when I was a thug-adolescent, it was out of character. As you can tell, my obsession was desperate.

Still, I wouldn't have punched someone black and blue for these mags. Maybe I did. I don't remember.

Renewing My Vows to Duran Duran

As I rebuild my iTunes library after two computer crashes, I've come to realize my twenty-six-year relationship to Duran Duran is the closest I'll ever come to marriage. The bonds are steadfast, unbreakable and powerful. Here's how my love is similar to matrimony:

They make me happy 95% of the time (not with Pop Trash and Medazzaland, though love "Hallucinating Elvis" and "Michael"). I may not approve of everything they do, but I don't intervene as this might make the rebellion last longer.

After a few years of hormonal passion for each one, I no longer desire them in *that* way (though I'm sure I would engage in maintenance sex to avoid marital discord).

Much of my income goes to cultivating our union (i.e. new Duran Duran totebag).

Just when I think I love someone more (Fleetwood Mac), Duran Duran does something so adorable, my love burns brighter.

I no longer know where they begin and I end.

I'm sure if one of them had the stomach flu, I would care for them even though I hate barf.

They grow more beautiful and vibrant with age.

When we argue over issues (continued objectification of jailbait models in latest album), I listen to the music and never go to bed angry.

If one of them is sick (i.e. recently, Nick's ear infection), I'm inconsolable and worry every second.

When I see them in concert or hear them, all is right with the world.

Now if only they would cook me dinner when I get home...

Detroit Fat City

Just returned from CT and my stomach jiggled on the train. My fabulous aunt and uncle are food terrorists and fed me gluten and sugar every fifteen minutes. I inhaled at least six pieces of bread. Spaghetti and meatballs. Sandwiches. Butter on bread. Cookies and rugelah. All my favorites but I had to eat a lame apple when I got home. I'm not sure what vegetables taste like anymore. Stars? What are those? My big fixation is the bag of oatmeal cookies they forced me to bring home. I would be kicked out of Hollywood in an instant. Did I say no to their trays of delicious lard-pockets? Will I go up there as soon as I can? Of course. They are far too fun and very thin. I'm wondering if their way of eating and living is the way to go.

I've never felt fatter.

Summer 2009 is...

...the Summer of Death (as Cindy Adams puts it). DJ AM found dead of possible overdose, on the heels of our beloved Tedward's demise. I never understood Nicole Richie's taste in men until I saw DJ AM play on Ellen. He's (was) kinda sexy. Last year, he was in a plane crash and it's sad he survived that only to die of something entirely preventable (allegedly). May he spin in peace.

Death, keep your grubby hands off my Julia, Duran Duran, and Gale Harold. And everyone I know. And me, of course.

Dangerous Cougars

Moral of The Reader: Older women are hot, even hotter if they do evil deeds. They can appear plain and wear puffy dresses, but under their bloomers they seethe with raw sexuality that yearns for dewy-skinned boys. Dangerous cougars also know how to bathe in murky waters and exfoliate. While there weren't enough naked Kate Winslet scenes, we do see her scrubbing a teenage boy, which has to be the apex of adolescent fantasies. Scrub, Fraulein, scrub!

In other old lady news: Meg Ryan is allegedly having an affair with married man--as though this is noteworthy or even true. If bedding a studio exec will get her in another flick, I'm all for it. Maybe the exec's wife has severe back problems or hides her own intrigues (with the teenage gardener next door). Wasn't Meg cheated on throughout her marriage to Dennis Quaid? Why blame Meg? I would do the same thing except I'm not a big puta-nesca.

Dish took a walk along the Highline and finally saw the Sex Hotel. While holding hands with a sweet three-month-old baby girl no less. We witnessed no raunch, so we got manicures.

