Watch Out, Boys, She'll Chew You Up

Verdict on Maneater, the Lifetime miniseries starring rubbery Scrubs actress Sarah Chalke: It's so bad, I almost turned it off after four minutes. A 30-something girl plans her own wedding to jump-start her husband hunt (typical brainlessness!). She has three girlfriends (typical because one stereotype is not enough!) saying either, "You go, girlfriend" or "Men are such jerks!" Now all Sarah needs is the suave floppy-haired husband who pulls the rug out from under her. Enter Aaron, hunky cowboy-without-an-accent who's got literary aspirations as well as buckets of money and a closet-full of stuffed animals (Clarisse, have the lambs stopped singing?). They cute-meet, fall in love and get married according to Sarah's plans. Throw in an annoying ex, some rufees, a who's-the-daddy pregnancy, and a misunderstanding. I kept voicing my outrage and yet my remote control remained under my cat for two hours. Tonight is the epic conclusion, where someone gets smacked (Dish loves that!), everyone gets screwed and Aaron and Sarah probably kiss and make up. Blah!

Dish suffers not only from insomnia this weekend, but her sweet darling corazon Nadal lost at the French Open. I put it all on the Federer now. He has to win for the sake of his new baby. And I'd always thought he was gay. (because gay men can't father children?) Vicious Dish spreading lies!

[Evil Cackle]

Dish loathes Michael Chiklis for no reason. Perhaps Dish has dated too many Mr. Cleans and they're all pretty smug about it. I nearly hurled to see footage of MC's reaction to being nominated for an award. Talk about Acquired Situational Narcissism, though I'll def film myself the next time someone gives me an accolade. And then I'll send it to ET.

Despite the lure of Glenn Close, I've avoided The Shield because watching Chiklis and another cop show would be akin to ingesting pickled beets. Then my writer/director friend told me he loved the show, I should watch, Chiklis is brilliant. Maybe I was wrong about The Commish. Flash forward: I've endured two episodes and my abhorrence continues--So typical cop, so much overacting. Chiklis plays a television version of Bruce Willis--lots o' intense eyes, lots o' balls ablazing, vigilantes get sh*t done. The star for me is Catherine Dent who is a delight to watch. She exudes realness and her character has complexity.

In other news, Lady GaGa. For months I've just seen her as the new Britney in shiny underpants. Dish researched and can now say: great performer with real pipes, music itself so-so but memorable. I enjoy her honesty in saying that all she wants in a man is Mr. Giant Baloney Pants.

Girls Fighting

When Clay Aiken wrote all that nasty stuff about Adam Lambert, I applauded my new imaginary gay boyfriend for remaining silent. Now that he's responded to the bitchy queen insult, I'm mixed. Why prolong the life of a stupid comment? Yet Lambert's come-back was well timed and articulate, shining a light on Clay's ulterior motives and lack of graciousness toward someone on the rise. It's okay, Clay, because I used to throw myself on the ground to make the parents come running--WHEN I WAS FOUR. I was HUGELY popular when I was just born, but as I got older, not as shiny and new. John Taylor of Duran Duran says that after becoming famous and peaking, you are desperate to get it all back. I can smell a reality show about a long-ago Idol runner-up now raising a child and coming out, just as AL is climbing to new heights. Oh sure, the AL honeymoon will end in about five minutes.

In other news: Say it ain't so! Our beloved rapper Tone Loc was hospitalized after collapsing at a concert due to heat. Dish is sensitive to heat, too. It's very important to stay hydrated, especially when you're performing.

Lastly, it's so typical that Archie would choose Veronica over Betty. Though sweet and giving, Betty must have given it up early on in the courtship phase, waiting for that proposal. What about the obvious truth--that Archie is an indecisive tool? Reggie is way hotter and won't fill you with his lies.

Dish Is as Busy as Ryan Seacrest

So short and sweet tonight: Watched Religulous and after years of disliking Bill Maher, he makes sense to me now. Criticism: He covered Scientology but not Wicca, from which so many religions get their traditions...That's a big omission. Didn't anyone read The Da Vinci Code (yeah, I wish I hadn't either)?

Star Sighting: Saw an actress who appeared on Law & Order: SVU--crying the entire 42 minutes--at 5:09 at the 14th 2,3 subway station. I recognized her and she smiled at me. Love her now but have yet to find her name. It will kill me.

