The Conversation

Victoria: Oops, I think I just farted.

Katie: Don't you know if you did?

V: Not sure. I've lost all feeling down there. It's the stress of moving to LA, plus, I'm missing vital nutrients.

K: Don't feel bad. I once cut one with Tom in the room, but I blamed it on Suri.

V: Good deflection.

K: That's what children and pets are for. Doesn't Bex release pernicious odors?

V: From Minute #1. But he's an athlete. That kind of thing is natural.

K: True. It's too bad we don't have that excuse.

V: Oh dear, here comes another one.

K: Make it good and loud.

V: Can't. Otherwise these clothes will explode off my body. Must. Keep. It. Inside. My future depends on it.

K: Give a hoot, don't pollute! Hahahaha.

V: Hahahahahaha! Ooops... Warm air rising.

Dish is Nominated!

The Oscar nominations are out and if you can figure out how Dish was nominated for an Oscar, you win a Tootsie pop (unless you're Mel who already knows or are a total stranger--neither of which count). Ah, we haven't been so proud since George Michael's last peak or the time when we flew back from France just in time to see a Guns 'n Roses song hit the charts. If you can figure out these two hints and link them back to our Oscar nod, another Tootsie pop. Today, it's all about the pops and the Oscars. It's really enough just to be nominated.

Back to my Milk Duds...

Danes Does Dancy

Why didn't anyone tell us sooner? We found out today, in a knitting circle, that Claire Danes left Billy Crudup for her new co-star Hugh Dancy. Dish immediately ran from the room because we've been waiting for years for Billy Crudup to be single. And then we remembered angelic BF, who has accepted the permanence of our celebrity crushes (Duran Duran, Gale Harold, Liev Schreiber, Keanu Reeves, and, uh, Jennifer Connelly), along with various neuroses. BF would never walk out on us while we were seven months pregnant. He'd be nice enough to wait until the baby was born, then hie himself in his getaway sportscar. We sat back down and knit another row on our hideous orange and yellow bag.

To bring cattiness to a new level, is Liz Hurley ever getting married? Seems like she's been engaged forever and that details of her nuptials leak every few months. Did it ever happen? Is this like Norm's wife Vera?

Marg Helgenberger in a Labyrinth

Star Sighting--On Friday, Dish was chatting with her friend Langdon, www.hollywoodchills.blogspot.com, when he shrieked, cursed and nearly blew a tire. He just saw Marg Helgenberger somewhere in LA. He claims she's beautiful even without makeup or a gown. We've always known Marg was hotness itself and we sort of like her country girl clothes in Fire Down Below. Just the fact that she made a movie with Steven Seagal puts her on the list for sainthood.

In other news, Dish and BF went to see the happy date movie, Pan's Labyrinth. BF made us salami sandwiches (fun to unwrap Saran wrap in a movie theater) and Dish provided the Milk Duds. By the end, we were both so disturbed, we could barely speak. The stabbing, the hitting, the crawling through the mud with bugs, the saggy flesh monster. Like, ewww? Highly recommend, though. Visually stunning, cute girl star, mythical, lyrical, insert impressive film criticism here. Next on the list, is another joyous date movie, The Departed.

Keanu's Korner

a haiku

Science turns me on

Though, string theory--not my thing

G-string, however...

The Golden Globes

Maybe Dish is a little overdue on her Golden Globes, but I've been busy. Very Nice Person has been upgraded to Boyfriend (his idea not mine, though Dish is up to it) and this involves a time commitment. Fewer sudoku puzzles, less stargazing--except where Liev Shreiber is concerned--and more hours on the treadmill. Bottom line: Salma Hayek and Kyra Sedgwick had the best Golden Globes of the night. Speeches were fine, no surprises, no fashion craziness, no bitch-slapping except the whole Grey's Anatomy cast controversy is icky. Kudos, as always, to Meryl Streep who is like candy and Drew Barrymore who, though very tan, wore a beautiful dress instead of a tight, green sac. Fantasies remain of splicing the number of times stars begin their speeches with "oh my God." I sort of wish Prince had been able to make his speech, though he was looking all swank when Hugh Grant pointed him out. His Globe will be a good lead-in to his Superbowl appearance. Prince in football gear, now that could be interesting. This will be the first year that Dish watches the Superbowl, all because of his purple badness, or maybe his purple headbandness.