Sweet Tarts

Dish is an insomniac but today slumbered on the couch in the middle of Oprah and woke up in a puddle of drool (I am repulsive). So, as I chart new paths for myself, I decided to watch Secret Diary of a Call Girl, which reminded me of Sex and the City, except with more sex and swoonier accents. "Carrie" wanders around London gathering experiences and commenting on people and parties. She has loveable friends, a fabulous closet and a revolving door of suitors (okay, paying clients). I had to wonder--how do you get to be a high priced call girl, as opposed to a cheap tart (which, let's face it, is most of us)? Is it who you know? If you're skilled at your job, do you get moved up to better jobs (Spitzer) as in the business world? Oh heck in a handbasket, I'd show up, collect my money and just lie there. Stop swimming in ludicrous waters, Dish!

Exciting weekend planned: Going to visit Dishauntanduncle who spawned Dishsuperhotrockercousin. We will do crafts and grill.

Star Sighting -- Jonathan Cake and Baby

DAMNATION AND HELLFIRE!!! It's so not fair that right after my stinky workout, just this second I run into the luscious Jonathan Cake in Duane Reade. And he LOOKED at me (not *that* way but more in a why-do-you-look-so-bad way). Note to self: ALWAYS BEAUTIFY IN CASE OF STAR SIGHTINGS. Post gym errands are no longer an option. It angers me that celebs are so gorgeous, even at the drug store. JC was arguing with Pharmacist just as Dish had done a few minutes earlier.

Farewell, Dear Tedward

He was the first politician Dish ever impersonated. When Ted Kennedy ran for president, I was moved to yell and point, delivering a potent message of democracy to my stuffed kitty Fluffy. I imagine it must have been tough to follow such formidable brothers but here's how it works in Dishland: Slow and Steady Wins the Race, Sweetheart. Survival gets a medal and--forgetting those flaws for a second--he did a lot of good for much longer. Goodbye, Senator. Thank you and blessings on your coming and going.

To ease this grief, I just learned Dishfamily has a MUCH-TOO-EXCELLENT view of the new all glass Sex Hotel where naked people gallivant, frolick and display numerous nasty curiosities for all to see. Dishfamily dinners are going to be so interesting from now on!!!

Karma is a Dish Served Cold!

It never helps to wish someone ill. Soon after DishDate's flat tire (a gift from The Goddess), the ceiling in the bathroom started leaking. A cabinet panel fell in the kitchen and Dishcat yakked holy hellfire on newly vacuumed carpet. Never fear, Dishfans, my package from Sephora arrived. I may be down, but I am never ugly.

Dishfriendsincechildhood came over to celebrate her 40th. We got mani/pedis, then ate mousse cake and watched the uplifting romantic comedy The Reader. Dishfriendsincechildhood chose the flick because she wanted to see Kate Winslet nekkid. Well, we both did. Within thirty minutes and because there was just not enough nudity to satisfy us, Dishfriendsincechildhood departed.

Do I watch the rest of The Reader or tread new ground with Secret Diary of a Call Girl? Hope that I'm not entering some lesbionic phase though this might help attract more urban reptiles. Or I'll read The New Yorker.

Zzzzzz

The cloud of boredom descends once again. No one is doing anything interesting. I'm not excited that a misspelled Tarentino flick got #1 this week. Sure, I hope Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler have fun. She needs a hot guy to shake up her world in a positive way. Otherwise, it's the same shows, same antics.

Dish has a date tonight. I'm not revved up about it. I don't want to hear another person's life story, job specifics or why things didn't work out with the ex. No effort, please. As sure as I am that tonight will be a snoozefest, I know in the near future, probably sooner than I am ready, something/someone will step onto my path and I'll be in Dramasville again. Let's hope that's a good thing and not an Ambien substitute.

Update: THIS WEEK IS LOOKING UP! DishDate got a flat tire on the way to meet me and had to cancel! SO HAPPY!!!!!

Tomorrow Back to Heels and Straight Hair, JJ

My hermit weekend is almost over. I read 500 pages and consumed so much junk food, I'm glowing with grease. Tonight is Mad Men (kudos on AMC's sexy homo scene from last week) and blessed sleep.

