Club Star Sighting

June 21, 2007, circa 4:45 p.m., 17th and 7th Avenue: We did a triple-take, too, as club phenom Amanda Lepore traipsed past us. Because we couldn't help looking, the former he seemed annoyed with us and just wanted to cross the damn street. Either that or she couldn't see past the haze of botox. And because we had to stare even more (celeb whores can't help it), we checked out the junk in her trunk. Nice she-butt!

What's Up, Doc?

Okay, this is terribly mean, but we've noticed Chloe's Bugs Bunny tendencies for years. And she has gorgeous teeth and a great smile. We hate it when she does this partial thing. Dish has one front tooth longer than the other, which is why we try not to show teeth. It's because we once opened a beer bottle with the tooth and chipped it.

Cruise Hayes Haiku

Open mouthed brothers

We grin the light fantastic!

Separate from birth

With babies and beards

(Who lathers up the cowboys?)

Life is beautiful!

Once in a Lifetime Sighting

June 11, 2007, 4:45 pm, 18th and 7th: As we rushed home to watch Dr. Phil, we were accosted by a familiar creature on a bicycle. It was the Talking Head-master David Byrne, wearing a Devo cycling helmet! He almost ran us over, which would have meant missing a touching bitchfest from TV's most popular bald psychologist (Dr. Keith is #2). Ten years ago, a former BF approached DB on a plane and asked him for his autograph. With less gray hair, the singing star obliged and remarked on Dish's unusual name. We wanted to yell after him thank you, but then remember our hatred for cyclists.

In other news, BF texted us that Paris Hilton has found God. We're not wowed by this because everyone finds God, it seems. Why not Satan, Hecate, Erato, or Allah? Shouldn't they get their due? Why can't Paris find implanted in her buttcheek the piece of lead that came from the pencil a friend stuck on her chair in the fifth grade? Oh wait...that was our finding. God and speed, Paris.

Sightings by Rodin and BEA Bounty

Mucho long overdue, but on Memorial Day, we hung out with BF at the Met and soaked in a few seconds of culture (secretly noticing, of course, anatomically butchered Greek and Roman statues) before diving back into our obsession with Brothers & Sisters. We can't pretend to understand Surrealism and it pains our sense of order to see an armpit in the middle of the desert. Still, as we exited and made our way through obscene Rodin sculptures (and we wonder how he got to be in a family museum), we saw Brian Stokes Mitchell in a lime Polo-esque shirt, looking all of about twelve. Because we once espied him sucking down an ice cream cone in Hell's Kitchen, we weren't crazed with excitement. BF responded, "Who's Brian Stokes Mitchell?" We patted his arm. He has so much to learn.

June began with our occasional trek through the hoards at BEA. It takes about forty-five minutes before the claustrophobia sets in so we walked fast by the booths. We were really there to spot celebrities and our prayers were answered when a thinner and looking-exactly-as-in-movies-and-TV Chris Elliott (aka Woogie) walked by. While rewarded by this sighting, we headed for the Exit sign. The shakes had set in. Only for Duran Duran would we have weathered our phobias.