Ps.

Adam Lambert was on Regis and Kelly this morning. What a nice surprise! I took it as a sign of good fortune for the rest of my days. Though I'm sick to death of his rendition of "Mad World." I can't stand Tears for Fears and their whine-fest music. It heartens me how articulate young Adam is in interviews -- no "likes" and "you knows" and "derrrr" and "uhs." Just the idea that he's in NYC makes me hyperventilate a little. It's sick--He could be my son (if I'd gotten pregnant at 12).

You know who's probably really pissed is actor Adam Lamberg, who was in the Lizzie McGuire Movie. People must be contacting him like crazy and then all disappointed when it's not the famouser Adam!!! Dish discovered this via typo.

Valkyrie Cristina California

I expected to laugh my butt off during Valkyrie but I didn't. Tom Cruise takes on the Nazis, kinda like Steven Seagal taking on toxic waste -- or singing. The movie has some charismatic characters, especially slightly-geezer Kenneth Branaugh showing us he still has no lips. Tom Wilkinson makes everything better, as do Bill Nighy and Terence Stamp (hubba hubba, Dish loves him almost as much as Donald Sutherland). The problem is in the pacing, Tom's sexy-cautious voice, and, for me, not enough Hitler. Teenager Susie Smith from Butthole Falls probably won't understand why "The Furor" had to be killed. You never see the atrocities Hitler committed so why does he need to die? We just take it on Tom's word. Though if I'd lost an eye, I'd be pissed too.

A more literate film is Vicky Cristina Barcelona from Woody Allen who is one of the few auteurs of cinema left alive. His male fantasies make me ralph a bit and his dialogue can be out of touch but this movie is intelligent, delving into desperate and mundane love. Passion versus pragmatism. Oh humans are so complex. Stellar performances by the Spaniards and once my GBFs get their grubby hands off him, Javier Bardem is MINE!

In other news: California blows. Everyone knows why. It's a shame that people have to be punished for loving each other.

Being Mental is So Foreign!

I'm six minutes into the new show Mental and already screeching with laughter. A mental patient pulls off his clothes and sees demons in a waiting room of people. Police and shrinks with tasers can't bring him down. Who can? The new British psych head honcho and he gets naked too. Not only that, he wears biker shorts to work. These producers always think an accent will save the day. Well, it sorta did with The Closer. Simon Baker and House hide their accents. Look for the Brit on most shows. It gives a sense of intelligence to canned sap. At least Annabella Sciorra has a job. Wasn't she in Rocky? (Dish is kidding)

On Mental, the patients are sweaty and ugly, the docs gorgeous in that hardened over-35 way. They give such great advice about taking your meds and "learning to let go."

Bad Dish!

Dish just watched Anderson Cooper (love that silver fox!) and I really think George Clooney has had work done. His skin looks too tight. Plus, he might have rosacea with his blotchy skin. Dish has rosacea too. One more way in which my gorgeousness rivals George's.

Star Sighting: Cyndi Lauper

7:45 pm, walking with a young boy on 79th and Broadway: Dishbrother and Dishbrotherbf spotted her and were so psyched. Being a girl who just wants to have fun, she wasn't wearing makeup and her hair was askance, but that only makes me love her more. Wearing makeup and doing hair is not fun! Cyndi is just following Dish's direction by sporting that pure ghostly no-eyelashes look. Good sighting, boys. Now if only you could spot Duran Duran for me, then I'll have a nice heart attack.

Long Live Queen!

So, Dish only clubbed for half an hour. I tried to envision Babylon, the glitter falling, the gorgeous mens and Emmett's queenly quipping as sailors passed by. The boys were more diverse (not as pretty) as on QAF, but I enjoyed shaking my booty until the stobe lights hit...and hit. The music made my sternum vibrate. This was what being 25 was like. If I were at Babylon, would I have fun? Or am I more like Deb and apt to wear flair and hang at the Liberty Diner, telling boys to eat their broccoli instead of onion rings?

Tonight, watch the American Idol contestants on Larry King Live. See where your eye goes. Adam is the showstopper and I don't doubt he'll be chewing scenery and Larry's suspenders on the show. Perez alleges Adam is being considered to front Queen. Commenters are mostly raving about this but some say Freddie Mercury would roll in his grave. Huh? It's not as if "singer" Paris Hilton was asked. Adam's got the voice, versatility and presence. Is no one allowed to carry on and honor a legacy after it's been long dead? If anything, Freddie might like that Adam would breathe new excitement and life into the band.

