Goddess Bless Juliana Margulies

My father once said her character on ER reminded him of me (yeah, she attempts suicide in the first episode), but despite this, I have a soft spot for Juliana Margulies. She's survived some heinous TV and movie projects. Most recently, I had the misfortune of watching (skimming through) the cinematic sh*t-fest Snakes on a Plane, where she plays a well put together flight attendant. Somehow, she manages to keep her hair hot even when Samuel L. shoots out the windows of the plane as it's landing. Juliana was also the long-suffering mobster's girlfriend in Out for Justice, i.e. she shared air with Steven Seagal and his gay beret. In The Mists of Avalon, she dons an accent and has to share the screen with Angelica Huston and Joan Allen. There've been many other questionable choices, but Dish would gladly do shots with her (not that I have ever done a shot). JM would be a benign force on our lifeboat out of hell.

Hot US Open Profile

I don't care that he's old enough to be my son, Rafael Nadal is the chocolate mousse with Oreo cookie crust of Tennis--so delicious I can barely stand it. Dish has supported him (not literally because I'm really not his mother--the genetics don't work out--and I don't have that kind of money) for a couple years now. Yesterday, he played for three hours with a sore knee, which was so like the time I had to walk home during the August 2003 blackout. Hours of grueling pain and fumbling in the dark. We're with you, Rafael. Bless you and your sweaty headband.

Dish loves Maria Sharapova, too, mostly because she seems like a diva and won tonight's match without blinking. She is so the girl who ignored me in high school (whom I secretly worshipped). What are the odds that she, like the Williams sisters, will become an actress?

Haiku for Owen Wilson

Owey, sad and sick

Hugs, leis with palm-waving babes

That's all a boy needs

Put your star feet up

Talk dirty with Dr. Phil

Suck down some Zoloft

Everything will chill

No one else has your nose

Maybe find Jesus?

All is love, Owey

we say this under duress

Just get through today

And eat vitamins

Laugh at funny stupid folk

Does Vince Vaughn smell bad?

Over Hill and...Gale

With respect to celebs, I usually have Tom Cruise dreams (no idea why). Last night, I was blessed with my first Gale Harold dream. Of course, I did nothing for which I am ashamed, except dye my hair a hideous blond/orange. In this subconscious romp, I wore tight jeans and black t-shirt to a seedy bar where Gale slinging drinks. He was so tall I thought his head would poke through the ceiling. After ordering my beer (I usually drink scotch), I went to the ladies--because in this dream, I wasn't worried about skankies slipping me a rufee--and there was Gale eating cookie dough that also substituted for hair mousse. I told him how tall he was and he nodded and kept eating. Since I mostly know GH as Brian Kinney in Queer As Folk, he had that confident slinky essence. He left the cookie dough with me and went back to his job. Instead of following, I took the cookie dough and put it in my wretched hair. It was, after all, hair mousse.

All I could say when I woke up was: What the f*%&?

On to reality:

Missed Potential Star Sighting Right Now, 17th and 7th Avenue, 6 p.m: Papparrazzi, movie trailers abound, though didn't want to bother the Important People to ask what was being filmed. It forced me to consider that I've probably wasted the last twenty years of my life...And Brian Kinney would smirk yes at me. Whatever, he just ruined our sexy week pass (granted by BF as long as he gets Reese Witherspoon) with that cookie dough junk.

Thoughts and prayers to Owen Wilson. Again, we say, WTF. But even the famous/rich/ beautiful have troubles. Quel shocking.

She was Mol-ed!

8/25/07, 8th Avenue between 14th and Greenwich Ave, 9:28 p.m.: BF and I were waddling from dinner and passed a gaggle of girls, one of whom was tres pregnified. It was Gretchen Mol, in a white sundress (like Jane Krakowski from previous post) and she was choking down ice cream. I was wishing for ice cream since Mother had just doused my chocolate cupcake in rum, thereby soaking my sober refined sugar. One day, I'll get my just dessert. For now, I'm just reporting a celebrity sighting. GM looks as cute in person as in movies and she's annoyingly non-fat while with child.

And the latest spurt of gossip--Sandra Bullock is loved by me (though can't take her sad-sack routine in While You Were Sleeping) but she owns land near my Texas relatives and according to them, SB's tenants are noisy a**h**s. Complaints were made, but nothing was done until recently when legal action was taken (let's hope). Not good, SB. I would be a far better person to watch over your land....

