Ike and Tina: Take 2

If rumors are true: Rihanna reconciled with Chris Brown after he smacked the bejebus out of her. I don't blame her. I love it when my man throws me across a room, suffocates me with a pillow, then drops me from high places. The more black/blue on my pale-as-a-ghost skin, the better! After a week, the bruises turn a faint yellow and I get to wear sunglasses and look like a moviestar hiding plastic surgery. Smacking adds depth to our relationship because his emotions are so complicated. He had a hard childhood, his daddy hit him so it's not his fault. Really, the more he hits me, the more he loves me.

Just kidding! When is hitting okay (unless it's done by Shirley MacLaine, Susan Lucci or Joan Collins)? Dish is thankful never to have been smacked--it would only happen once and I'd press big-time charges, especially since I've witnessed friends going through an abusive mate. It's ugly and *never* winds up being a one-time freak-out. I just hope Rihanna doesn't end up dead.

Sorry, no picture of them. I can't stand the sight of them right now. I'll go with my fall-back: the one who has nothing to do with this post and is a soothing balm to all domestic abuse: Gale Harold.

"Governor Facelift"

That's what Kathy Griffin called Schwarzeneggar (sp? oh, who cares). As Superman graced me with his last hour on land, we watched True Lies and ate sushi. Somehow, he got me to eat crab and salmon tartare, all while watching Jamie Lee Curtis rock that little black dress and tote a machine gun. It all adds up: Superman is a spy. The purpose of this trip to Africa is to bring down a big illegal cartel, not partake in financial medical conference things. I'm so pulling out my black dress and ensuring passport readiness, you know, just in case.

In gossip, I made myself watch The Insider and Entertainment Tonight. Felt very curious to check out Mary Hart's age: 58. Wondered how often co-hosts could say the words "fun" and "lots." The answer is: very often.

Business Trip to Africa = Secret Family?

So Superman informed Dish that tomorrow's trip to Nigeria/Ethiopia will last two weeks, not one. He claimed I already knew this. As he described the many meetings he'll attend, the slides he's preparing, my eyes glazed over and I'm now watching Snapped, where women kill their spouses. It makes me feel better. Remember in Along Came Polly when J-Aniston says her father had a whole other secret family? Dish can see it already. Maybe I'll get more presents out of this.

I say thank you to Access Hollywood, who is not covering Octomom anymore. Dr. Phil, on the other hand, is whoring it up with many shows on the psycho mother. Every time I see her on TV, I turn it off.

And yes, I did dream about Jude Law last night. We were at a gala, and I told him his face was too fat. He blushed. Immediately, I backpedaled, which only dug a deeper hole: Jude, take a look at Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts (who were seated nearby). They have long, narrow faces, therefore make more money.

Coincidence? I Don't Think So!

Did anyone else notice how Katie looks like Suze now? I have no problem with KC going butch (you should see me today), especially if it boosts her in ratings. It's less threatening to some than her sexy blond bombshell look. Katie always perks me up and I enjoy the psychology behind the appearance changes. Butch is the new black! Even Dish cut her hair, but I fear I'll always look like a nineteenth century seamstress with alabaster skin, red hair and a taste for clothes that make my body disappear.

Dish enjoyed Obama last night but he didn't break me. I didn't cry once, not even when he read that adorable girl's letter. Sniff. Bottom line: Michelle has smokin' arms, but I wish she'd covered them just this once. It's winter. And while I appreciate the big picture, Obama should get his facts straight: We did not invent the automobile. The Germans invented the gasoline engine which was placed in a French car. So take that: the Nazis and the Frogs are responsible (Facts received from a highly reliable source--Dish has a fleet of historians at her disposal). We did invent everything else, though, and we're spreadin' liberty throughout the land.

Daddy, Tell Me a Bedtime Story

Dish has had a trying day. I say with love that Superman is slightly Benjamin Button in that he's aging backwards and is now in diapers. He needs a lot of organizing--which I'm deliriously happy to do (he's that handsome)--and today I'm ready to fall over from fatigue. Bear in mind, if he texted me to help him make a to-do list for his next mission, I'm already on Item #12.