But By God, There Will Be Dancing

Dish is going clubbing right now. I'm in my jammies but duty calls! And to think, I wanted to stay home and watch Lifetime. Sorry, but I'm going to find Brian Kinney and Adam Lambert and dance like a fool.

Celeb dirt: Poor Kevin Bacon got his Crackberry stolen in Midtown. You know I'd love to have his directory (or anything else). I'd stare at those celeb phone numbers AND NEVER CALL THEM!

Slug

Dish played the bored housewife and decided to go to sleep at 6 pm. Like Penelope Cruz, maybe I could sleep for 12 hours. Fate intervened and now I'm watching Suze Orman.

So Clay Aiken bashed Adam Lambert. Nothing like seeing two girls fighting, though the bashing seemed unprovoked and Clay just wants attention. Don't we all? Why be mean unless it's really deserved (like why are the Kardashians on TV)?

I watched my first Jon & Kate + 8 show and what a disaster. That marriage seems like the trashy version of The Way We Were. Dish's take has always been: Hubbel never loved Babs to begin with! He boinked her when he was wasted and she made up this big fantasy about their love and he thought, why not, she'll boink me right after I've barfed. Within five seconds he's like, WTF did I sign up for? With Jon and Kate--same thing. Only they're screwed because they have a million kids. Which will screw up their kids, though I hope not. Maybe they can find a way to be good parents and get those TV cameras out of there!

Parting thought: I'm so glad Angelina didn't wear her usual black. A bright color at last. I've waited years.

Thank God for Brownie I Forgot About in Fridge!

Dish took one for the team tonight. It's okay. You have to. I had enough nice things happen with fun work, gym, and the decision to let the Adam Lambert heartbreak go. Now Perez Hilton wants him to come out of the closet. I'm just as interested to hear Adam say "I'm gay." But the rules of celebrity dictate this declaration won't happen until American couldn't care less. It's like when Pamela Anderson said she had Hepatitis C and got it from Tommy. Uh, duh? Clay Aiken came out when we stopped caring about him. Jane Fonda had three-ways during her marriage five million years ago--now she tells us? Adam should ride the mystique wave and let us wonder. It might give 15 y.o. girls (40 y.o. cougars) hope that maybe we've all been wrong. He is awfully cute.

After a productive day, I relaxed with Pineapple Express. Only got through 18 minutes and deemed it unwatchable--too masturbatory, stoner humor gets old, and what were Seth, Evan and Judd thinking? Did they read the script out loud before handing it in? They probably wrote it stoned. Not that Dish would understand such things, but writing stoned makes for excessive indulgence. How many times can I watch people cough hard after taking a big hit, then laugh over how cool cereal is? Of course, there's a vomit scene. Despite those lost 18 minutes, James Franco is one of the most talented actors alive.

Oh Beth, What Can I Do?

I spent the day in The Matrix, where each step seemed familiar and the last 24 hours have been dreamlike. Yesterday, Dish made an impulse purchase to see psychic John Edward at MSG in July. Just one secret embarrassing purchase. There was the doctor's office, me quivering with fear then exuberant over my good health. Dr. Eyeroll advised me to cultivate a social life since couples are physically, financially and spiritually better off. Later I popped in Role Models, immediately shocked that KISS, Exbf18's favorite band, was featured. It made me remember nice things (though I miss Exbf16 more). That night I turned on American Idol to see the true idol perform with KISS. I love synchronicity though I don't say the word out loud because it's too corny. This evening I stopped by a friend's house and walked into a surprise set-up (I think), which never bothers me the way it does some--though it does make me feel mildly pathetic. I'm trying to string these events together but there is no meaning. It's all good because I lost 4 pounds this year and I have a brownie (and scotch).

Gossip: Michael Pitt is looking like hell these days. Poor boy needs to buck up and fly right. He's too talented--kinda Leonardo DiCaprio. He did a movie with my imaginary boyfriend about a prop house but the name escapes me.

Spring Eyeroll

I'm not into American Idol but will watch tonight since my adolescent crush on unattainable-could-be-my-son Adam Clambake will not be denied!!! He must win! And I'll even buy his album. I'm that smitten.

