Let's Get Fat

Today's Post called Jessica Simpson "portly." Funny, since she looks as if she weighs 130 pounds, which is not portly. Why isn't more attention given to portly men in Hollywood? While I adore watching all of these XYs, Alec Baldwin, James Spader, Steven Seagal have each inhaled buffalos in the last ten years. Ben Affleck and Vince Vaughn vary by season--one eats a cow, the other, a large donkey, each resulting in a six-month pregnancies and sweet man boobs. Matthew Perry swells and sweats like cheese, only jigglier. Jon Favreau's going from muscular in The Replacements to Humpty Dumpty in Something's Gotta Give, well, it raised my eyebrows because of worry over his health. The boys are still considered big hot swinging d*cks. Now we see a "normal" sized Jessica Simpson ridiculed for "bulging" out of "Mom" jeans at a local event. Last year, Jennifer Love Hewitt's big butt bikini pictures shocked Hollywood misogynists (kind of redundant, I know) and she has since slimmed back down to a proper lollipop frame. Thank goodness for Jamie Lee Curtis who finally doesn't care and lets it all hang out. Frankly, I find this new Jessica more interesting. What made her gain the weight? Was she just sitting at her TV and wanting some Ding Dongs? Was she sick of daily doses of Ex-Lax? Did she decide to eat a liverwurst/mayonnaise sandwich (Dish's fave!) instead of diced celery for dinner? Now, she just needs to ditch the losers (especially Daddy) and cultivate her own interests. Let's all be Sisters in Cellulite!

Ps.

Just to put it out into the universe: Dish thanks an old friend for fighting for her honor 17 years ago. Not only do celebs endure vicious gossip but even Little People encounter malevolent forces who start rumors. Makes me think twice about talking smack. Though everything I say is true...:)

Are You There, God? It's Me, Backdraft.

I'm not sure what strange synapses fired to come up with this crazy title. Maybe it's the prebuscent hormones (okay, I was in my twenties when this flick came out) combined with the testosterone in Backdraft. You don't even notice Jennifer Jason Crazy or Rebecca DeMornay except as Beaten Down Love Interests of the stud lineup:

1. Russell
2. Baldwin
3. De Niro
4. Sutherland
5. Gedrick
6. with Richie Cunningham directing

Dish is weak. The men run into buildings for babies, they shake hoses everywhere, douse themselves in water, drink and vomit when things get rough, throw punches at the competition, threaten to burn things, and yell because they really love each other like brothers. Suffice it to say, I blew off Jonathan Rhys Meyers's stinkfest at Macy's. This is not much better but that's what Superman gets for leaving me home alone on a Friday night (with scotch).

Bullet Points

1. Michelle Obama gave a speech about equal pay for us broads. Stay-at-home-Mom? I think not!
2. I pulled a muscle in my jaw from sleeping on it funny. It hurts to eat = weight loss = happiness.
3. That hideous governor was impeached (he'll probably write a tell-all or be a on a reality show).
4. Superman gave Dish a beautiful necklace from Nigeria. I may be a loner at heart, but getting jewelry from a suitor is fun. This was the perfect gift.
5. Federer beat Roddick at the Australian Open.
6. I just started Clinton Kelly's Freakin' Fabulous, which is freakin' addictive. I love that man though haven't watched his TV show.
7. My delivery of Once and The Glimmer Man has arrived, not to mention I have Backdraft from Netflix. Am I leaving my apartment this weekend? No. Except possibly to see Jonathan Rhys Meyers sign Hugo Boss stink at Macy's.

Should Dish Smell What Jonathan's Cooking?

Dish will do anything to breathe celebrity oxygen. As I read today's Post, my eye was drawn to an invitation to meet Jonathan Rhys Meyers if you buy 65$ worth of the new Hugo Boss men's cologne. Dare I admit, I grabbed my scissors and cut out the ad? And that I might do it? My one fear: that Jonathan will infect me with Crazy from those laser-like eyes or that I'll start wearing men's cologne just because Jonathan squirted me. I'm not even that into The Tudors. Stay tuned.

