Duran Duran = Xanax and Zoloft

Nothing perks Dish up like the mere mention of Duran Duran. Hear ye, all babes in their late thirties: they are on Broadway from November 1-12. I am so going and have started hyperventilating. Brave BF is going, too. I'm excited that this will be his first Duran Duran experience. He doesn't realize the ecstatic joy in which he's about to be enveloped.

In 1984, Dish expressed her love of Duran Duran by penning a fifty-page typed term paper on the band--I got an A+ and I went to a *tuff* high school. It's pure shame for me to read, but my love was pure. Well, in my teens it wasn't so pure, but now I see how they provided a healthy non-Rx cure to adolescent blues. At present, my love is pure. I no longer think about marrying one of the band members. I wouldn't want that life. The money, yes, that would be nice. I'll take that instead (no strings attached, and I want that in writing).

In other news, Frank Miller is in New Mexico directing The Spirit, which stars the great Samuel L. Jackson, Scarlet Johanssen, and Gabriel Macht. After his Sin City and 300 success, this one is sure to be HOT!

And lastly, best shows in the new fall lineup so far: Gossip Girl, The Office, Big Shots, and I like Mariska Hargitay's new short haircut on SVU. Dirty Sexy Money ain't bad either and Donald Sutherland is still a stud at 100 years old!

Star Sighting--Guess Who Walked Me to the Gym Tonight?

17th and 7th Avenue, 6:45 p.m.: Okay, so it wasn't an official escort as the title would suggest, but I did lurk behind Mario Van Peeples up until I reached the gym. The star from my adolescence (that's mean, Dish!) ambled with a babe whose arm went through his in a sort of old-fashioned way. Very cute and they both wore shorts--his were brown, hers olive. He carried a transparent bag with nifty orange shoes inside.

Dish's main observation: Mario Van Peeples hasn't aged in twenty years! It's very frustrating. Aside: How *bad* were the Emmys last night? Great dresses, lame hosting. Worst moment: Eva Longoria with the male cast of Entourage. Quel boring and tacky sexual innuendo.

Britney, Can You Hear Me?

Was she ever talented? Could she ever sing? Watching her lip-sync and stumble through her song, "Gimme More" last night pained me. The surest way to stay famous is to screw up repeatedly, be less-than-mediocre when you used to attract the likes of Madonna and Justin Timberlake. Not to mention the media has a severe case of schadenfreude (sp?) over Britney and it's really sad. They all ask for it, and I can feel superior while burying my face in a bag of Cheetos. Dish can't sing either, so Britney and I are equal. Except she's way richer.

On a positive note, because that's what The Secret preaches (imagine, Rhonda Byrne was inspired to write the bestseller thanks to a "hundred-year-old book" her daughter gave to her. I'm curious what hundred-year-old book it could possible be. There aren't that many to choose from!), Dish is over her long-time disdain for Ryan Philippe. He might be okay. Cruel Intentions was a black mark on his permanent record, along with an account or two of his stepping out on Reese (which is like taking out the garbage in Hollywood and France). But he redeems himself in Breach, where he's an agent hired to bring down his boss, Chris Cooper (who looks as if he has a three-pack-a-day habit and drinks hard). The acting was excellent.

And now, to scour the web to find Yentl, another supposed trainwreck that'll bring everything full circle.

Yuma::Uma as Art::Cart

After The Insider, Dish went through a major Russell Crowe phase until an ex said he looked like my brother. There were reports of Russell's drunken brawls and excessive behavior. Following these discoveries, his award speeches became a little too self-righteous and sulky. In A Beautiful Mind, his performance seemed like that of every crazy person (and his being on screen with The Jennifer Connelly was far too much beauty for me). Soon after this, he threw a phone at someone. I acknowledge attempts to soften his public personality, like doing A Good Year, which was ninety minutes I'll never get back.

Despite all this drama, Dish will admit here, after many years of Russell Resentment, He Kicked Ass in 3:10 to Yuma. We are back on the Russell Bandwagon.