Speaking of perversions--Dish has seen so many movies where someone gets a needle in the buttcheek. The sister in Someone Like You. Ben on QAF when he's doing steroids. Every IVF movie on Lifetime. Every drug movie. So I wondered, Why can't I have a needle jammed in my ass?

Today, wish granted. Dish went to Dr. Eyeroll (who is a saint) and unleashed all paranoia about health (insert eyeroll). Turns out, nothing is wrong with Dish aside from mental retardation. At the end, he opened my folder and said, "Time for your tetanus shot." I asked him if there were any side effects, to which he responded, "Lots of side of effect and some of them are just terrible." Jam, eyeroll.

Put On Your Sunday Shoes

It's official: Chace Crawford will star in the remake of Footloose. I'm asleep at the wheel. No one can replace Kevin Bacon in this mildly amusing flick. His large nostrils alone need a trailer. What does Chace have to offer?

I'm saddened that Kate Hudson keeps dating a string of losers and supposedly the latest is Madonna leftover A-Rod. She may be having fun, but I say, keep those legs closed. Athletes are bad news, unless you can catch them kissing the mirror. Just point at them and laugh.

No new news on what's Cruzing out of Penelope Cruz's orifices after food poisoning. Who else is pooping at Cannes? Dish has to know.

Poor PC!

Dish wants to hear more about Penelope Cruz's food poisoning in Cannes. Was it chicken? Please, more details about which ends that coq au vin came flying out. What's a day without imagining vomiting celebs? Come to think of it, that baked ziti I had for lunch is making me gassy. Must Twitter about it!

Notes on Desperate Housewives: so boring except for Gale Harold's orange jumpsuit. Why is it always about marriage and babies? Can't anyone do anything else?

Speaking of which, Mel Gibson is a master at reproduction. No sooner does his wife file for divorce than he impregnates another lucky woman with his super-semen.

I attended the rally for gay marriage yesterday. It was quite fun, especially to run into JJ and his husband Peter. I was surrounded by happy, determined people. Of course, I had my peepers on and scoured the crowds. Saw Constantine stalk by wearing sunglasses, his curly locks bouncing and misbehaving. Little minx tried to get by unnoticed. Wished I had seen Cynthia Nixon but claustrophobia felled me after an hour. I hope she can get married in New York!

Of least importance, Dish has cracked the code of online dating. I try not to lie since my perfect date will find my warts (not real ones). I know women lie about weight. So here are the male lies, so far as I can tell:

Picture: if he's hideous, must be taken from far away and preferably in front of landmark so as to show sense of adventure
Average body = fat
Athletic body = loves to kiss toned body while looking in mirror
Loves to travel = wants to go to Thailand to buy cheap hookers or just loves idea of travel but never goes anywhere
Self employed = drug dealer
Entrepreneur = actor/drug dealer
Advertising = bitter writer
British = Not as fun as Hugh Grant but will make good use of accent
Age = + 5 to 10 older than stated, she won't notice since I don't look a day over 25
Wants short or long term relationship, friendship or play = really just wants play

Let's All Get Married!

Dish is attending today's NYC rally to legalize gay marriage in our state. Even if I never get married, I want to attend many lavish gay weddings. You know they'll have the best cake. Seriously, it's a topic close to my heart since I witnessed Ben and Michael/Melanie and Lindsay's same-sex marriage troubles on Queer As Folk. Of course, I'll be scanning crowds for celebs, inching close to them to catch some fairy dust (no pun intended, that's how brilliant I am). If you see a little redhead in a green coat, c'est moi. Say hi!

Tonight is the season finale of Desperate Housewives. I'm wondering how crap-tastic it will be. Just allow Dish a moment of beauty and show Jackson without his shirt.

In the interest of good things, relax and watch this master. He makes me feel excited about life: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYEOlxcirX0

Saturday Night Brain Fever

I have a weighty assignment that involves using my brain, and yet cracking open a history book makes me break out into a cold sweat. In real life, Dish is surrounded by academics. I can smell one within a five-mile radius. I've read my Dostoevsky, 13 pages of Proust while eating a Madeleine, every important dead white guy, and have used the word "modernity" in conversation (usually as a joke). Dish even has a master's degree in literature, can pretend to understand post-colonial theory and Foucault. Ten years later, my vocabulary has diminished. Long words puzzle me. The way through: think of history as the culmination of celebrity events. The Tet Offensive was shocking like Britney Spears's downward spiral in 2007. Surprising, lethal, hard to take.