Practicing Aloofness

It seems crazy that when you're aloof, XYs find you more intriguing. You have to be skinny. Or have great hair or one remarkable body part. You can't be too nice, smart, attentive, or accomplished. A little more of this but not too much of that. Did anyone tell this to Angelina Jolie? If so, she didn't listen. Ange seems to have everything (Brad, babies, box office allure, bisexuality, used to cut herself but recovered, loves knives, married Billy Bob, carried blood around her neck, is serious about charity) but has lived in all parts of the spectrum. As sick to death as I am of her in the news, I admire her. Just my thought for the day...

Crazy

In awards shows, I always wait for the one comment that proves an actor's insanity. Last night at the Sag Awards, Alec Baldwin livened up an otherwise snoresville event ("I used to build sets and watch the stars rehearse their lines. Then I became a star. Hello, I'm Madison Starlet and I'm an actor." zzzzzz) by saying he either wanted to make out with Diane Lane or Sir Anthony Hopkins. Brilliant! It would have been nice if Tony had publically acknowledged the offer. Man-love is so sweet.

Tonight, Dish waits for Superman's safe arrival and watching tonight's premiere of The Closer. Go Jon Tenney (who called me on my 40th birthday)!

The Magic of Steven

My obsession with Steven Seagal is no secret. I watch his movies before I travel, especially The Glimmer Man, where, in all his shimmering fatness and towering strength, Steven defeats someone bad. Also he gets Keenan Ivory Wayans to try powdered deer penis. It's genius stuff, helping me through all ills. Superman has been stranded in Nigeria, thinking he wouldn't get a plane til Tuesday. He turned on the television, surprised to see The Glimmer Man on his screen. Soon after, he received a call to pack up because they had a plane to take him to London.

See what happens when you hang with Dish? You get pert observations on celebs...and Steven Seagal good luck.

Flying the Unfriendly Skies

Poor Superman was supposed to be home by now, but alas, he now sits on a plane (11 hours late) that had made an emergency landing within 100 miles of his origins. British Airways is sending another plane to take them back to Abuju, Nigeria, where he'll start the whole journey over again. At times like this Superman needs to find his inner Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment, at least in terms of rebooking. She throws a gigantic tantrum to get Debra Winger her drugs--sort of how I feel after a week of no sleep and pharmaceuticals and a sledgehammer are the only cure. When channeling Shirl, one tends to cut through the BS to get the morphine. Superman has no problem arguing with someone who budges in line but can he conjure up a big hissy to get him on the first plane out of dodge and back to Dish?

As I wait for updates on potential passenger rioting, I have another pressing observation: Is it a coincidence or utter theft that the crew on The L Word go on a charity ride the same way as on QAF with their Liberty Ride? I expected someone to break their collarbone the way Brian does [aside: no one breaks anything but the beautiful lesbians play a sort of Truth or Dare which erupts in drama--so like us girls!]. Brian soldiered through, even riding on de-cancered testicles from Canada to Pittsburgh. What a trooper. Which again makes me think of Superman. Best wishes for his safe return!

Star Sighting

10:15 a.m.--on the train to Poughkeepsie: Delicious Paul Rudd sat with wife and son three seats from Dishfriend. He had his laptop open to a PDF of a script (excellent spying, DF!) and his son resembles Jonathan Lipnicki, asking what's this, what's that, who's that, why is this. I queried if Paul was hot in person. Dishfriend replied that Paul was so hot, he had a little accident.

L is for Love

Dish would like to highlight Mia Kirshner. Her self-absorbed character on The L Word is infuriating but, as with Cheetos, you're tempted to eat the entire bag. Or rather, Dish needs to stop eating Cheetos while watching The L Word and writing about celebs. With Mia-viewing, I soon realized: Oh, she's a actress! This dawned on me when she appeared on several episodes of 24, then The Black Dahlia. In each, she is different and haunting. Her character on Season 5 of The L Word bears little resemblance to the shaky girl of the first season. And she could totally be Amy Adams's twin in Scarybuthypnoticactressland.