Last night I dreamt I was in a movie with Robert Redford and Brad Pitt. RR and I were holding fingers and walking along a sunlit 50s diner-esque landscape. We looked back and saw Brad wearing a sailor uniform. RR was in love with Brad and asked me if I thought there was hope. Ugh. Just my luck that everyone is gay.

Antonio, How Could You Sink So Low?

In my twenties, I was in love with Antonio Sabato, Jr. Most people were that saw his Calvin Klein underwear ads. Well, he's taken a turn for the worst in the latest Has-Been-Gets-a-Reality-Show, My Antonio. I only watched five minutes to see him swim to shore and show off his large breasts and slightly puffy abs. He then instantly kicked off a perfectly nice boob-enhanced skank because she wore flip flops and he's really into feet and hands (gay?). Dick!

Lady Luck

Ever since A-Rod hooked up with Kate Hudson, the princess of delightfulness next to her mother, the Yankees have been winning. Suddenly, even Dish is interested and watching New York kick Boston into next Tuesdsay. To celebrate my homeboys' return to glory, I have ingested a potpourri of junk food:

Breakfast: pain au chocolat, latte: 420 calories
Lunch: 2 baci chocolates, 1 bag of Cheetos, latte: 680 calories
Dinner: 1/2 cucumber to help everything along. Might have 1/2 potato. 100 calories

Dishmama would be proud of my nutritiousness, along with my realization that behind every great sportsfigure is an even greater woman: Rock on, Kate!

Very Candid Camera

Dish laughs at the story about Mr. and Mrs. McSteamy's nudity tape with another woman. Just in time for Grey's Anatomy this fall! Sex tapes are fabulous publicity, especially to confirm male stars' wang sizes. More hilarious is the McSteamies maintaining the tape is "perfectly innocent." If it's perfectly innocent, why tape it? Ya know, Dish goes skyclad with friends all the time but solely to recreate the Garden of Eden. Bahahahahahaha!

Please pray for my swift recovery as I'm finally struck down by a bug. With all my running around, I knew it would happen. Will hunker down with Confessions of a Shopaholic and many many piles of work.

An Official Proclamation

Dish is mentally retarded. Not challenged, but retarded. You know when: after numerous oaths, you do exactly what you shouldn't because for one weak second you think it's adorable the bad thing you're doing and why shouldn't you Just Be Yourself? WRONG! Never be yourself! Bad decision always! Repercussions follow, along with plummetting self-respect. Pretty soon, you're the same seventeen-year-old girl who clung to anything fixed to the ground. I am a jackass so I called Dishbrother to confess my retarded actions and he absolved me (and laughed).

Speaking of mental retardation, I blame the media for, once again, making Jennifer Aniston the eternal victim of bad romance. They're saying she wanted Bradley Cooper and confessed her love to him. He then wooed Renee and Heartbreak #24758 ensued! If any of this is true, she dodged a bullet. And she gets to make out with Gerard Butler in their new romantic comedy. I'd choose Gerard over Bradley any day.
(Sorry J.J., I know you're vomiting over this pic and mention of JA; to answer your question, I like her because she's likeable)

Failed Op to Make Julia Dish's New Best Friend!

Am crying soft, bitter tears--all because I keep my cell phone off. Thanks to FriendCellPhoneTip, I learned Julia was filming Eat Pray Love (which I sense will be stinktastic) in Tribeca yesterday. Dish was in Tribeca, too. Why no see Julia? We could have knit our sweaters together and complained about the heat.

Sigh. The only consolation I have is some woman in India is having 12 babies. Come hell or highwater to get my ass on Dr. Phil, I will have 13 babies. I plan on carrying them around in empty egg cartons. The spare one I'll donate to charity.

John Edwards' (not the psychic) babymama is moving closer to him, and Elizabeth is supposedly pissed. She needs to wash that man right out of her hair. I have the perfect shampoo. It's called Eat My Dust.