In this flick, he shoots people and draws pretty pictures. With one long green-eyed stare, he lures a mysterious barmaid into his bed. Somehow, he makes Christian Bale hideous when they are in the same shot (pun intended). And Russell is the only man I've ever seen who can wear turquoise successfully. This film is a must-see for lovers of action movies, Russell, Christian Bale, Westerns, and those skeptical that an Aussie and Welshman (or is it Scot) can aw-shucks their way through the 1860s American West. They do it all!



Speaking of doing it all, Roger Federer won the US Open. The match was so tense, I had to flip over to Along Came Polly (and caught the scene where Phillip Seymour Hoffmann gives his brilliant speech at the end), which I'm convinced helped Federer win. And to end my weekend, I'll attempt to watch the MTV Awards, though I have the feeling it's going to be a festival of stupid people.

The Apple in Matt Damon's Eyes

There's no sense to the title of this post, but Dish finally saw The Bourne Ultimatum and went to the Apple Store downtown. Flick-wise: Adored the premise and acting. But within five minutes, anxiety had rejigged the electricity in my heart. Damn that editing, why was it so choppy? And the handheld camera really bothers me now since everyone uses it after the Blair Witch Project and Traffic. I get the symbolism. Oooooh, lots of frenetic action, so much going on, frantic, everyone going nuts! While I enjoyed seeing Damon kick some CIA/NSA ass, the technical aspects of the film made the experience less pleasurable. But it was nice to see BF all into it.

Life does offer sweet moments, i.e. eating marzipan, watching tennis, eating marzipan while watching tennis, but some Apple stores are sour. Last weekend, I walked to the Apple Store on Prince Street, hoping to replace the battery of my iPod. I entered and had a panic attack. Crowds, iPhone mania, bright lights. I walked out. Today at lunchtime, I walked down there again and was greeted by affable nerds. They told me to go upstairs where I encountered more nerds, one of whom said I needed to make a reservation to change my battery and the soonest would be in four hours. "Uh, I'm sorry but I have a job," I responded. It was like a doctor's office. You need to make an appointment and you NEED to get this fixed by these people otherwise things won't work properly. I cursed Steve Jobs on the way home. Lucky for me, the second nerd gave me an address near my home where I could get the battery replaced. The deed was done within ten minutes (this second place catering to poorer Apple users).

Belated Birthday Boy

Oh Keanu, we don't know how old you are anymore. It doesn't matter and when it does, ask Tom Cruise to freeze you so that you can return a clear in Scientology. Then, once I realize the absurdity of this suggestion, I'll run, I knock down cabs, buses and make sure you are safe. Well, maybe not, but Happy Birthday anyway. Hey, who do you think is cuter: Roger Federer of Rafael Nadal?

Whoring out your children -- The Dakota Fanning Method

Cranky Rant of the Night: Theft! Three ad adencies came up with the brilliant idea of having kids say smart, edumacated stuff about certain products -- kids who would probably rather make their poopies into boats in the toilet bowl. Companies doing these silly ads are salesgenie.com, AIG, and Verizon. Yes, these robotic, money-obsessed children are our future. Either that or children are the new pets. And they grow up so fast...and get busted for DUI twice and driving high and without a license and do nothing for humanity.

Overdue Identification of Star Sighting

Dish is never wrong when it comes to star sightings. I get a tingle that indicates I'm in the presence of someone who's been on TV and in film. Last night, BF and I were watching Inside Man and that's when I saw my mystery actory, Peter Frechette. He plays the guy who didn't cough up his cell phone, then got the crap beaten out of him by Clive Owen (though Clive is so pretty I'd act stupid for extra attention, too). Anyhow, PF is all over the hood--have seen him in Starbuck's and even exercised next to him at the gym. All these times, I got that tingle but no name came to mind.

Now, am obsessed with tennis. That McEnroe Amex commercial was cute the first time I saw it. By its 400th airing, I hate the man and the card. Have studies been done on the negative effects of seeing the same thing over and over again? Oh wait, that's why everyone now hates Britney, Paris, and Lindsay. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.