Happy Birthday to Dishmama!

Today is Dishmama's birthday. We celebrate the day she shot out of my gramma, all a-squirming and a-screaming. ?? years later, Dishmama is famous in her field, gorgeous, throws the best parties and is the most elegant person in the room. All hail The Queen!!!

In celeb news: Illegibly, some followers of that dead icon have committed suicide, like 12. This is the height of ridiculousness. I'm not even that obsessed with celebs, though when Donny Osmond got married, I did spend several days crying as I inhaled hostess cupcakes and chocolate popsicles. Like he was going to fall in love with a porky butterball freckled eight-year-old. Seriously, though, if you're that hooked on a star, a life needs to be gotten by you (though I understand and can Life Coach anyone through withdrawal).

Rare Dish

Dishmama is in pain over Billy Mays's death so let's have a moment of silence. He's the Oxyclean guy and so skilled I did buy a bucket. Sadly, it didn't get out the cartons of Chinese food I've spilled over all my clothes. Even now, I have his voice in my head. Blessings on his coming and going.
So I made a vow not to leave my place ever again unless in full hair and makeup. JJ says that with age, one needs more time for beauty maintenance. To keep me out of the Ugly Club, if you see me in lame glasses and pajamas on the streets, you must stop me and order me to go back and rethink (exception: the gym but I still must wear lipstick). I wore heels today. By midafternoon, I wondered if I needed to wear them to walk down the hall to get more coffee. Dish could get away with sneaks, right? Wrong, I kept those toe mangling puppies on and stumbled to the coffee machine.

Dish Condemns the Netflix Watch Instantly Option

In the vein of discovering things long after the fact, I'm now addicted to Swingtown. You will lose an entire weekend to this show. My new girl crush is "Trina" aka Lana Parrilla, the easy breezy swinging wife of a porn-stachioed Grant Show. She always says the right thing, wears groovy clothes and loosens up her constipated neighbors (i.e. slipping pot into someone's brownie batter). She and I have the same birthday--yes, I obsessively checked out her stats on IMDB-- which means we're identical except for many many many differences (clothes, hair, eyes, Dish is 9 years older and about twenty pounds fatter but without being fat). The combination of Lana and Grant is like watching your favorite movies with martinis, lattes, French toast and ice cream while it's raining outside. I'm so pissed I watched 10 episodes because now there are only 3 left.

Other news: The celebs are dropping like flies!!!

Better Than Blue Eyes

One of my favorite moments in a film--the opening Cary Grant scene of Notorious which starts in a few minutes on TCM. Even with the butt in his chin and the fact that he's deader than a doornail, Cary Grant gives me goosebumps.

Speaking of Cary Grant, Gay Pride is tomorrow! Enjoy!

Blue Eyes

I'm working but in the background is What Women Want, where Mel Gibson pretends he's Fred Astaire while listening to Frank Sinatra. Why do people always mention Sinatra in romantic comedies? Everyone loves Frank. I don't get Frank. He's not the greatest singer. He wasn't hot (maybe a little when he was young but barely). Maybe it's the same as the Justin Timberlake mystique. Justin's voice doesn't come from God and he's kinda hideous but something about him sparkles. My ex-hairstylist used to cut Sinatra's hair. He said he didn't have much to work with.

Dish has gallons of hair. Just ask JJ who eyerolled and cursed through the process of shearing my mane today. I enjoy his abuse because it's how he shows love. Afterwards, I had pics taken. I'm no Justin Timberlake but I looked so pretty I had to take myself out to dinner.

Rules for Dating a Rock Star (or Anyone)

If you watched last night's Samantha Who? you witnessed the height of stupidity. Christina Applegate had the PERFECT chance to make out with/sleep with/marry John Taylor and she blew it by expressing her love for him. Even Dish, who almost barfed on Jon Tenney twice, knows you never ever show interest in a celebrity--at least not to their faces. They hate gushing (especially of the vomitatious kind on their tassled loafers). If Christina had really wanted to succeed, she would have shown revulsion--though with John Taylor, it would have taken SEVERE acting chops, meds and hypnosis. Well, that's what Dish would need, along with an ice pack for the bump on my head after I fainted.