Dish is falling out of infatuation with the International Suitor. Suspect he might be a shady drifter, albeit a brilliant one. I haven't encountered brilliance in a BF in four years but it's hard to adore someone who's a kajillion miles away.

Free At Last

Robin Wright Penn filed for divorce from Sean Penn. While Dish loves his acting, I've waited so long for this. Let's hope it sticks. I always wondered if Robin was Sean's rebound after Madonna. Back then, they looked a little similar. Maybe...and this is wishful thinking...maybe Sean and Madonna will get back together. They've matured over the years. It would be an epic reunion.

Star Sighting: Michael Pitt

11:45 am, Park Place and Broadway: While exiting a deli, Dish walked by Michael Pitt, who looked about 12 years old. He wore a black shirt, baseball cap, backpack, and had the sweetest, most tortured eyes I'd ever seen. I wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and feed him chicken broth. Mostly I wanted to ask: During the filming of Rhinoceros Eyes, did Gale Harold say anything about how beautiful I am?

It dawned on me later, we see Michael Pitt naked in The Dreamers . That Bertolucci is so pervy.

Bradley Cooper Haiku

Nose slices butter
Winter dews glisten on trees
Are those gerbil eyes?

Aniston dumped for
Zellweger's chicken pot pie
Brad's super duper?

He may kill small rats
And make them rotisserie
Still, long may he reign

I think he's uggo
You love his muscled abs as
Winds fly through his pants

Oh Cooper's Pooper
Better than the average man's
If Clooney's absent

In the Interest of Objectification...

...is Bradley Cooper hot or not? I still think he kills small animals and walks around in dingy underwear. HersheyKiss finds him adorable. What do you think?

Hammsome

I had an epiphany right before watching Coldplay dance around like fools on SNL. It’s funny when people flail their arms around to mask the inability to hit key notes. Most of what we see is the antithesis of talent. I rounded up remnants of failed “notes,” and destroyed them. Why keep what is less than excellent (note to self: get rid of all furniture)? Lucky for my night, a new and mysterious suitor contacted me from very afar. Ultra-long-distance-romance might provide the, let’s hope, short-term drama I need. If all else fails, Mad Men: Season 3 premieres tonight!

:(

Dish Has So Much in Common with the Stars

1. One of those useless Kardashian girls is pregnant. Yeah, me too. I'm pregnant with the knowledge that entertainment has gone to hell in a Red Bull handbasket.

2. Heidi and Spencer Pratt can't stop oggling her Playboy spread. Me either. I mean, I can't stop spreading butter on the buns from the bakery. I'm not doing anything remotely kinky at home with cameras filming.

3. Nick Lachey is in the papers for no reason. I am as well. But I'm literally buried in papers because--well, broken record.

4. Bobby Brown is under arrest. Dish is, too. For being so arresting in 50 states!

5. Kathy Griffin did a great job filling in for Larry King. Such a coinkidink! Dish also made a stop at the filling station of excellence this week. Kathy dated Levi, the vapid babydaddy of Bristol's child, and humiliated him on TV. I'm not sure I'd have done as well so I take my wig off to her. Plus, I would never date an Alaskan blow-up doll (but I've come very close).

Quelque Choses

Dish n'a pas beaucoup to say this evening. Je mange le Chinese food et apres, mon head va hitter mon pillow. A propos les celebrites, mon inspired thought of the jour est: Gerard Butler est becoming the Jude Law of 2006, i.e. Overexposed et il fait too many movies. Mon sweaty greasy beer boyfriend doit taker un break et smeller les roses. Prends heed, Gerard.