I'll Allow It

Dish's daily run got exciting. Just as I settled in to a cool 12-minute mile pace, Sigourney Weaver flashed her cho-cho on The View. Did anyone else notice? When Britney, Lindsay and Paris do it, I'm horrified. Sigourney can get away with it. She didn't do it on purpose. If men wore skirts, they'd be flashing their junk everywhere, especially 90% of the XYs, who spread-eagle, on the NYC subway. I'm always tempted to say, "It's not that great that it needs two seats."

Covering the President's Balls

I'm spending the evening watching CNN to see the gowns, the dances, the hand-shaking. If I were in Washington, though, I'd hang with Malia and Sasha because, no doubt, they are having the most fun tonight. Imagine: a sleepover, Hannah Montana, ice cream sundaes, a kitchen filled with chefs whom you can terrorize, parents out till at least 2:30 a.m., and all your friends in a massive house. I'd be playing hall hockey, spraying whipped cream at guards, and stuffing my face.

During today's coverage, Dish was most impressed by the Wonder Women of Washington: Dr. Jill with her hot boots, 'Chelle decked out in joyful yellow, and Hills with a great new coif and her signature dark blue. I'm hoping they jazz up their environs, during which I'll fantasize about joining them for a girls night out filled with cigarettes, tequila, J.I. Jane and monster amounts of chocolate. Is that too much to ask? Tomorrow I'm getting those same boots, more yellow, and Hillary's haircut. Okay, maybe I'm a little Single White Female.

Inauguration is the new Ambien

There's nothing Dish wouldn't do for an Obama inauguration ticket, especially since I'd love to inappropriately touch the stars. Also, my favorite new celeb, Captain Sully, will be present. But as I watch coverage with Dishmama, catch glimpses of last night's concert, all I can say is: Boring McVomit.

If I have to witness another meaningful gathering where Beyonce, U2, Bruce Springsteen, and Sherryl Crow sing to "raise awareness," my cookies are spewing from every direction. I don't need to see Denzel, Tom Hanks or George Clooney gaze meaningfully into the sunset--a private moment caught unawares. Here's my idea of a concert worthy of Obama:

He can have two politically correct artists: The Dave Matthews Band, then Sting with his mandolin.

But after, bring on Prince who would rock the mall with "Let's Go Crazy," all while rhythmically stroking his guitar. I want some Twisted Sister singing "We're Not Going to Take It." KISS would get their freak on with "Lick It Up," which of course refers to licking up the mess W. left. The final group would be Chic with "Good Times." And for those crybabies, I will grant you a Celine Dion with "New Day" or "I Drove All Night." Please, anything but the same old. I know Obama has it in him to bring the house down. I saw him dance on Ellen.

Abe-y Baby: Celebrity #1

Obama has a huge man-crush on Abraham Lincoln, so much so I could see them accidentally kissing after football practice (maybe I have watched too much QAF). Around election day, BO was reading a Lincoln biography. Then he was nabbed visiting the Lincoln Memorial a few weeks ago. The Post published Obama's inaugural feast, which resembles Abe's simple fare. Obama totally has mentionitis about Abe in interviews lately and he just gave a short speech at the Lincoln Memorial (short, just like the Gettysburg Address???). We get it, you're in LOVE, Mr. President, and you're scouring the tabloids for any little Lincoln tidbit you can find. But you won't find Abe emerging topless from the Pacific Ocean!

Dish was so into Abe at age 9, read a million biographies, stared longingly at his mole and strange facial hair. I memorized speeches and pretended he could see me from his log cabin in the sky. I visited Abe's Mem last year and felt his hot spirit coursing through me. When ExBF16 snapped a photo of me, I was pale with love. I understand the fascination completely. These days I'm a Benjamin Franklin girl, but I blame Tom Wilkinson for this.

Saturday Bliss

After dreaming about serial killers--which Dish does often--I woke up gasping at 4:52 a.m. and tuned in to The Brady Bunch. Poor Bobby watched Cinderella and thought Florence Henderson was going to be a bitchy stepmonster so he decided to run away. Suitcase in hand, Miss Wessonality went right with him, proving her devotion. I was moved to tears and fell right back to sleep, the Hannibal Lecters of my psyche banished by a mother's love.