Two more errands and I'll be home. What am I looking forward to most? Obama's speech at 9pm ET (I must be *really* tired). I can't wait for Daddy to tell me how he'll kiss the nation's boo boos and make them better. Either that or I'm so sleep-deprived and O's drone is kinda laxatative in a good way.

Oscar

The complaining about Oscar hosts post-Billy Crystal bores me. That little twerp was good but Hugh Jackman delivered. The dazzling opening number gave me goosebumps, especially when my arch-nemesis, Anne Hathaway, showed off her pipes. Yes, I hate her because Superman adores All-American brunettes. Even I had to admit she's multi-faceted (with huge teeth). Other thoughts:

Mickey Rourke looked fantastic in white. Good hair, excellent glittering pinky ring.

Sarah Jessica has had work done. We were trying to figure out what but got only as far as cheek implants.

My party praised Marisa Tomei, thought she should have won for letting the cameras explore her nakedness in The Wrestler.

Speaking of nakedness, Kate won, which was no surprise. Enjoyed her father's whistle.

Loved Amy Adams's necklace and dress, just not together.

I asked innocently if Barbara Walters had had a facelift and my party laughed uproariously.

Every time they flashed on Frank Langella, I couldn't help but remember his running naked in Lolita.

Was Beyonce lip-synching and "does the Pope sh*t in the woods?" as someone in my party asserted.

We loved Meryl Streep's gunbattle gray dress and elegant hair.

Sean Penn can call me a "commie, homo-loving son of a gun" anytime. His butt looked great in jeans throughout Milk. Oscar for his butt's performance alone.

The shot of Angelina during Jennifer Aniston's presentation was gross.

As I thought, PC awards to all! Harvey Milk won over a rueful wrestler. Twin Towers, poverty in India, cleft palates, Nazi Germany and its horrors, and a dead actor (who really should have won for Brokeback Mountain!). Not that I'm complaining--just noticing a long-time trend!

The Oscars and Apologies to Duran Duran

Like the jealous girlfriend who thinks the lipstick on her boy's collar is suspicious when it's actually juice from his bloody roast beef sandwich, Dish made a bad call on the "Tempted" video. As far as I can see, it was made by a horny teen with spliced footage of Duran Duran from other videos. I was rash and made assumptions that Duran Duran wanted to see women pole-riding to their music. Forgive me, boys. I know virtue exists and this knowledge saves me from despair.

On to Oscars, Superman and I are going to a party filled with my family of gay men. It will be Heaven for me. Could be Heaven for Superman if he plays his cards right. Most straight men I know secretly enjoy attention from all sides. I predict Hugh Jackman will charm the knickers off everyone--animal, vegetable, mineral--and the Politically Correct movies/actors (except for Mickey Rourke, but his face has been through hell and he rescues dogs so give him a freaking award!!!) will take home awards (not that this is a bad thing).

Old Fart Cinema

Dish is drowning in work. To clear my brain's palate, I indulged in three movies, all dealing with cranky bastards over 65.

The Straight Story: Oscar nominated and practically diapered Richard Farnsworth takes a tractor 300 miles to visit his ailing brother. RF is so cute, I wanted to sit by the campire and roast weiners with him. Unfortunately for me and the world of film, he's dead.

The Visitor: Oscar nominated Richard Jenkins is so bored he takes up drums in the subway, all while getting wrapped up in an immigration issue. So glad they didn't plonk in a gratuitous love scene, though Dish is always ready to watch geezer sex.

American Splendor: Paul Giamatti looks about 65 and always plays an unlikeable person. When I realized about five minutes in that the film was set in Cleveland, I turned it off. I haven't got time for the pain.

Kathy Griffin was luminous and delightfully offensive. Stopped counting all the f-bombs at 100. Hoping to see Fleetwood Mac next....

You Know It's Time To Turn Off the TV When...

...you can quote lines from Serendipity--the romantic comedy starring a strange-haired John Cusack and dainty Kate Beckinsale.

Scene setting: J and K skate in Central Park soon after meeting. I do that when I meet strange men in department stores and we fake-fight over cheesy gloves. We go get hot chocolate at Serendipity, then skate. So J and K exchange information, making themselves seem amazing when they probably pick their noses in secret (and eat it).

K: Favorite New York moment?
Pause as they sniff each other and take in the power of the glance.
J: This one's climbing the charts.