Star Sighting

7:10 pm: Adam Chandler, Jr. (aka Lucky on General Hospital) from All My Children was running away from Dish at 41st and 7th Avenue. It's okay, he doesn't need to talk to me. He has enough troubles staying married to that Babe, who looks exactly like Britney. Not to mention, his spying on Josh just got him in trouble with Erica's other child (previously played by Buffy). It's all too much for Dish's pounding head...and am still traumatized by pictures of Steven Tyler in a speedo.

An Open Letter from Posh Spice

You Americans have denied my fabulousness but I have arrived thanks to my husband's new soccer contract. Tramp-slut-nannies and personal assistants, don't you even think of flashing your silicone at Becks because I'll just shoot out another heir with my magic uterus. The flying saucer hat at the Cruise wedding is just the beginning of my reign. I will take over your planet with my edamame and Diet Coke diet. My asymmetrical haircuts will make you rethink your oh-so fluffy blond weaves. The English accent makes me more powerful than Paris and Britney, not to mention I'm contemplating using my rip-fire brain for Scientology classes. Be afraid: I am richer. I do even less. And I am moving to California, bitches.

Scoopertown

You think it's funny to capture me on camera. That my glowing eyes and perfect tuxedo are entertaining. Or that my heartbreaks are fodder for supermarket tabloids. I may poop in a box full of sand, but you humans walk dogs who have to make in front of their peers. And then, you pick it off the street. Who's the silly one? I may not be as big as you or walk on two feet unless you try to make me disco dance. My drool may stink up your blankets and salt your yogurt (melikes the strawberry), but I don't have to work. I sleep and eat and knock things over. All I ask is that you let me have some privacy as a public persona. Allow me to raise my adopted international children in peace and go without panties. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to eat my own hair.

Assez, la Rosie and le Trump et la Britnee

Je suis fatiguee avec ce sujet. La Rosie and le Trump se disputent violemment. Elle est fatte and il est mean avec l'ugly cheveux. Les newspapers spill constamment with the virulence de ces mediocre-celebritay. Barbara et Rosie se disputent also, and c'est un grand chat-fight. A mentioner aussi, la Britnee porte les underwears and fait la partee tout le temps, mais qui cares? Moi, je wear le underwear aussi. Si j'etais blonde et riche, je walk around nekkid aussi. Qui a le time pour cette minutia? Perhaps, si j'etais celebrite, moi, je stirera up le trouble partout. Mais, after a while, il y a better choses a faire. Le whoa, s'il-te plait.

The Conversation

Antonio: Mel, why you no write your biography as reported by today's New York Post?

Melanie: Clopclobshmoopiebloopibloo

A: But you so interesting. A head for business and a bod for sin

M: Floo floo frickfrick!

A: If you donna like the writing, we take bath naked in my perfume.

M: Shma?

A: We'll lie like snakes in the cologne of Antonio Banderas

M: Blinnypoopeepants

This Grand Canyon Between Us

Very Nice Person and I are on Date #7, when the other shoe drops. We're looking at my DVD collection--a must for any couple getting to know each other. He doesn't scoff at every episode of Will & Grace, Steven Seagal's Above the Law or the secret copy of Maid in Manhattan ("bought for my mother") stashed in the back of the shelf. I ask him if he likes Grand Canyon, pointing to my copy.

"I hated it." He shakes his head. "I thought it was awful."

"But it's the original Crash, only funner," I argue. "And it has a great soundtrack."

It's our first big disagreement and I'm not prepared. Grand Canyon may be a little me-me-me, but the pacing and thoughtfulness touch me. Plus, it's one of the few times when Mary-Louise Parker doesn't whine her lines, sort of. "Well, it was nice while it lasted," I say, turning away as a lone tear falls down my cheek.