Today in television, beginning of Season 5 of The L Word. My favorites of the female Queer As Folk crew are the old broads--Jane Lynch, Holland Taylor, and Cybill Shepherd. These great actresses steal every scene from the young upstarts. Truth be told, if I lived on that show, I'd fall hard for Shane played by Katherine Moening. The girl is a sorceress (just like Brian Kinney), though I keep wanting to fix her freaking hair. It gets more crooked with each season. This might be to show her "rough edges" in contrast to the other lipsticked, coiffed, and beskirted characters.

Update: Superman arrived in Nigeria and went to visit a men's prison. A minor tussle occurred--probably over his blue cape and red tights--and he had to be escorted out. He saw the guards feeding live chickens to alligators. So glad I hear these things after the fact.

Seething Prettily

Dish is enraged--likely for no good reason. My favorite angry person is Judge Judy. She cuts through the crap and tells the truth. After Judes, I enjoy Al Pacino's rants. I'd love for either one to yell at me. Sadly, Dish went to the Jane Austen School of Rage. I'll make one absurd pronouncement then go back to my needlepoint, stewing for months.

Despite this minor (probably imaginary) ennui, I'm excited for a weekend of series viewing. I have two Nip/Tuck disks and Season 5 of The L Word. I plan to be pasty and stuffed with junk food by Sunday. I'm not sure if I like any of the characters on either show--in fact, they are mostly contemptible--but juiciness abounds!

Let the Right One In

If you attended last night's 8pm showing of Let The Right One In at the Angelika and saw a scared sh*tless woman dashing out in the middle, 'twas Dish. Who knew I was petrified of 12 y.o. girl vampires? The swedish thriller seemed fantastic but I'm still psychologically damaged. Will totally Netflix it.

Onto lighter thoughts, I couldn't avoid rubbernecking another episode of Rock of Love, where the babes competed for Brett's love by dry humping him. I realized: Brett Michaels may be a sad hasbeen, but he's brilliant, just like Jerry Springer.

You wanna know who else is brilliant? Gisele Bunchen. Years ago, I wondered: what's this plain girl doing on so many covers? On talk shows, I saw a little of her sparkle and her VS commercials were kinda hot. She has her own troubles, I'm sure, especially since Leo didn't bring her to the Oscars until right before they broke up. I'd have been pissed! She moved on to an athlete (much better to go with a businessman with a longer shelf life) and he seemed to lag in his career and had another babymama. Then over the holidays came the big announcement that they'd gotten engaged, complete with romantic scene on an airplane with flowers and champagne (like that ever happens). Dish thinks: Gisele leaked this faux-engagement story. It made Tom look stupid and lame for not proposing. Soon after, he did propose. Supposedly...

Dish might be totally cynical, of course. Love must exist in star circles, otherwise we're all screwed.

Two Simons and a Paul

The Mentalist disappointed me last night. To be a mentalist, you just need to smirk a lot, gaze knowingly at people, and tell them they're lying. At least, that's what Simon Baker did on the show. As usual, the witch character was made out to be so crazy as to be funny. Simon laughed at her...and smirked. The good thing: I've decided to add a new title to my name:

Dish Smith, MA in French Literature, Ph.D in Celebritology, and Mentalist

I had to switch back to American Idol, where Simon Cowell voiced my exact opinions on the candidates. He rolled his eyes, made fun of everyone, and got down to business. Would that everyone were so rash.

In other news and confessions: Paul McCartney secretly makes Dish brighten up on the inside. His music of the last thirty-ish years has added joy to my skipping heart. I like watching him sparkle (even though he's a card-carrying OMP) and flirt innocently with the babes on The View. Looking forward to his new CD.

Finally! Coming to a theater near Dish!

Falling for Grace is coming to NYC!!!!! April 3rd. Dish is marking calendar in INK. Must. See. Gale Harold. (and act completely ridiculous about it). Yay, Fay Ann Lee and her magnificent movie-making journey!!!

I've Had It!

Dish made a decision. Because I want to be like the stars, I will choose a meaningful name for my baby. Aluminum Foil Camera Smith. Aluminum foil sparkles and protects my food, therefore I love it. "Camera" for all the times I wish I'd brought my camera to capture special moments. The baby will remind me. Ben and Jen Affleck have named their latest child: Seraphina. Dish has a freaky name as well so no judgment here (!).