A Week of 30 Rock

8/13/07, 10:55 am, 15th and 5th Avenue: Though dying of sinus ennui, I forced myself to walk in the sunshine and clear my head. As I rounded 15th street, I saw a blond with a pointy nose looking down the street (as if waiting to meet her clandestine lover for a tryst). She wore a flowing white sundress and I couldn't get over her pointy nose. Did I say it was pointy? Well, it was...and it belonged to Jane Krakowski!

8/16/07, 6:30 pm, Duane Reade at 19th and 7th Avenue: Slightly stalkerish, but I saw the familiar back of someone's head and I followed. My public excuse, I had to get cat food. The truth was I had to see if it was really Jack McBrayer from 30 Rock. I darted into the Duane Reade, hot on his heel. As I caught him at the end of an aisle, my search was rewarded. 'Twas he!

I don't even watch the show! Maybe now I will...Well, probably not.

Starvation Central and Curtains!

Tuesday, August 7th, 6:40 p.m.: As I raced home to do some ten minute prepping for a date with BF, my sharp eye caught a diner at Merchants on 17th and 7th Avenue. My ire was peaked since it was Nina Katz (Nadia Dajani) who gave Carrie Bradshaw "the look" on Sex and the City. I mean, Carrie irritated the crap out of me for her wishiwashiness, but it's futile trying to convince a cat not to eat its own hair. Even though Nina was right to be annoyed, I'd never give anyone The Look for giving up the greatest guy in the world. Nadia sat with a companion, looking as perky and lovely as on the episode. And she's been in a gazillion indies. Of course, my greatest wish was for her to say, "I'm starvation central," one of her lines in the episode. Yes, it's scary Dish remembers this.

On Friday, while feigning exercise at the gym, I flipped on All My Children and was horrified to have stumbled on to its Shakespearean episode. The dialogue was stultifying, mostly due to the fact that after each statement said aloud, the character would then launch into a monologue about how he/she really felt. This allowed the actor to really dig into his/her acting chops, but it made me want to start smoking again (out of sheer boredom). Someone in the writing room was having too much fun emoting. Fun for the typer, snoresville for the viewer.

Friday night, we went to see Curtains. Because of mixed reviews, we expected to fall asleep during the performance but it was wildly entertaining. David Hyde Pierce is the first man to be invited to Dish's slumber Party (which includes Joyce DeWitt, Naomi Watts, Pamela Anderson, Helen Mirren, and Jennifer Connelly). We love him!

The Police Are Arresting at Giant Stadium

While I usually thought of The Police as the band whose videos appeared on MTV when Duran Duran's should have been playing, their concert sent a charge through my nostalgic heart yesterday at Giants Stadium. Suddenly, I was their biggest fan and had been all along.

At fourteen, I despised how Sting hogged the screen and my friend Diane never stopped talking about his hotness. He was like totally in a G-string in Dune and such an awesome actteeerrrr. And when The Police drifted apart, I was anti-Sting (I called him Stink). Not to mention, he's responsible for Madonna's faux British accent since he and his wife (who was excellent on that episode of "Friends") introduced her to Guy Ritchie. This means, Sting is responsible for the movie Swept Away, that suckfest remake starring Madge.

When The Police announced their tour earlier this year, I was ready to go, supporting the band and not the lead singer. I now admit he's an amazing performer. I may even buy his lute album. The most fun was watching BF nod along and sing with the music. In fact, the whole audience nodded along. This wasn't a dance-friendly concert, like say with other 80s bands, but by no means less joyous. They did the classic songs without pirouettes across the stage. They just played and sang, distracting the audience with some graphics and flashing lights. BF is contemplating getting his hair cut like Sting's. Something to look forward to. Once again, Sting may be responsible for a disaster (though BF goes to the barber once a month).

Oh, and The Police had two opening bands (prolonging the agony for die-hard fans--Sting probably needed those two hours to partake in tantric mash), one of which was Fiction Plane, fronted by his son. Can you imagine being Sting's son? He may be a good father, but I'm glad I'm a productive underachiever so that my children don't need to be traumatized by my brilliance. And I'll be cheaper to care for when I'm old. Then again, Sting has six children (helping along overpopulation, like Steven Seagal) and a castle, so he'll be fine. I won't be worried for him.

In any case, so The Police were hot and I just spent five dollars downloading their songs--the most I've spent aside from the fortune for concert tickets. Well worth the dough.