Okay, I might leave it on to see loveable John Corbis play a Fabio-esque version of Kenny G. Thank the Goddess for Kathy Griffin whom I'm seeing at MSG in an hour and a half! She rocks my world.

Why My Love for Duran Duran is Like Obama's Love for Reverend Wright

You can't turn away from someone you've loved for 26 years even when they offend you. Despite Dish's nausea over their latest "Tempted" video and their artistic (completely lame) montage with Russian models on their CD, I worship any/every Duran Duran molecule. Secret information gathered from friends who may have brushed um elbows with them hasn't soured my love (obsession). 95% of the time: they make me deliriously happy.

A couple weeks ago, I trolled iTunes to hear John Taylor singing "I Do What I Do," the theme to 9 and 1/2 Weeks. At 18, I thought he was a brilliant singer, a hidden gem. At 40, I listened and said to my cat, "Man, he was blitzed!"--shades of Kanye sans tuner on SNL. It reminded me of how after six years of doing aerobics, thinking I was amazingly athletic, I watched myself on film and was mortified at my bull-in-china-shop moves. Musician Dishstepbrother tells me John Taylor has become one of the best bassists in the world. Simon has a memorable voice but writes incomprehensible lyrics sometimes and gets caught with his hand down his speedo (the image is etched for immediate recall). Nick can't seem to shed his inner Andy Warhol going on 25 years now, but when he smiles, the arena lights up. People are complex.

I've gone through a John phase, Simon phase, Andy Phase, Roger Phase, Nick phase, then back to a John/Simon (dangerous man sandwich) phase. You can't write a 50-page term paper on Duran Duran and emerge unscathed. Now if only I could find the embarrassing document...

Gossip Girl Star Sighting

5:55pm, The Half King on 23rd and 10th: Dish was enjoying happy hour with K. when K. gushed under her breath: Gossip Girl right behind you. My nerve ending came to life as I turned. Ed Westwick. He was like a little mussed up Ken doll. I could have totally beaten him up. He dropped a lot of f-bombs, then stomped and clapped. Quite benign, though, and British.

Quick Draw

At Superman's. He's in bathroom staring at self. Quick post. Amy Sedaris on last night's The Closer--Fab'lous. I celebrate the parents that conceived of and gave birth to Amy. She's the best thing to happen to the show.

Armed and Dangerous

While contemplating Foucault and doing complex mathematics, I feel charged to confess my awe of Kelly Ripa's arms. I manage to watch Live with Regis and Kelly when home on weekdays, mostly for Kelly's witty improv. I've followed her from pudgy teen on All My Children to her now stick figuredness in bright dresses on Live. It's nice to see a skinny b*tch with brains. If I had three children, a job like hers, and a hot husband, my metabolism would skyrocket too. Her ferocious arms (minus tanning makeup) only add to her excellence. Just watch the show and notice when she's sleeveless. It made me run to the gym.

Now Dish is going to go play with her batwings.

Not Tempted

Dish procrastinated by going through Duran Duran's library of videos, which is my crack cocaine. Sadly, my salivating ceased instantly over the video for "Tempted." It's all about women making out, sliding around stripper poles (so five years ago and for female celebs desperate to get into the Post), tempting and writhing in bikinis--while the band sings. Is this supposed to make me think they're cool and artistic instead of gross and cliche? Duran Duran has been ahead of its time in several ways: Simon brushed his hair forward long before Rob Thomas made it popular. The song "Too Much Information" (which has the popular TMI acronym) warns of technology's oppression over humans. Perez Hilton kind of named his book something similar to their latest CD. Now, DD needs to get hip and stop alienating its female fan base. We know they're tempted by tall, skinny models. Thank the goddess, we fat clumsy slobs are safe!
Now delaying work by watching lipstick lesbian romantic comedy Imagine Me & You.

Records Broken and Broken Records

Dish has never done this before: 3 movies going at once. Hamlet 2, which is hell on earth and gets 3 Cat Turds as a rating. I Do (But I Don't), starring Denise Richards whom I secretly love--or maybe I just love Lifetime and movies about wedding planners. Then...Ordinary People and I'm at the point where Conrad is about to learn that Karen committed suicide. This scene always makes me cry and I'm saving it up.