Tonight is full of ado: Dish enjoys the beginning of American Idol when they bring out the screaming crazies. Plus, I want to see if Paula and Kara scratch or sniff each other. Not sure the table is big enough for these four! At 9pm, I'll skip over to The Mentalist where Simon Baker will deal with witchcraft gone awry. I want to see how much they desecrate The Craft--so typical. By 10 pm, I'm wandering over to Mariska Hargita in SVU, praying her partially collapsed lung re-inflates. Our Get Well wishes are with you, Marish!

What else is on Dish's mind? Well, I wonder if Superman is safe in Cote D'Ivoire and Nigeria. My fears turn to rage when I remember what happens to Kyra Sedgwick in Singles. She gets her sweetheart ready for his trip overseas then catches him with another woman at a local club. I mentioned this to the superhero and he laughed. "That's funny," he said, not disputing my paranoia.

Aluminum Foil, where's my beer and snacks!?

Golden Globes Rundown

Last night's ceremony was a little snoozy but Dish made a few observations:

Sting's hair/beard = scary!

First "Oh My God" at the beginning of speech goes to Anna Paquin.

Bruce Springsteen was freakishly hot. To paraphrase a friend, I'd like to hire whoever worked on him.

Dish is so over Johnny Depp and his coolness.

Who seemed drunkest: Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore

Best hair shelaqued to the head: J.Lo

Who tickled our fancy: Ricky Gervais

Best Golden Globes: 1. Salma Hayek 2. Beyonce 3. Eva Longoria

Naturally luminous: Catherine Keener

Cecil B. DeMille speech: Am tired of these white boys, but Spielberg is articulate in a sea of dullards. Gotta fess up that Jaws is and will always be my favorite movie.

Upset: Colin Farrell winning for In Bruges, but he was amazingly brilliant in that little gem.

Most improved but still not there: Maggie Gyllenhaal. Loved the colors but the dress should have fit her body better. She looks ravishing in bold blues, teals, reds.

Kudos to Kate Winslet for her double win. She was armed to the teeth with a Holocaust movie, practically naked in every scene of The Reader, and reteaming with Leo. Can't beat them guns.

Best dressed for men: They all looked the same, i.e. boring! Though Dish wanted to mess up Simon Baker's hair. How cute is he?

Dish's pick for best dress: J. Lo. If you have to go to the Globes with your pale eel of a husband, cover yourself in gold, baby. I don't care what love handles came sliding out. She was gorgeous.

Sissy, Can You Hear Me?

Yesterday, Superman left for a two-week biz trip to war-torn regions of Africa. I'd made him a list of what to pack, including Tums, granola bars, water, and Advil. He got his shots and prescriptions. Despite all preparation, Dish has already adopted her Sissy Spacek-in-Missing persona and is in drama-queen flashback mode over the good times--the endless Jim Carrey and Judd Apatow movies, his success at getting me to try octopus, my spilling a drink on him during a movie, all the cake and cookies we've consumed. In Missing, Sissy's husband goes missing and she returns to the region to investigate and follow the path leading to her husband's fate. It's emotional and haunting. What would I do if Superman went missing? What would be appropriate after dating only three months? At 6'4, oblivious to danger, and very into pastels, he's an easy mark. Dish will try to forget and focus on work, or rather, tonight's Golden Globes. If anything can distract me, it's the stars!

The Steps to Losing Fame

As I watched the new season of Rock of Love, my gag reflex came out of hiding. Poor semi-bloated 80s rocker Brett Michaels needs to have a reality show where he can get laid as much as possible long after his professional heyday. The candidates don't seem to have passed the eighth grade and the amount of money spent on implants would feed a small country. It made me sad, mostly because the reality show craze seems focused on 1. making nobodies famous for two minutes--usually while embarrassing themselves 2. a convenient way for hasbeens to reclaim glory. I pondered further and came up with key steps stars follow in their downfalls, including desperate attempts to get back that fame instead of accepting gracefully that those fifteen minutes are GONE!