Dans les stars romances: Je can't figure out si Bradley Cooper couche avec Jennifer Aniston ou le Renee Zell? J'aime Renee mais je think Bradley kills small animals pour fun. On peut dire aussi que Bradley aime beaucoup les thin girls. Est-ce qu'il aime Renee quand elle gain le weight pour Bridget Jones III cette year? Ou est-ce qu'il drop her like a hot potato? C'est pas pretty quand les skinny biches stuff leurs face avec les candy bars (mais je'd adore to regarder ca anyway!). Renee + les stomach rolls de fats = mon dream come true.

Almost Forgot!!!

Intense Haiku

Running in heaven
Does Dish eat her veggies too?
Little Miss Frantic

Here's my offering
O joy in Bowie David
Love his crooked teeth

Pine cones hit the ground
Iman prettier than Dish?
I could take that bitch

Fountain of his youth
Major Tom, my engines on
Ageless mesmerize

(Hi Mommy in Paris!)

If You Like Pina Colitis

What about that Hillary getting her bitch on with that student who asked about her husband (which was a mistake)? It's TERRIBLE video footage and makes Hills look puffy and cranky. We all get that way so I forgive it. Plus, I'd be so sick of hearing about Bill too. Does it always have to be about Bill?

Not that I have colitis but we could say my professional colon is inflamed with too much product. Dish has been overwhelmed this summer. The flow is not ending anytime soon and I'm shooting work out violently into the toilet of life. You can tell I'm tired but satisfied. I dream about knitting a hat and lying on a beach. Nestled in the folds of these sentences, I'll say that I'm meeting a celebrity this week and you can bet I'm straightening my hair, big time.

In celeb news, Octomom has a new reality show. I have a new reality show, too, featuring my octo-glass-elephants and how hard it is for me to raise them. I dust them and talk to them, try not to drop them on the floor. There are just too many.

Oh wait!

I almost forgot to mention because it's so lame: the guy from Oliver is claiming he's the father of Michael Jackson's child. Yeah, ME TOO!

Potpourri

What to discuss? Kate, Goldie and Kurt Russell watching A-Rod together? That the Yankees are finally pulling their weight by beating the Stinky Sox? That Britney wowed at the Teen Choice awards? That Shirley Jones posed for Playboy (did she wax)? That today is Duran Duran Appreciation Day?

All the above fails to titillate Dish. Every day is Duran Duran Appreciation Day. As for the rest, well, I've seen it already. Someone's flashing their naughty parts. Someone else is dating a sports figure. Someone's stumbling out of a bar and peeing on the street (hee hee). No it's not me. I skip out of bars.

I'm working, always measuring, reading, assessing, communicating, fabricating. My joy arises from the fact that Kathy Griffin is on Larry King Live AND Life on the D-list. Supposedly, she went on a date with Levi, the babydaddy of Palin-daughter's love child, priming him for a date with Dish.

ps. I'm sorry, JJ, for putting up a pic of Kathy. I know her plastic surgery offends you.

DISH HAS A MENAGE A TROIS!!!

Finally...satisfaction and a solution to my boredom. Picture it: 2 am, a sultry night in a Boston suburb. The window is cracked and a soft breeze soothes me into dreamland. I feel a tap on my nose, the swipe of a longue tongue. A whimper then an earth-shaking jump onto my person as I'm sleeping. I'm forced to accomodate this large, hairy creature with ice white tresses. I retreat from my face-dangling-over-side-of-bed position and I spoon the large beast. He breathes in and out as if excited but I know it's usual for his species. I rub his belly and pretend he's a giant pillow. A second thundrous movement occurs on the opposite side and I'm suddenly sandwiched between two males. This one kisses like a college boy--aggressive and all tongue. The black furry male steps onto my shoulder and nuzzles me violently on the side of my head, licking with that raspy tongue, head-butting me like a crazed in-love suitor. We lie together and fall into a beatific slumber.

I am a nasty whore.

Brilliant Casting

Dish is in Boston right now and time is limited but must comment on the casting of Robert De Niro, Steven Seagal and Lindsay Lohan in Machete. Only Robert Rodriguez would put these people together. It will be interesting though could also be a massive screwup. My fantasy: to put Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts in the same movie. It would be huge!