But then he admits to owning The Princess Bride--which I have avoided out of principle alone--and he likes John Cusack (every hetero-boy does), so I guess some divergence in movie taste is allowed.

Miami Oh-So-Nice

The Conversation

J: The distance between us is killing me.

C: Don't look at me.

J: But...you're beautiful, Colin.

C: My hair. It's too long in the back.

J: It smells delicious.

C: Garnier-Nutrisse.

J: Why are you wearing those sunglasses? I can't see your sparkling eyes.

C: I couldn't sleep last night. I could carry groceries with the bags under these eyes.

J: Oh baby, you make me feel good no matter how ugly you are.

C: I can't bear it when you compliment me like that.

J: Why didn't you sleep, my little Blarney of love?

C: You wouldn't understand...

J: Try me.

C: I was worried...worried that you didn't care anymore. That after this movie wrapped, you wouldn't call. Now with your Oscar, hit album and everything else, I'm not special anymore.

J: There, there. Pretend I'm wiping away those tears.

C: Okay, pretend I'm letting you.

J: And let's pretend I didn't see your disturbing sex tape.

C: You know I had a movie coming out. I was thinking about you the entire time.

J: No doubt. Let's forget about everything. We're in a land where there's only you and me...and these sunglasses.

C: I'm with you, Wanda. I...love you.

J: And I you.

Donal Logue of "The Knights of Prosperity"

Fat boys are delicious

Waddling pools of love

Steaming rolls of candy

I keep my pinchers handy

I have such a sweet tooth when it comes to slugs.

Fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, FAT BOYS!

(Donal Logue and Phillip Seymour Hoffman, slurp! No, really. Dish has loved them both since The Tao of Steve and State and Main)

No Dirt for Dish

Wow, last night on Dirt, Lucy Spiller slept with a stranger who was reading Proust. Frankly, I only allow Tolstoy readers near me--Leo's pacier. And who can read Proust while standing outside a Hollywood party? Are all paparazzi schitzophrenics? Is everyone fat named Harvey?

I wanted--okay so maybe I didn't want--to like this show, but it was obvious from the trailer that I wouldn't see anything I didn't already know: gossip people will go to great lengths to get a story, stars are always having sex, there is no loyalty in Hollywood, but maybe, just maybe there's a kernel of goodness in the jerkiest jerks in the biz, as evidenced when Lucy comforts her crazy but brill photog after his cat dies.

Bottom line: I can't give up the luscious kick-assedness of Mariska Hargitay on Law & Order: SVU for this show. Though Courtney is lookin' hot and is so the poster child of a hard-working woman who don't need no mans. Unless he looks like Jim Morrison and reads books. That's so retro.

Let's Get Dirty

The new show Dirt, hmmmm, I wonder what it's message is or the kind of woman Courtney Cox plays. On the ads, she uses pills to deal with stress, which to me indicates she's a woman who doesn't face her problems head on. In her job as notorious editor-in-chief for celebrity rags, she makes problems for other people. But we love her anyway because she works hard and powerful people will do anything. Her name is Lucy Spiller because she SPILLS the news. Or SPILLS things by accident. Or can't help letting her real feelings SPILL out. All my ninth grade English is paying off because I can totally translate the real meaning of the show. Just call me Susie Disher from now on.

To support the cast of Friends, I must watch. How interesting that Chandler and Monica have new programs, both dealing with show business. Maybe Lucy Dribble-drip and Matthew Talk-fast will clash on the red carpet. He'll emote and her ruthlessness will lead to a huge makeout session. I'm totally for it.

My last musing--with everyone talking about celebrities and splashing star-nethers across the Internet, what's so new and different about Dirt? Everyone is dirty these days. Maybe Dish is all wrong about the predictable nature of these new shows. Court might spend the entire show reciting Rumi or declining third conjugation -io verbs.

Keanu's Korner

Happy New Year Haiku

Champagne in my flute
The bike and Jello snack packs
Life is a highway

For this new New Year
I send you triumphant yos
Bite the cosmic butt