Here's what happens to famous people:

1. Reach peak freakishly
2. Lavish in fame, look gorgeous, stay single in public eye
3. Naked pics leak?
4. Media turns on you or gets bored
5. Date/get married far too soon; laughable how wrong this spouse is for you
6. After wedding spread, media gets bored again but looks for "bump"
7. Next album/TV show/film bombs heinously
8. Quick fix with new album/show/film--no one cares
9. Rumors of drugs/alcohol/eating disorder
10. Sex tape leaks around time of movie release
11. Coy appearance on talk show explaining self
12. Backfires, more boredom
13. Rehab
14. Years spent in strange oblivion, maybe adopt a child?
15. Act New Agey/discover Jesus/join AA or Church of Scientology in order to network
16. Bad plastic surgery, mocked
17. Back into rehab
18. Appearance on family type show or Lifetime movie--not your best work but pays bills.
19. Busted for DUI
20. Given reality show which lasts two minutes or however long you want to practice acquiring STDs--wearing strange wig is key to keeping attention off puffiness!
21. If female, this is the long road to death; If male, you marry second wife who is twenty-three (and get a reality show spinoff).
22. Seclusion until fun cameo appearance--outrageousness forgotten! Offered substantial part as old fart, entertainment show host, grandmother, quirky over the hill broad--possible freakish award nomination.
23. Second face lift and butt fat put into lips.

Or some such...I fully realize my peak was reached at age 13 when I won a big award at school. The entire auditorium stood and cheered, my family was there, the papers covered my amazingness, and I was a star.

Running Behind!

Dish is frantic! The Golden Globes are this weekend and I had it marked down as the Sag Awards. As if! Speaking of Sag Awards and Oprah/universal fatness, Dish is noticing the emergence of batwings under her arms. I've had old lady hands since I'm 14. This all just means I'll make more noise when I clap over lame "Oh my God!" acceptance speeches. I love the Golden Globes because everyone is either drunk or high when they go up on stage. Live it up, I say!

A special Golden Globe for Superman whose birthday is today. Last night we watched There's Something About Mary (nothing with subtitles, of course). Love that flick, especially when after Ben realizes he's going to the prom with Cameron Diaz, he smiles and flashes a mouth full of metal.

Blubber

I've wanted to address Oprah's fat for weeks now. Oprah is always beautiful and I'm freaked out by all the attention she gets from her diets. I prefer Fat Oprah to Skinny Oprah. Let's call a Twinkie a Twinkie: She's never going to be a stick and shouldn't try. If she can be healthy, what else does she need? I say: buy roomy clothes, move more, eat less and smile. It's hard to keep the weight off when you age and sit on a couch interviewing people. My butt has doubled in size from ten years ago. Take heart, fat-asses: Perez Hilton included an article on his blog about how female butt fat shows you're healthy, so I'll continue to bump into floor lamps and tables, thank you very much. With all the angst over the Gaza strip, I'm so not caring about Oprah's love handles.

New topic: Relationships involve a certain amount of diaper-changing. Superman is our activity planner and I make sure he looks both ways before flying around busy airspace. Lately, it seems as if we focus entirely on his crime-fighting life. I've been okay with this since that means we don't have to focus on mine. A miracle occurred. Backstory: Months ago, I told Superman that January 8th was the worst day of my life. I said it once and figured he forgot. Surprise of all time--he called me to ask me about my emotional state (which is perky) and wants to take me out tonight. I feel loved. This beats the fact that I no longer fit into my favorite pants from 15 years ago!

Rainy Day Sunshine

I popped in Hotel Rwanda--you know, that light romantic comedy starring Don Cheadle. As I got into it I realized: this is so not a romantic comedy about a feisty journalist who gets seduced by a quirky yet dashing hotel manager. Hotels are sexy, fun, where anything can happen as long as the bed is made and you accidentally give a room key to two people (oh wait, that's Ready to Wear!). In hotels, you could meet a handsome politician and even though you're the Puerto Rican maid, he'll fall in love with you (oops, Maid in Manhattan). No, Hotel Rwanda is about freaking genocide! Violence, chaos, families in ruin when evil rebels go on a killing spree. Nice and honorable Don Cheadle tries to save everyone. It's kinda like a black Schindler's List but less sentimental (this is how I could get death threats from Spielbergcandonowrong-aholics). Overall, I liked the flick, learned about an area beyond Chelsea and I appreciate Don beyond his singing talent in Jimmy Kimmel's "I'm f*cking Ben Affleck" music video. Well, Don is always good. Bottom line: if you want sex, romance, lightness, don't rent Hotel Rwanda! If you long to feel plugged into vital parts of global history and ache for Oscar-calibre performances, do!