Happy Valentine's Day to all. After working myself into a good mad, I encountered my super who arrived with a big bouquet of fuscia roses. He tried to take credit but they were from Superman. It's nice that at my jaded stage of life, someone can still surprise me.

Deep Dish Pizza

I've been thinking about Octo-mom. It's easy to hate her but I feel sad that she's such an attention whore. This whoredom is viral with the Internets and reality TV. The more focused on screens, the more people want to be on them. Now everyone is capitalizing on Octo-mom. Instead of ignoring and banishing such outrageousness, she's on TV all the time. Angelina is weighing in and Dr. Phil just did a whole show. Oops. Never mind all the above.

So--back to better topics. Dish had a very frustrating Gale Harold dream last night. I'd heard he was in NYC, attending some continuing education Improve Yourself seminar. Great, I thought! Time to follow him. I saw this tall, lanky perfect-haired fellow walking toward a non-descript building in Chelsea and I had to be in his air space. I was close enough to see he wore rouge (just like Dish!). Got into the seminar and sat behind my motorcycle-accidented heartthrob. I leaned closer, then closer...and IT WASN'T GALE! Alas, I was stuck in this seminar....

As a ps. stay tuned for Superman Valentine's details. I've been okay with crumbs but if I get a measly Valentine's text tomorrow, he is truly out the door. Dish can do better! Thanks to He's Just Not That Into You for setting me back on track.

He's Just Not That Into You...

...was a bit of a predictable snore. Wouldn't see it again, but it's a pleasant rental. Netflix will ensure you won't have smack-worthy giggling idiots sitting behind you, as Dish did. Mid-flick, I came to a startling realization: I like Jennifer Aniston. Every time she came on screen, the energy lifted. The media portrays her as the sad ex-wife who lost Brad to Angelina, but she's the lucky one. Not only is she out of the baby factory, she's beholden to no one and looks great.

Ginnifer Goodwin and Jennifer Connelly were fabulous, too. The funnest part was when they got comiserated and supported one another. The men in the movie were stereotypes (cheating spouse, beer-guzzler, gay boyfriend who knows everything, sad puppy, guy who can't commit, and overall d*ckhead). Enter at your own risk!

I don't recommend spending 12$ unless you have two hours to kill and are bored with everything around you.

Ironing and TV

Chapter 453 of Living in the Past: Dish watched a little Ordinary People while ironing tonight. As I singed my fuscia pillow case, leaving a lovely iron mark, I could help noticing how amazing Mary Tyler Moore was. She has one bad scene where she shakes and her face falls apart, but otherwise, she's flawless as the frigid mother who tries to keep up appearances. She may not be warm at home, but she loves to golf and party. It goes without saying, Donald Sutherland is his usual hotness, but I'm keeping a lid on my love.

Valentine's Day, the ickiest day of the year, approaches. Superman will be in Florida and I have two 10$ bets that he'll forget me on VD altogether. Lucky for me, I have some special gay boyfriends ready to pick up the slack. Watch out, Chelsea!

It's Me Who Needs Rescuing

Five years later I watch Rescue Me. I want to love it. 9/11 sucked and I support everyone who gave their lives to saving others. I was busy sniveling and watching TV at the time. Denis Leary deserves accolades for this tremendous project and his devotion to firefighters puts him closer to saintliness. But I hate the show. I'll keep watching but I hate it. (I'll mention that his ex-wife plays twins in Change of Place starring 80s hunka-burning-love Rick Springfield, but that's neither here nor there)

Dish is feeling the blues--not sure if it's the onslaught of Valentine's Day, Rescue Me or my sesame noodles didn't hit the spot. Or it could be the homeless man who spit on me today.

John Rubinstein is Recession Proof

Imagine Dish's surprise to see John as MJ's headmaster on Desperate Housewives, then on Brothers & Sisters as someone else! On DH, John was nice enough to admit Teri Hatcher's adorable son to his school and give her a job (even though she ruined my life twice by marrying Jon Tenney then by having the audacity to make out with Gale Harold on the show). I fell asleep in the middle of B&S so don't remember what John did. Rest assured, my last thought was of John, the excellent nasally Pippin of Broadway past, and how fortunate he was to have two lucrative jobs. At his age, you only hope to get cast as a child molester/fertility specialist on Law & Order: SVU, but John has transcended L&O squalor. He is the light. He is a double-working actor.