I watched Full Metal Jacket this morning while ironing dresses. Kubrick takes you where you don't want to go but it's intriguing mind-f*ck. I have half an hour left and will temper it with some J. Lo romantic comedy. Delightful contrast--J.Lo/Kubrick.

Must find more ice cream. Killed the marzipan.

Endings and Beginnings

After the harpy hellfire that was the NYC Housewives Reunion: Part Two, I tuned in to Grey's Anatomy. This show aggravates me but I had a moderate interest in making sure Izzie was dead. The McDreamy/Grey "marriage" was total BS but I enjoyed seeing Heigl flatline. The shocker for me was TR Knight's exit. I applaud that they didn't have as lame a finale as B&S--where NOTHING HAPPENED AND NO ONE HAD SEX--but I'm sure some fans are freaked out. Wonder how Desperate Housewives will end. Please don't send Jackson back to Canada. Take Mike Meyers instead.

Tonight, I'm contemplating virtue or seeing Farrah's cancer battle on NBC. The one thing keeping me from Farrah: It's too real. I don't want to see her barfing in a pan or shuddering with pain. So, that leaves me with virtue.

Dish is dating again. About 10 suitors have fallen out of the sky, a sign from the universe that it's time to leave the apartment. Now I have to listen closely and wear makeup. I forgot how nice it is to chat and have someone buy me lunch (though I have no problem picking up the check). Will continue this dating thing at least until economy picks up. It's the ultimate compromise for not ordering take out and not cooking.

Last Chance Harvey

...I'm 40 minutes in and I hate this movie! Dustin Hoffman's character makes me shudder with revulsion and I wonder how in blazes Emma would go for this bozo. It drags like crazy, has all the tension of the romance novel you tried to write when you were nineteen. The characters keep exchanging boring information about their loser selves. No wonder why my cat is vomiting.

Star Sighting

5/13/09, 7:30 pm, the Laura Pels Theater on 46th and 6th : It's one thing to see a star. It's quite another to tinkle next to one. I blabbed away to a friend about how gorgeous Gale Harold was but how his performance in Suddenly Last Summer was not my fave, not suspecting that the woman in front of me was Swoosie Kurtz. I just thought it was some chick with bright red hair (much like Dish's when she goes under the chemicals). I was waiting to whiz when Red turned around. My cheeseburger almost made a reappearance I was so excited. Then she wound up in the stall NEXT TO MINE. No, I didn't try to listen to her activities. Suffice it to say, Swoosie is ravishing in person.

Distracted is worth seeing--a decent play, sometimes a little too heavy-handed in its message. Cynthia Nixon isn't the greatest stage actress and yet she many fine moments. Lots of other good actors in the show. Cynthia *is* captivating and looks fantastic. Dish left with a little girl-crush.

Oprah, Can You Hear Me?

It's time Oprah had me on her show. After all, Dane Cook is on this week. He is high on my list of no-talents and somehow his overuse of inflection and ugly-sexy made it to the big-time. So why can't I be on? I'm pretty. I can do calligraphy and my brain is a database of celebrity trivia. Kirstie was on because she's fat. I can make farting noises with my armpits. It's my turn to be on Oprah!

Dish is seeing Distracted starring the lustrous Cynthia Nixon. I've read mixed reviews but it's about ADD, which is so up my alley. What's your name again? People with ADD must hate all those jokes.

The Real Housewives of NYC Reunion was fierce last night. So much fake crying, so much innocence. Wish one of them would sit back, light a cig and say, "Yeah, I'm a money-grubbing, back-stabbing whore and I love it." It was a little like the cat-fighting on The View but turned up several notches and with tackier dresses. The only one who seemed remotely truthful was Alex. Ramona needs to be lowered into a vat of chemicals.

New Crush

I watched American Idol for the first time in a year and was swept away. Consider me promoted to 10th Degree Hag: In Love with Androgynous Man Far Too Gay and Young For Me. Adam Lambert is what happens when Phillip Oakley, the Goo Goo Dolls guy, Michael Hutchens, and Freddie Mercury have sex. He's a return to the 80s wet dream crooner. I wish I could wear that hairstyle. I wish I were that tall. I wish I could carry a tune. She has to win.