Epiphanies and Gala Apples

ExBF16 passed on a love for Gala apples to me. Like soup, apples seemed like BS. Then over the holidays, I tried to combat my sugar addiction with apples. Why not try the apple my ex ate? It was a healthy yet warped way to bond with the past. Now I understand: Galas are delicious. If Superman and I break up, I'm sure I'll start drinking fruity alcohol and chewing straws.

New subject: Al Franken in politics--I'm enjoying this. Forty-one years ago, as I walked through an Albuquerque chain, I noticed he'd written a book with a political slant. How fun to see a passionate person go from entertainment to public service (though they are kinda the same thing).

And now, Dish will relax with A Fish Called Wanda. Superman approved my choice, though it's a little too fast for him. While a brilliant superhero with Good Will Hunting/A Beautiful Mind brain freakiness, he prefers obviousness over subtlety. This isn't surprising since Superman wore red tights. If that's not obvious, I don't know what is.

Hitch + Superman = Monday Night Party Central

This will be short since Superman has no idea what I'm doing as he plays marathon poker and merges souls with Jim Carrey in Me, Myself & Irene (don't care for this one). We just watched Hitch and must say Amber Valletta is my favorite (along with the fat guy). Crap!

Dish might have been caught. I want to keep this blog a secret for as long as possible...Then again, Superman doesn't read.

First Star Sighting of 2009!!!

1/3/09, 6:15, 20th and 6th Avenue: Dish was right behind a tallish blond man, carrying a shopping bag. As he turned in profile, I noted he had The Longest and Pointiest Nose Ever. Could it be? The light changed and I ran to match his long strides. Yes, I really followed Julian Sands. Around 21st street, he pulled out a headband to combat the cold. After this, he gifted me with a flash of profile again and I wondered if he'd caught Dish mid-stalking. As we reached the middle of 22nd, he turned into Burlington Coat Factory and I had to send sharp warning flares to my conscious mind: Leave gorgeous Julian alone!!! And that's just what I did. (am curious as to what deals he found in BCF)

Dish Using Brain???

Damn that Christiane Amanpour for her hypnotic reporting. Dish has been hooked to the Gaza situation all day. I'm not sure about the history of the Gaza strip, just that it's been going on forever, since I was little. Why Gaza when Donny and Marie were so much more fun? Can't we all just get along?

First things first: to stop this brain power enhancement immediately. Dish is on her way to Superman's house. Lucky for me, his movie taste ranges from Die Hard to Knocked Up.

Very Tragic Event...with Fascinating Coverage

Of course, I'm mourning from a distance the death of Jett Travolta. Can't even imagine what it's like to lose a child you've loved forever. Like many, I'm scouring headlines...finding mostly "John Travolta's Son Dies" (as opposed to "John Travolta and Kelly Preston's Son Dies") and super-rare pictures of the son but several of their gorgeous daughter Ella. I unearthed only two pics of Jett in a sea of John Travolta. I understand keeping a child sheltered from the media and those headline-greedy bloggers (such as Dish). But I'm secretly suspicious (cynical) of the omissions. My condolences to both the mother and father of Jett Travolta, not to mention the little sister who has to grow up without her brother.

Amy is the New Nicole

When I watch Amy Adams, I see big blue eyes, red ringlets and easy access to intense emotions. She reminds me of Nicole Kidman before she got breathy and blond (and lifted). I see Amy having a long career and it's heartening that she didn't need marriage to a superstar to bring her into the mainstream (not that there's anything wrong with that). I enjoy both actresses, though I'm not altogether sure Amy wouldn't suddenly stab my hand with a fork just for fun. For the New Year, Dish enjoyed Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day and feels Frances McDormand is one of the most beautiful women on the planet.