Death, Drugs and Rock & Roll

It's very sad when celebs are surrounded by slime, as Michael Jackson and Anna Nicole Smith (and Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, Kurt Cobain and the list is endless) were. How many deaths didn't have to happen? If you see someone going downhill, why not forklift them into rehab? That is too logical, of course. His epic death reminds me of Diana's though she just had bulimia and fame-whorishness (who doesn't?). Given the numerous child abuse allegations and body dysmorphic disorder, I find it difficult to celebrate Michael Jackson the man, though his genius cannot be disputed and I like remembering him in his "Thriller" video--an eerie foreshadowing of his face changes. Someone so heavily medicated is to be pitied and MJ is now where he must have wanted to go. You can only do so much. The thing that makes me ralph are all the lame-asses who come out of the woodwork claiming to be his closest friend or expert on his condition. The uncle of the hairdresser of Michael's weedwhacker knew all along he was going downhill. Everyone knew. Why didn't someone stop him?

I guess you can't. On a much tinier scale, Dish's first love Exbf2 was a drunk, one of those glamorous sexy alkies as in Eddie and the Cruisers. He talked about suicide, even wrote me letters about how he wanted to shoot himself. I dragged him to AA, screamed at his friends to take his problem seriously, even took him to the hospital. Finally, I had to save myself. I learned a few years ago that he'd shot himself. So many have a story like this. Some people really want to go and nothing stops the downward spiral, not even a forklift.

I wish MJ peace, his children a good life and that's all about him.

Goodbye to the Michael I Used to Love

So sad all around--sad life, sad person, GREAT music. Rest in peace for once, MJ.

(though CNN is reporting that he's in a coma, everywhere else that he died)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=En-cHBv7UpA&feature=channel

Goodbye to Our Favorite Angel

Farrah Fawcett died this morning and it's really the end of an era. Legions of little girls were influenced by her hair while many boys kept her picture under their mattresses for special times. I thought she was brilliant in The Burning Bed. To honor her, Dish is posting a meagre attempt to capture her hair. She is the reason I had a curling iron at age 12. See how well I used it.

Blessings on Farrah and her family.

Catty McCheater

Happy: That Michelle Pfeiffer could reprise her role as Catwoman. Does this mean Sean Young will go apesh*t again? Meow.

Lame: Nick Lachey and Vanessa Minillo (who are they?) broke up. The South Carolina governor admitted to an affair. Thus, Dish is running out to get married right this second. Wearing a shiny catsuit.

Does Tom Hanks Have Pig Nipples?

Given the obsession with female mammary glands, maybe we can create balance by probing revered icon Tom Hanks's breasts. A beloved reader asserts he has pig nipples. Dish doesn't notice the pepperoni slice so much as musculature, fur or flatness. But it might be true. You decide. Thanks to my friend for bringing this important issue to light. In the long run, they are all udders filled with fat.

John Taylor Will Act on Thursday

The much awaited and talked about Samantha Who--where Christina Applegate pretends not to know John Taylor--airs on Thursday (I forget the time). I only wish. I'd nervous-pee within ten feet of John Taylor.

Star Sighting???

72nd and Broadway, 5:20 pm: She plays the comforting old woman in about every movie and resembles Angela Lansbury but in her seventies. It's killing Dish that the name escapes the fierce mental database. I wanna say Barbara? Dying, I tell you. Anyway, Barbara wore a rocking pink sweater. Dying!