And how cool that Sally Field is having relations with Lindsay from Chariots of Fire? It's the only entertaining part of B&S this season. Lindsay is the funnest and might rival Donald Sutherland for my OMP affections.

Bride Wars

The dinner between Superman and Dishmama went off without incident. S and I had competing acne breakouts and he spilled water over my place setting but that was it for drama.

Today, I tried to see He's Just Not That Into You. Sold out for the rest of the evening, even with the bad reviews. I dragged Dishbrother and Dishbrothersweetheart to see Bride Wars, starring promising actresses Kate Hudson and Anne Hathaway. While the flick had no basis in reality and Kate should never do bangs again, I laughed a little. It was slightly Beaches with one bombastic character and her eager-to-please best friend--except no one died of cancer. Kate deals with weight issues (like Bette Midler) as Anne sports a string bean form with long black hair (like Barbara Hershey). Worth a Netflix rental if it's raining out, you want to eat a whole pan of brownies and have nowhere to go.

Favorite part: the preview of Julia Roberts's new movie with Clive Owen. I was so dazzled by Julia, I had to hold my brother's hand. Want desperately to be her best friend and I would get bangs if she asked me to....

The Great Mother

Tonight, Dish brings Superman to meet Dishmama, Dishstep and Dishbrother. For some reason, I'm not nervous. Having delivered a parade of freaks to my family, nothing fazes them anymore. I've lived through The Family Stone, Meet the Parents, Home for the Holidays and ever other horror show involving relatives and boyfriends. Survival involves my helping serve and clear dishes. Also, Dishmama is a pro, not at all like Diane Keaton from The Family Stone. In this flick, Di makes an icy Sarah Jessica Parker feel like a Martian. By contrast, Dishmama will pile food on Superman's plate, solicit his superior knowledge of finance and changing lightbulbs, gush over his insight, then bully him into taking food home. Superman will leave feeling as if he's the King of the World, without quite realizing why. That's the magic of Dishmama: everyone is welcome (except for misogynist commentators during Hillary Clinton's campaign).

Here's Why I Could Totally Be The Duchess:

1. I wouldn't mind doing my wifely duty once a year with Ralph Fiennes.
2. Except for one instance of rape, moving his mistress (my ex best friend) into the house, and acting like it's my fault that I had two girls, Ralph would be the ideal husband: he doesn't talk much, his blazing eyes are mildly hot, he has money/title, he might die first and I'd already know He's Just Not That Into Me, i.e is a d*ckhead with ingredients listed outright.
3. The wigs alone are amazing.
4. If Ralph grosses me out, I could close my eyes and imagine...um...George Washington?
5. Seems to me drink was freeflowing in 1774 and Keira imbibed so much she set her hair on fire. If only she'd had an electric guitar and could bite the head of a rat, the scene would've been epic!

My favorite moment: Keira and Dominic double-act and should receive Oscars. Not only do they play Georgiana and Charles, but at a party, they pretend to be acquaintances (when they're secretly in love). Double the talent!

Poor Keira Knightley, though. She thinks LOVE conquers all in The Duchess. Whatever happened to marriage as a business arrangement? Marrying the one you love is so 50 years ago. If she were smart, she would have hidden her extramarital exploits, downed tons of port and collected the $$$. Oh dear, look how cynical Dish is. Bunnies and kittens bunnies and kittens bunnies and kittens...

Stop Hating, Women!

Shame on you, Faye Dunaway and Etta James, for dissing the younger women trying to create their own legends. You had your time as tootsies in the spotlight. Sure, I wouldn't be happy if Britney Spears played me in the story of my life, but I would let her do it and not be bitter (maybe a little, but I'd keep it to myself). Witness the latest catfight that makes women laughable in the public eye and brings us all down: Faye Dunaway said they should have cast a "real actress" instead of Hillary Duff for the new Bonnie & Clyde movie. (Did anyone SEE Mommie Dearest?) Hillary should have taken the high road and praised Faye as an icon--she didn't. Etta is enraged that Beyonce sang HER song at the inauguration. Celine Dion also sang that song on her CD, New Day. I plan to dance to it at my wedding (that will take place in the Age of Hellfire). How could Etta be mad when she's often a solution in the New York Times crossword puzzle? True, I am more into listening to Duran Duran than Beyonce but Ms. B. did an amazing job. I don't blame wanting to grasp as much spotlight as possible (hello, blogging?) but, as Whitney Houston once said, I believe the children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way.