B&S Finale Stunk Hard

The title says it all. My friend Hershey's Kiss, an expert on Mexico, found this finale offensive with its stereotypes: no paved roads, everyone piling into a truck, working in the fields, mention of diarrhea, the same bar as in Desperado. All they needed was a gunfight and a tango scene. I'm offended by the boring storylines: Kitty misses Robert's helicopter after realizing she loves St. Elmo's Fire. How her emaciated form ran hard for that whirly bird. Poor Rachel Griffiths kept gazing at the pond while everyone else schvitzed and plotzed. I've never cared about anything less than Rebecca and Justin getting engaged. The Cutesy McCuteness of Patricia Wettig and Ken Olin in scenes together gave me Montezuma's Revenge. If only Sally could have had one last romp with Juan Valdez. Or is that South America? I'm sure these writers wouldn't know the diff. This season needed more geriatric sex, drugs, menopause talk, and food fights.

Happier: Joan Rivers wins as "The Apprentice." It's the only time I have one minutia of an iota of liking for Donald Trump though this will be gone by morning.

Katie Price and Peter Andre are separating: Does anyone in the US care? Who are they? I'm separating from dark chocolate and declaring it passe. Milk chocolate is better.

Taking out the Middleman

I should throw my dark chocolate cookies in the toilet. They'll wind up there anyway. Why go through the agony of seeing them on my ass? Dish overstated about being skinny. My gauntness was a drama-queen's wish fulfillment fantasy. I'm the same as I ever was so I hauled my cellular cookies out for a long run, bought some freaking berries and lettuce.

Watched snippets of the press dinner thing last night. Loved what Wanda Sykes said about seeing Obama's nipples. I don't want to see anyone's nipples. Well, maybe I spoke too soon.

Gale Harold is on DH in 5 minutes. If they're going to keep giving him boring lines, make him from Canada, they should just sex it up--for my sake! Here's what I predict: He and Susan will decide to have hot monkey sex after pent-up frustration. When GH is in the room, he's like those dark chocolate cookies you promise to save for later but eat in one sitting. Susan'll knock over candles because she's typically clumsy which will result in yet another fire. This will cool libidos until the next morning when they try again amidst ashes, melted photo albums and despair--only this time he might dislocate his shoulder, furniture will come crashing to the floor, and she'll accidentally bring down the headboard, causing brain damage. Karma! Gale should be with Dana Delany who is sexier and more fun (and she cooks!).

Wrassling!

The Wrestler wasn't that great. Imagine The Champ, Rocky, The Big Blue -- every sports movie where a rebel fights even after being told it'll kill him. The only diff is the facially mismanaged Mickey Rourke whose charisma is evident even under the layers of rubber-face. I loved his bad Britney weave and how he threw himself into tacky stunts. The best scene in the movie is when he first works the deli and charms his customers. That Mickey is such a loveable grumpus. Hope he finds the right project that wins him an Oscar. This weren't it.

Gossip: Rihanna had naked pics leaked though no confirmation if it's really her. P. Diddles's girlfriend Cassie's crotch shots also appeared to say, "Good morning." These people are so stupid to let themselves be photographed, unless you're Colin Farrell and have to promote your film The New World. Let me tell you, I saw a new world. I want to go back to the old world!

Streak!

Dish almost forgot to write. With computer troubles and nonsensical angst, I'm feeling the heartburn. I took a walk to calm those raging nerves and watched as a bus idled by. On the side was a big fat poster of Steven Seagal. It was a nice omen (of fatness to come if I don't stop eating these cookies).

Confession and I blame temporary brain disease: I watched the most recent Desperate Housewives not once but twice. It wasn't even that good. I felt sorry for Gale and his boring lines.

Cheesecake Needed!

I've been sick today, mostly with fear. You see...Dish dropped her laptop. The screen shattered. It's the second computer I've destroyed in a month. My new computer arrived last night. I spent four hours on the phone with IT geeks. Finally, one switch and it works. Dish is saved. I immediately inhaled a cheeseburger after a long food fast and baggy pants. Hollywood would be proud of my willpower.