Dish might have another profession: Love Doctor. While romance for me is always a disaster, I adore giving advice to the lovelorn. Teaching was fun only to listen to teenagers spill. Recently I counseled a friend on love vs. money. She is used to sugar daddies, new Volvos and at least one engagement a year. I told her love is better since with a rich, heartless cube of tofu you earn every penny (usually on your back and you can do that on the streets and make your own hours). Why waste time with someone who's boring company even though he gets you prezzies (though prezzies are nice). Poor people who love you visit you in the hospital when you're sick. If you can take care of yourself, what's the problem (unless he borrows money from you)? Well, rich people send you flowers and I love that. Okay, maybe I'm wrong about everything...

In other news, I saw Angels & Demons. All I have to say is: Tom Hanks in a speedo, slicing through the water.


Update: The star I saw was the lovely Barbara Barrie! Thank you, Marie!

Jon & Kate...

...should get off the freaking television and raise their children! Dish will view The Closer instead and refuses to fall for the hype (well, I did fall but am still not watching! In the words of Pink Floyd, Leave those kids alone!).

Soapbox

It's really sad when you're punched in the face for what you write. It's sadder when others join the bandwagon of hate--others who are obsessive secret readers of Perez. There was an alleged scuffle between Perez Hilton and will.i.am last night. What happened to him borders on being a hate crime. I’m completely on Perez’s side, though understand why he can be polarizing. He’s very powerful, smarter than most and complex. Celebrities should be able to take what’s written about them unless it’s libelous and then you hit that person where he lives by taking all his money. Why does no one beat up Cindy Adams, Joan Rivers, Kathy Griffin, Liz Smith, who have also spewed venom over the years? In addition to dishing dirt, Perez has discovered a lot of talent in the music industry, given much attention to charitable causes and sheds light on Hollywood hypocrisy (which he knows he's contributing to). His attention keeps celebrities afloat, even if they have huge penises drawn next to their mouths. Like Simon Cowell, he exposes the ugly truth. Who beats up Simon? No one. If you hate Perez, the best thing is to ignore him. Don’t punch him in the face. Or as will.i.am allegedly did, get your manager to punch him in the face. If you want to punch someone in the face, punch California for not letting gays marry, whoever rigged the election in Iran, religious leaders who condemn you for who you are, or all the sports figures who take steroids and ruin the game. Don’t punch a mouthy gossip queen. Remember, he's the one who brought Miss California's beliefs to light (although she has a right to her opinion, too, even though she's just wrong!).

Major Star Sightings in Under Three Minutes!!!

2:40-2:43 pm, 40th b/w 7th and 8th: I see a stooped man in a vomit-peach sportjacket entering Midtown Comics and I run. I can feel Frank Miller's vibe from at least a block away. I bound up the stairs and accost him and his fetching girlfriend, chat them up for thirty seconds before bolting to see Hair. As I dart between lackadaisical tourists, I nearly collide with a lovely familiar woman and her pinocchio-nosed husband. It's Steve and Nancy Carrell!!! I so wanted to tell him how often I'd been made to watch The 40-year-old Virgin by my straight boyfriends. He's like the male Bridget Jones.

Let the Sun Shine

On this summer solstice I'm taking my humidity hair to see Hair on Broadway. I sang this music throughout my childhood and anticipate that much emotion will clog my throat. I just hope the musical hasn't gone totally PC and sterile--like do they still sing "Black Boys are delicious" or is it now "African-American Boys are delicious?" Before you ask, the full frontal isn't the primary draw, but a definite bonus. Let me remember to put on my own pants before leaving the house.

This holiday will end with a celebration of my good fortune (?) and the inhalation of homemade butterscotch and M&M brownies. Now that's chocolate flavored love.

Proof that Gisele and Tom Have Intercourse!

Gisele is pregnant. All the wild imaginings Dish had of two gorgeous people on their palatial honeymoon have borne fruit. Not only is G. showing Leo that she's moved on after his commitphobic ways but she's crapped on that ex-Big-stealing-statuesque-first-babymama Bridget Moynihan, cementing the fact that: Tom Brady is HERS! Forever! I would do the same because I desperately want to get sperminated by the handsome quarterback of a losing football team.