Home tomorrow after a lovely sojourn with my former New Mexico homegirls. We're being total slugs and watching movie after movie after movie and eating bonbons. The life of Dish is a tough one.

Blowing Out Sixteen Candles

Another big celeb is gone. Sixteen Candles director John Hughes, the man responsible for making Molly Ringworm a huge star, died yesterday. It's a tragedy. He helped fuel Dish's deepest fantasies of:

1. The homely redhead getting the jock and having him celebrate her birthday after everyone else forgot. 2. The homely redhead getting the snooty rich boy AND having the coolest gay best friend (Ducky was gay, I'm sorry). 3. Marriage to and reproduction with Kevin Bacon.

John's most important feat, perhaps, is his conceiving the idea for Maid in Manhattan, which helps nurture my longheld belief that--yes--I, too, can land a gorgeous Republican politician if I'm a Puerto Rican maid with a big booty.

Blessings on John's coming and going.

Just Call Me Dermott McDish

This is a topic I've wanted to bring up for some time now. When I first saw Dylan McDermott in Steel Magnolias, I said, Okay, great show biz name (and how lucky he was engaged to Julia--they would have made perfect babies). Dermott Mulroney showed up along with the confused wrinkle between my eyes. He had the good sense to stay in the indie genre except for My Best Friend's Wedding (again, with our Julia). When Tori Spelling started boinking Dean McDermott and ruining both their marriages to create an addictive reality show (you bastards!), I felt I had to say something. So...that was four years ago and I'm just getting around to it. Can we please put a moratorium on any celeb using Dermott in his name?

Just when you thought politics wasn't sexy...

Check out this hunka hunka burning I'll-kill-you-and-your-family-if-you-say-ANYTHING-against-me Vlad the Impaler Putin. I don't know about you but my night is made. I had this crick in my neck and now it's gone. I'm healed! (Nice boobies).

Suck It, Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck

Her honor and venerable goddessness Sonia Sotomayor is confirmed! This wise latina will do so much to uphold and interpret the law. And I'm sure she won't sexually harrass her underlings or leave pubes on a Coke can as SOME judges might do and STILL get confirmed.

Rah rah, SIS boom bah! I can hear the shrinking testicles of fat white male politicians and pundits everywhere!

As Julia Says: Big Mistake. Huge.

Dish won't watch American Idol ever again now that Paula Abdul is gone. The execs chose Ambien-substitute Kara over our favorite nurturing and drunk Paula. It's all about $$$, of course. They will pay Ambien-subtitute 2 Ryan Seacrest 45M for making inane comments and homoerotic gang signals at Simon. Ambien-substitute 3 Randy Jackson will probably get many Ms for saying "dog", but the execs won't fork it over for Paula whose misfortune is that she has a vadge. I hope the ratings plummet and the show gets canned.

On another note, many years ago, in a land called Upstate New York, Dish was a blushing eighteen-year-old who puffed on her Malboros, translated Latin poetry and threw back refreshing Gin and Tonics on Dishmama's porch. The smoking is gone but I'm re-instituting late afternoon cocktail hour. In my Lush-Training, I consulted J.J. who instructed me to buy cheap gin unless drinking straight from bottle (maybe in a month or two). Forgot to ask--is gin like mayonnaise in that you have to refrigerate after opening? I gots my limes, tonic water, and ice. So, come five o'clock, I'll start appreciating summer. Such a small thing. Poor Paula must have had at least five G&Ts by now.

Still a Rock Star

People are complicated. Our former president ate pizza/got blown/made inappropriate comments that sabotaged his wife's campaign. Today he got two U.S. journalists pardoned by North Korea. Did he promise that leader sexual favors (you know that's the joke all the late night hosts will have)? Even through his *um* gaffes, I never gave up hope.