So now I can say: Keifer Sutherland should quit drinking and head-butting (Julia Roberts SO dodged a bullet), I don't care that Meredith Grey is marrying McWetDreamy, why is Kirstie Alley still discussing her fat when she could be joining Mia Farrow on a hunger strike for Darfur, Elizabeth Edwards should quit talking about the affair in public and blaming the other woman since her husband cheated as well and life is too short to dwell on idiots, leave the bastard who only shows up to run for office and I have nothing to wear tomorrow because I'm too lazy to iron.

Cheers!

Damn Dog

Dish is a slave to work, buried so thoroughly it probably wasn't the dead dog in Marley & Me that caused an eruption of tears. This is so not a spoiler alert. Everyone knows that all pet movies end in animal death where we learn the lesson that pets are precious empaths. The humans in Marley & Me, Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston, possess the spice of a dry potato while "Marley" rages, frolicks, destroys like Britney Spears during post-partum depression. Would that we could all bound through a restaurant, carrying a table behind us, chew up a couch, almost fall out of a moving car. Moral of the story: F&ck it. Moral II of the story: realistic animals + antics that destroy sets + semi-okay dialogue but nothing earth-shattering = blockbuster movie!

My long-time friend Shamrock Shake is coming with me to find celebrity haunts. We are a good (NOT romantic) team because he accepts my peculiarities without question, we have similar levels of insanity, drink club soda therefore are cheap dates, and have super-senses. He is a writer, probably soon to be famous-ish, and needs material. I just need to see some stars.

Dancing on the Valentine!

Simon + Yasmin = Amber Le Bon!
Welcome, Amber, to supermodel-dom. Quelle gorgeous and so photogenic like her parents. Dish supports her in every endeavor except not financially. (bitch, I want your eyebrows)

I take back my sadness over Donald Sutherland not doing orange juice commercials. He’s been promoted to lemonade! He says, “All you need is a squeeze.” You just read Dish’s mind, Donald!

The Best Thing

Note on Desperate Housewives: Um, did any of us believe that BS reason for Jackson's proposal? Or Susan's sudden declaration of love? Or that Jackson's really from Canada (though it is a wink for his time in Toronto)? The only thing that rang true was little Juanita's wearing her mother's makeup. I put my freak on with Dishmama's eyeshadow and lipstick as soon as I could reach over the counter! I still sneak into her cabinet and use her products. Oh wait. She might be reading.

Tonight's viewing: The Next Best Thing--seeing Madonna's bad acting is like macaroni and cheese, hot cocoa at a chalet, hot fudge sundaes. I just love peering into Madonna's world--that with her unfathomable sexual power, she can make Rupert Everett heterosexual for one night. At 36 (41), she's over the hill, barren, speaking with a British accent, and Beta-male Michael Vartan wants to dump her. Madonna takes the pain, kinda smirks through it as she teaches yoga. We know she can twist like a pretzel, which makes her seem so natural, organic, and irresistible to men. My favorite line is when Vartan, unable to resist her hotness, tells her what a great body she has. As if we don't know Madonna wrote that line herself. In my romantic scene with a leading man, I'd have him say something like, "Dish, you have such a small waist and beautiful blue eyes flecked with gray." To me, The Next Best Thing is Madonna's revenge against Julia Roberts. She does Benjamin Bratt (who was dating Jules during filming) and she does Rupert (which Julia couldn't do in My Best Friend's Wedding). I just love her, though she blows all her leading men away.

Andrew Morton has declared the topic of his next book: My Butt. No actually, it's Angelina Jolie. Here's my book about Angelina: Bad dad, strange relaysh with brother, angelic mother, cutting herself, many tattoos, screwed female co-star which is so very interesting and who cares, marries Johnny, marries Billy Bob, makes lots o' movies, Oscar, charity, charity, plane lessons, adoption, Brad, so many babies. THE END!

I'm Gorgeous Even After a Serious Motorcycle Accident

Dish can't wait! Four hours until Jackson (GH) asks Susan (Teri Crapper) a very important question on Desperate Housewives. We've been hearing about this "important question" for weeks now. I wonder what the question could be?

Do I look fat in this shirt?
Can you read my mind?
Do you know what it is that I'm thinking? (I don't know who you are, just a friend from another star)
Does Bree get Botox?
Can we have a three-way with Doug Savant?