On that note, I'm going to watch Ralph Fiennes act all constipated and Keira Knightley sport Louis XIV hairdos in The Duchess.

Ps. Dissing seems to be infectious! Stephen King just smacked around Stephenie Meyer, James Patterson, and Dean Koontz for being "terrible" writers. This from someone who writes 1,000 pages for what would be captivating (i.e. edited) prose at 400! That's the problem when you have no synopsis and just feel like filling up pages with "brilliant thoughts" (no one cares about). Oh wait, now Dish is dissing. (Loved On Writing, SK!). Never mind!

Paul in the Mall

As we witnessed Steven Seagal's impaling of a pesky fighter in Jesus formation over a sharp fence, I mentioned to Superman about the discrimination between fat women and fat men in Hollywood. He perked up when I rambled about Paul Blart and Kevin James. So, of course, we're seeing Paul Blart: Mall Cop in a couple hours. I'll confess: I want to bask in visions of a fat boy riding a scooter to fight crime in a mall. I want to belly-laugh as he runs into things, falls down, busts out of his too tight uniform and jiggles. I'll save my serious movie viewing--Doubt, Slumdog Millionaire and Milk for the weekend. Oh, and I'm reading The New Yorker again so I'm allowed a little Paul Blart. Or rather, a lot of Paul Blart.

Steven, Please Help Us

In a world covered in snow. One woman, Dish, is under the weather and blowing her nose into takeout napkins. Her fearless counterpart, Superman, is a little crabapple from work (undiagnosed ADD). What they need: Steven Seagal (cue big boots walking through a saloon door, shot of hideous long jacket) in The Glimmer Man. Can Dish rally, haul her cookies back out into the snow (read: Superman is bossy AND lazy), DVD in hand, for that one chance to help them both?

Steven, it's up to you.

Self-Righteous Pill

With a glad heart (and perhaps a fever), Dish sat down to watch Righteous Kill, starring fabulous OMPs Robert De Niro and Al Pacino (FYI--the leather jackets = automatic enhancer of kewl!). This extravaganza begins with a montage of measuring "whose is bigger." B&A compete in shooting, chess, chasing bad guys but they're brothers who love the badge and the gun, especially the big, hot sweaty gun. I knew one of them would be schtupping a too-young babe and that's when goddess Carla Gugino appeared, egging on Bobby to do it to her harder. The little vixen has been flashing her wherewithal all over since playing the mom in Spy Kids. Wonder if she's afraid of being typecast as the good girl? In any case, Bobby and Al drop tons of F bombs, threaten 50 Cent, call everyone a bunch of Mother-Fellas and play pranks to bring down a vigilante killer. The ending was a flipping over of Heat, though you don't have the cool soundtrack. In fact, this film is as deadly as up-close-and-personal cat flatulence.

Nothing could dampen my spirits, especially since I received a nice thank you note from Shirley MacLaine. Well, her assistant wrote it. And he invited me to visit her website. I did just that. But there was nothing about me.

More About Fat Boys

Once I thought about Hollywood fatness, I couldn't stop. What would happen if Jack Black, Seth Rogen and Kevin James lost weight? They'd be average, slightly peculiar geekazoids (the ones who never have sex in high school and are so filled with pent-up rage they wind up as movie producers and starlet breakers). In some ways, they sacrifice their health for their craft, just as women do. The more fat they wield and flop into pools, dousing tanners within half a mile, the more they can feed their families. Fat can be unsightly, but on these cats, it's cute, right? And it gets them laid in Shallow Hal, Knocked Up and Hitch. For serious lard, can we look at Tom Hanks since he stopped acting as much, and Liev Schreiber's post baby? The latter looked a little puffy in today's Post. Hmmm, if I were to watch the Super Bowl, I'd see litheness. Because football players are not fat. It's all muscle underneath those costumes.

Boys fat in talent and athleticism: Dish's kudos go to Nadal and Federer who played a punishing match in Australia. I was touched by Federer's tears, though my corazon belongs to Nadal.