What I don't understand is how Shirley MacLaine fell in love with Fred MacMurray in The Apartment. He is as sexy as a worn shoe but she loved him enough to overdose on sleeping pills. Maybe I've been doing it all wrong? Normally, I see attempted suicide as a relationship dealbreaker but here it only inflames Jack Lemmon's love. Shirley did the perfect thing by getting her stomach pumped and heaving in Jack's bathroom. Lesson learned. The problem is...well, there's the whole ending-of-life thing. Too much effort for this lazy scheming girl.

Dish had a near miss where checks were mislaid (poor checks) and all sorts of accusations would have come to light. Thanks to the good people of Chase, it was made clear that Dish is a space cadet. I blame it on the heat and my feeling under the weather.

The Ugly Truth about The Ugly Truth

Dish's trusted advisor deemed The Ugly Truth a Sh*t Sandwich. I tend to enjoy these mindless comedies though I loathe the Heigl and her overly-opinionated ways. Plus, I'm becoming more afraid of Gerard Butler's beer stench. I can smell it just from the previews -- the sour sweaty Sam Adams wafting toward my nostrils. A sheen of perspiration between the folds of his wrinkly man jowls, his beer boobs softly whispering, "What happened to you after 300?" Yes, I'd still make out with him but I might need to wipe him down first.

Bad Dates

Today is the birthday of a lame a-hole who is probably basking in his lameness by bowling or eating lame grasshopper pie with his bevy of platonic (co-dependent) friends. Grrrr. I have several dates I need to forget, along with this one: October 26, October 30 (damn Scorpios!), June 9 and January 9. Hard to know how to forget other than to redirect and remember today is also Mamie Gummer's birthday! She is the daughter of Goddess Meryl and an overall Hot Chick With Talent. Yes, she appeared in such stinky films as Evening but she was the good one in that crapfest. She can act and, more importantly, she rocks the fair hair, white skin look that is a rarity in the Hollywoods.

Thanks, Mamie! You have saved this day!

I am struck...

...by severe lethargy. Must work and straighten hair but all I can do is watch some silver fox narrate "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel. Sand sharks = scary and ugly. Great White sharks = sexy but deadly, like dating. Lemon sharks = dangerous but I'm not impressed since they make me think of dessert: lemon bars, lemon meringue, lemon with coke. Alas, instead of absorbing the information, I'm singing my lyrics to Jaws. Greater than my lethargy is my musical genius.

In other news: Madonna, the Jonas Brothers, Lindsay Lohan, Halle Berry, the Beer Summit, poopy doopy, G.I. Joe, Funny People same old same old, Julia and Julie, blah di blah, schmoopy goopy.

Are You Feeling Dirty?

Fifteen minutes: Another episode of Dirty Sexy Money, where I'll see my hunka-hunka burning white-haired bulbous-nosed passion Donald Sutherland, the oh-so emaciated Jill Clayburgh and the rest of those fun, reckless and rich Darlings.

As I spent the day on Amtrak going to a Dish family reunion, I envisioned my Netflix envelope of 24 sitting in my mailbox. Can you imagine Jack Bauer at a sedate family gathering, chowing on baked beans, chicken and potato salad (he'd probably drink all the beer and wizz on the picnic tables--or at least Kiefer would)? Jack might not participate in the water balloon toss, yack about olden times or look at emus with my cousins' children, as Dish did. I avoided the balloon toss because I didn't spend two hours straightening my hair for nothing. And those kids are bad throwers. Not to mention Dish won't do a wet t-shirt contest in front of family--only everyone else--but I did drop a massive F bomb as I was leaving. During the celebration, I helped decorate turtle hats with a five-year-old, one three-year-old and a baby--all of whom threw their markers on the ground, not efficient for crafting! The Dishes are a fun group and provided only the best in fattening comfort food.

I barely got to read Page Six but summertime is not so exciting in the celebrity world. Well, aside from all the deaths. Otherwise, it's like they hibernate during off season. Come fall, there'll be a new season of freak shows.