The Machurian Conversation

Liev: I've enjoyed your work for decades. Kinda strange you're playing my mother.

Meryl: I can feel your hot breath on my neck.

L: Good things travel fast.

M: As will my fingers when I touch your naked chest.

L: I can't tell you all the times I fantasized about your long blond hair, like in Kramer vs. Kramer. I used to pretend you were my mommy and would slap that hair against my stomach.

M: Oh, mama like, mama like.

L: What made you do that movie Falling in Love? It's so shmaltzy.

M: Well, you haven't had the pleasure of making out with DeNiro.

L: Who's better, DeNiro or Nicholson?

M: Naughty son, why don't we go into that little closet over there and I'll give you a spanking.

L: I love acting.

Star Sighting and Stuff

On February 18th, mere minutes before we had to leave on our first vacation with BF, we saw Sylvia Miles, aka the matchmaker on Crossing Delancey, crossing 17th Street and 8th Avenue. She walked with a metal cane and was helped along by a kind gentleman. We wanted to tell her how her services were no longer necessary since we're now barftastically smug married.

Then, last night, while purchasing a huge cookie at B&N before the symphony, we saw the cranky old guy in many movies. We thought he'd died years ago! He still seems on the brink...

As for all the Britney news, well, who knows what's happening with her. She's stealing Anna Nicole's fire with her rehab and head-shaving antics. Blonds do have more fun, but we wouldn't know about this. Well, we tried to go blond once and people laughed at us for looking so anemic.

Okay, back to eavesdropping on the loud cell phone conversation happening outside our door. Some people are just so important!

Daddy's Home, Precious

Dish can't stay silent any longer. We're the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby (wasn't it a girl?). Sure, we may be a blog, but we spent a magical night with Anna Nicole during one of her fertile times. We walked on the beach after a seafood dinner of squid and crabs. Laughing merrily as she scarfed down the bread basket, Anna Nicole said she loved my irreverent attitude. Where did I acquire such keen insight? Oh, ANS (I called her ANS), 'twas a misguided master's degree in French that led me to my fiery intellect. Then we made love as the sun rose. Anna Nicole pledged her enduring passion to our union and so now we're totally devastated--but really, we only care about the baby. We don't want the little pookie's money. Not at all, because Dish doesn't work in a profession that pays next to nothing.

Oh...why didn't we come forward sooner? Because our feelings for Anna Nicole were so strong, we felt we had to stay away. Plus, we couldn't afford airfare to the Bahamas. It had nothing to do with Howard K. Stern inciting instantaneous and embarrassing gas in our intestines. We tried everything to convince her of our viability as a provider. She whipped us off a nasty text to stay away, so we were like see ya. Now, we just want what's best for Daniella (Danikendra?). Publicity isn't important because we're already famous (in our field, well, maybe in our family, okay famous in spirit) and don't need a reality show--though if anyone wants to film us, we look excellent on camera and will pose nude for the right bank.

Oh, Anna Nicole, we'll never forget our night together and how sad you're gone. We'll carry on the torch of excellence and search out the quiet, private life you always wanted.

(But seriously, quel sadness. RIP, girl)

Today's Icky Shudder Moment

Have you seen the cover of today's Post? Giuliani and his good friend, Mrs. Giuliani, are making out in a TMI moment we haven't felt in, well, weeks (since the Britney commando watch). And it quotes Judith as saying her husband is like the "Energizer Bunny," as if we're supposed to think this applies to his professional stamina. We don't know when we've been so traumatized. The man who pushed porn up a couple blocks from Disney Avenue, left the city in financial ruins, is now running for president and sporting a sexier (icky shudder) image. This, the man who had a big-ass affair for all the world to see, making a fool of his wife--who then had to demean herself by appearing in bit parts in movies (not that there's anything wrong with this, we'd capitalize like crazy ourselves). The worst part is now we have a bad visual sequence of their marital life in our head. The Monica-Bill affair was much more palatable than this. Sex and politics together makes for overall nastiness.

To combat this horror, our new crush this week is Patrick Warburton (aka Putty from Seinfeld, high five) in the new CBS show Rules of Engagement. The show is a little bit funny, thanks to Warburton, but he simply steals it from everyone else. How he isn't hugely famous is the mystery of our era.

The Conversation

Richie Sambora: Denise, what's the meaning of life?

Denise Richards: La la la la la la la la!

R: Do you think people mock our frivolity?

D: Tinkle winkle do dee hum.

R: I feel myself merging with the stereotype of middle aged crag with the too-pretty delightful girl. 'Tis a puzzle.

D: Tooralooralay!

R: It doesn't matter. I look smashing in clothes. My Rock Star title gives me immunity.

D: Schmoopiedoopiepoopieloopie.

R: You're such a comfort to me in these times of woe. Bitter is the spirit whose essense goes unnurtured.

Liev Luv, Otherwise Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

We are so bored by celebrity news these days, which accounts for a week of silence. Paris's latest scandal is the new Ambien. Lindsay in rehab? Who isn't in rehab and it never sticks anyway. The SAG awards were saggy with the same ole speeches. Anne Heche left her husband for her co-star (Meg Ryan anyone?) , which happens every single day of the week. And Bitsy Boobsalot got engaged to Rockstud! How long will that last? Maybe thirty-three years of celebrity-addiction (our first being Sony and Cher at age five) has worn thin on poor old Dish. Maybe the BF is more entertaining. The only star excitement these days is that Liev Schreiber is the guestor-molestor on CSI and we are loooovvvvviiiiiinnnnnng the sexual tension between him and Marg, who is a redhead just like Dish, but oh-so much older. We're so inspired by him, we wrote a poem at lunchtime:

I'll watch CSI for Liev

Who's totally not from Kiev

He's tall like a tree

I come up to his knee

Will I meet him? Probably nev.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.