Dysfunctional Star Sighting

This may be premature, but we might have seen a fifty-something actor on an erectile dysfunction commercial. He was buzzing down 42nd and 7th, the perfect place to spice up your libido on a Saturday night. Not sure if it was he, but the second we see this commercial again, will confirm...

Baking the Dish

I was shopping for BF's birthday presents at J&R when I spotted the DVD for Waking the Dead, i.e. the movie where I first developed a girl-crush on Jennifer Connelly (okay, so maybe it was much earlier, like with Inventing the Abbotts). Faster than you can say Mary-Louise Parker, I bought the thing (got BF something too) and am now staring at the cover. The combination of Jennifer and Billy Crudup is almost too beautiful to bear. Not to mention their self-righteous dialogue pulls at my heartstrings (or at least, the heartstrings that care about politics). My only objection to this movie is the cliched vomit scene to prove that someone is 1) a drunk 2) pregnant 3) has just seen a dead body or something equally gross. Oh, and I sort of cringe when Jennifer puts on a southern accent in some parts. Those accents never take (except with Kyra Sedgewick in The Closer, which is on in ten minutes!). Otherwise, Billy makes us cry at the end and it's a testament to how strong love can be, even in death. So, if BF were to die because of his humanitarian efforts, I'm sure I'd see him everywhere and try to psychically channel him. This would be especially difficult considering he doesn't believe in that stuff. I once made a suitor watch Waking the Dead and his eyes rolled in the back of his head after ten minutes. He thought I meant to watch it for the love story. But really, it was sort of all about Jennifer.

Lindsay Doesn't Know the Secret

Poor so-overhyped-as-to-be-boring Lindsay Lohan. Dish thought she was going the way of Jodie Foster, what with her oh so cute Hayley Mills redo of The Parent Trap. Gosh, I could barely speak English at eleven much less do a British accent. And then, Lindsay went the obvious Loser route, choosing suckoid movies and crazy friends and now where is she? So not Jodie.

What does Lindsay need? She needs someone to tell her The Secret. That's right. The brilliant never-heard-of-before key to success unlocked just recently by Rhonda Byrne. No one knew before that thinking positive would drive a person toward success. Clues have existed all this time but it took a television writer and producer to figure it all out. Screw getting a Ph.D. If you just think about stuff in a good way, you'll be super-fabu.

So, Lindz, take that little nugget of advice and listen to the secret. If you follow the three steps, you can still stuff yourself in a bikini but also regale the masses with your portrayal of Eleanor Roosevelt. We're following The Secret too, therefore, rooting for you (no matter what we really think).

Keanu's Korner

Haiku

Here's where I've been, dudes
Plagued by science (my boogers)
Earl Grey is my choice

Blow my mind hither
Feel the whistle of my heart
Fart without warning

Wind is my real game
Santa Ana rocks my world
Where am I again?

24 hours of television and Ken Wattahottie

Dish didn't mean to get obsessed, but it happened while watching Season 1 of 24 this weekend. Of course, this site is way behind the times and don't tell us how it ends. Here's what Dish thinks:

Leslie Hope bites it because she has to play the lesbian in that Lifetime movie (we forgot the title).

We always hated Nina. Her jaw is just too square to be a good guy.

Dennis Hopper sucks at accents. We laughed our butts off at his attempt and shouted, "Pabst Blue Ribbon, baby!"

Elizabeth Cuthbert is way too hot as a sixteen-year-old.

Love Dennis Haybert and wish he would take us on a piggy back ride to work every day.

Before 24, we watched Letters from Iwo Jima by Clint Eastwood, which is all historical and stuff. Those Japanese soldiers were just like the American ones. They wanted hugs, not guns. And as usual Ken Watanabe's thespionic mastery took over the screen (as when he stole The Last Samurai from Tom Cruise!). We so want him to win an Oscar someday (but only if that's what he wants, too).

Kevin Kline for President Haiku

Bush removes polyps

from his colon (that's the butt)

Go back to Texas

'Bama, Hilly fine

Giuliani? Oh horrors!

Dish nominates Dave

So tall, Dave friendly

Sigourney Weave, FIRST LADY!

Eat that Langella.

Dave balance budget

plays with the dogs on the lawn

Ben Kingsley, Vice Prez!

No inane speeches

Keep us out of stupid wars

Dave voters, unite!

Queer Star Sightings Not on Delancey

July 20, 2007, 8:30 a.m.: Dish is shaking over missing a stupendous sighting. She got a call this morning from her hairstylist who saw Gale Harold, that's right, BRIAN KINNEY, at the Chase Bank on 24th and 7th. No further details given as Dish was asleep with a fat cat sitting on her chest. She can't divulge either how much time she spent in that location after receiving the message.