You know Susan's been flinging Jackson around like putty this whole season so if she says yes, it won't be for love. She'll go through the motions and on their wedding day, after knocking over the wedding cake and table of champagne flutes, she'll decide at the last minute that she still loves the boring plumber. They'll get back together and maybe Jackson and Dana Delaney will do it. Now that would be hot. I'd approve.

News of the day: David Hasselhoff was rushed to the hospital for alcohol poisoning; poor guy needs at least a year in rehab to get back on the map. The world he lives in is toxic enough without alcohol. Insert middle age, how to rebuild when you're a has-been, bitter divorce and custody battle, less call for him to wear a Speedo, plus addiction = major meltdown! I'm sort of smelling a stint on that rehab reality show...He's already filmed himself drunk and eating a burger. Do something different, David. Enroll in an MFA program, write a screenplay, pee off a balcony while excrutiatingly sober, visit sick people in the hospital, or get healthy enough to sponsor someone else. You don't have to act like a douche.

Outrage: I look forward to the Florida orange juice commercial, mostly to hear Donald Sutherland talk about freshness, pulp, vitamin C. Imagine my outrage when Magnum P.I. started yakking away. Once again, thank you, Florida.

It's Not What You Think!

As I watched Doubt, I pondered the theme of the story. Hmmm. Maybe it's about skeptism. Contempt? Not that. Maybe it's about DOUBT! I wanted to count how many times the word was used in the movie (many). Usually, the title of a movie comes out toward the end as the big cutesy BLAMO moment. Doubt just uses the word throughout, like "the." Meryl Streep acts her butt off as the bitchy nun who definitely needs to get laid, or at the very least, more hugs. Phillip Seymour Hoffman steps up to the plate as a Jesus-esque priest who is blond, portly, and loves boys. I mean, he loves them in the way he's supposed to but Meryl thinks something dirty is happening. What a perv! I was expecting a huge downer, but it's really the feel-good movie of the year. I loved the nun bonnets and how Meryl and Amy Adams had red eyes from insomnia. They tried to look hideous, but we all see the gorgeousness.

In other news, Amy Winehouse is hospitalized in St. Lucia for "dehydration." I hate to admit this, but I wonder when is this girl going to die and become another dead and saintly drug-addicted icon? I'm tired of reading about her antics. I know, very uncompassionate of Dish. Or maybe all the craziness is a big act? There are people walking the street who live the life of Amy but get no airtime. She's kinda mundane except for the freakish singing voice.

Favorite thing I read this week: David Denby of The New Yorker called Russell Crowe a "dumpling in a wig" in his new movie State of Play. The Reign of Russell is over since A Beautiful Mind (which I thought blew chunks except for the beautiful actors--"I have to believe that something extraordinary is possible."). It's over, Telephone Thrower!

24 hours till Gale, though I'll have to avert my eyes when Teri Hatcher appears, once again stealing my fire with her twig legs and squeaky voice. It's funny how Dish is so excited to see Gale play a not-so-interesting character. No matter. My infatuation is unconditional.

Peekaboo

Wolverine opens today and that could be dirty, but I won't go there. It's been getting crappy reviews but will Hugh's allure be box office gold? Matthew McConaughey and Jennifer Garner's movie also drops and I'm not sure why I want to see it. Matthew seems smelly to me, Jennifer is a little collageny (so perfect I hate/love her). Wedding, girl that got away, regrets, big declaration of love, OMP mentor--haven't I seen this before? Then again, I must support the stars. They need money. And I finally understand how they feel:

You see, Dish acquired Acquired Situational Narcissism for fifteen minutes. This is the official disease that makes stars whores for the limelight. This evening, I scampered to my favorite bar for a 1/2 scotch (1/2 because any more and I'd be smashed). Supermodel Bartender was there, sweet and gorgeous as always. Within a minute of my fanny hitting a stool, the bar phone rang and it was the owner, asking for me. I told no one I was going. It was a Covert Dish Operation where I'd stare at the walls, relax, and be by myself while surrounded by people. How did my former secret leprecaun flame know I was there? Turns out, he was watching me through a hidden camera. Leprecaun Flame was in an undisclosed location like Dick Cheney only way hotter. We chatted amiably, and I loved that someone watched me. You can't blame the celebs for needing the cameras to capture every muscle flex. The attention is like crack.

Speaking of which, I only have to wait 49 hours for Gale Harold on DH.