July 10, 2007, 5:30 p.m. As she went to an unnamed appointment, Dish stood in the lobby of a West End building, waiting to be called in. Angling her head at the approaching body, she heard singing in her ears (which is why she goes to an unnamed appointment every week). She turned and saw the Crossing Delancey pickle salesman Peter Reigert coming toward her. He even smiled at her, which was so shocking she had to look away. A celebrity who doesn't have Acquired Situational Narcissism and notices the people around him? Dish definitely had a pickle that night in his honor....

Haiku Pop Yet?

Where is the baby?

It could come any moment

I think it's a girl

Acting, breeding babe

Pretty pretty Naomi

Can I brush your hair?

Why Do I Keep Dreaming about Tom Cruise?

It happens about once every quarter, like the delivery of my TIAA-CREF statement. The Scientology Prince appears in my dreams, leaving me serene the next morning. I don't ask for him to show up but as soon as he does, my subconscious is in starry-eyed awe. During my waking life, I only watch his movies to assess his clothes and hair. He and his personal life bore me, as do his interviews and gay rumors.

Last night, we were shooting some movie where our child was kidnapped (go figure, my subconscious wants me to be an actress). The girl has a cute mop of black and big green eyes (not my features since this is TOM we're dealing with). After scenes where I freak out, crying over "my baby," Tom comforts me, we make out on the way to rescue her (he's not a good kisser, but was nice to me, didn't wash his mouth out with Purrell afterwards--apologies to BF who is eons more appealing), and somehow, he finds the solution to where our girl is by locking himself in the bathroom and reading the label on a bottle of Scope. Brilliant! After the take, Tom and I walk down the hallway and I tell him I never believed the gay rumors. He flashes that smile and hangs a finger on one of my beltloops, so trying to seem like a Casanova. I know the truth. Of course, before I could figure out what that truth is, I wake up to a wailing cat.

In other news, Live Free and Die Hard was breathtaking, especially when Bruce drives a truck off a tumbling bridge, which somehow takes out a fighter plane. Great action sequences, though am not understanding how Timothy Olyphant was cast as the formidable villain. I kept waiting for him to break out the Clearasil and journal his feelings. They gave him a touch of grey at his temples, but he seems about twelve...and girly. Not like a psychotic computer nerd. Eric Bogosian was way better at this in the Steven Seagal masterpiece, Under Siege 2: Dark Territory.

As far as action movies go, I'm waiting for the girl-triumphant Jodie Foster flick coming out in September. I'm so into watching her play it straight, with Naveen Andrews no less. But a gun-toting Jodie should not be missed.

Ex-Mayoress Scores Free Love

July 6, 2007, 7:50 p.m. Central Park: We were waiting to piss outside of Shakespeare in the Park's "Romeo and Juliet" when we realized Rudy's ex Donna Hanover was right in front of us. She seemed to be comforting some cranky blond babe, her daughter perhaps? We wondered if the daughter was bemoaning the plight of accepting good friend Judith Nathan as a stepmonster, or the embarrassment of Daddy running for prez. Well, we didn't care about that, but rather focused on Donna's split ends, which were as resplendent as ours. We loved that she wasn't totally glam. Despite BF's anxiety about getting into the show on time (as if we were going to hold it for three hours), we made it through the long line. Lifelong credit is due to BF for waiting in line for five hours for tickets. No one else would have done this for us and we are lucky. Who knew Lauren Ambrose could do something other than play an emotional teenager? Oh wait...that's totally Juliet.

July 4, 2007, 10:20 a.m., 19th and 7th Avenue: We plodded with BF toward the deli for sandwiches to take to Jones Beach. We sniffed and almost missed Victor Garber and friend walk past us. Both gents seemed animated and happy and we pointed him out to BF, who said, "Who's that?" Uh, Alias? Titanic? And those are just the most commercial things. Okay, there was the episode of Will & Grace. BF had no idea who he was but we assured him Garber was huge...and we see him in our neighborhood so often we might introduce ourselves. No we won't.

Soap Opera Star Sighting and Praise for Duran Duran

June 26, 2007, 8:45 p.m.: Wobby on scotch, we were skipping toward home when on 21st and 6th Avenue, we spotted him, that absurdly endowed hot guy on Ally McBeal, who now plays "John" on One Life to Live. He even looked at us as he walked by, though his dog gave us the cold shoulder. Bitch!

June 30, 2007, 2 p.m. ish: In the Duane Reade on 19th and 7th Ave, we were paying for our rewetting drops and Altoids -- bemoaning the state of our bank account -- when we turned and saw our beloved Mo Rocca standing in line. We wanted to remind him that we opened a door for him at Le Pain Quotidien a month ago. We didn't, of course, because keeping a blog is a more passive way of making a fool of ourselves.

Thought of the day: We were mesmerized by the concert for Diana today, mostly because Di and Dish have something very important in common--Duran Duran is our favorite group. We would love them even if they farted the classics on their next album. They can do no wrong (except murder and pedophilia). Next year marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of our unconditional love/obsession and we might send them an anniversary card, which will probably land in the lap of an underpaid assistant....