This Is What Happens When Your Hit Shows Go Off The Air

It's the sixth sign of the apocalypse and one should hold onto the walls for support. Jane Kaczmarek and Bradley Whitford are divorcing after sixteen years of marriage. Doesn't anytone stay together? (note to self: Bradley is single--YAY for DISH!) But seriously, I've adored Jane Kaczmarek since Equal Justice, that 1990s law show where lawyers work hard and care about their cases. Now Jane is on a show called Raising the Bar (a little smexual if you ask me) which is about lawyers who work hard and care about their cases. I don't watch because I avoid all actors from Saved by the Bell (except Elizabeth Berkley who redeemed herself in Showgirls). Jane is an excellent actress, though, and I gravitate toward anything she's in. Best wishes to these two as they transition.

John Taylor Has a Perfect Square Root Starting Today!

Today marks the sacred birth of the handsomest icon to grace our civilization: Duran Duran’s John Taylor. Though ancient, he still commands oceans of drool with his perfection. His stooped shoulders and slightly receding hairline (which he covers oh-so adorably with a knit hat) charm us further into pools of ecstasy. He stays young with Juicy Couture, a guest spot on Samantha Who, and the mighty bass which he rocks most triumphantly.

It seems like only yesterday that I first laid eyes on precious “Nigel” and convinced myself we’d lived a past life together as husband and wife. It didn’t matter that I was pubescing and he was twenty-two. All the tabloids said he was a virgin and I knew he was saving himself for me. John would get a weird sensation and machete his way through forests to rescue me from my New England prep school. Well, turns out he did know I existed for about thirty seconds but the details are too sordid for my pristine memories. 7x7=49. Happy Birthday, Nigel…

We’re so thankful your parents had unprotected sex in the fall of 1959.

Lan Sakes I'll Be a Monkey's Bastard

Dish tuned in to the first season of True Blood, and gosh willickers and bless your heart, I'm so sick of southern accents. It's the vampire version of Twin Peaks where creepiness, white trash and sensuality sizzles every frame. Anna Paquin plays virginal Suki (pronounced Suck-it) or whatever, a waitress with a huge gap between her teeth. My stars, hushpuppies and corn pone, she also reads minds (and has an Oscar). Her pale vampire crush--her real life bed-partner--is sexy and peers at her wantonly. Time stands still and they stare at each other a lot--which happens often in shows featuring vampires. The series is created by Alan Ball (I said ball) of Six Feet Under and American Beauty fame. My favorite part was seeing Jessica Tuck as the representative of the Vampire League. Remember Jessica from One Life to Live? Love her.

Not sure how much of this show I'll watch, but I said this about Six Feet Under too!

I Thought This One Was Going To Work

Another day, another divorce. Poor Piano Man and his young culinary wife. As Dr. Phil says, they need to earn their way out of the marriage. Did they get (high school guidance) counseling? I look to these celebs to be role models and here they go, splitting up when all they need are more hugs (and less weaving in and out of traffic in a drunken haze).

Maybe he'll go back to Christie Brinkley. A cheesy reprise of "Uptown Girl" would be a healing balm on the world. Dish will light a candle.

Manyana Thursday

When I'm drowning in work, I behave badly. I'll toil vigorously for three minutes, then go off to clean my bathtub for half an hour. To reward myself, I'll check Perezhilton.com AGAIN and see where that takes me (looking up bikini pics of Helen Mirren and Patricia Clarkson to see how I stack up--NOT WELL!). Tonight, I'll do either two things: watch Matthew Perry in The Ron Clark Story--though I'm dying for a movie that shows a teacher smacking the crap out of students, they're all so goody-goody and the same--which will help me stay focused. If I'm bad, I'll watch Nuts and try to memorize Barbra Streisand's courtroom monologue about why she became a whore. Imagine Babs with her beautiful nails, talking about "jobs." I'll practice this monologue to the walls then use it spontaneously at parties. Which sounds funner? It's sad, really. I get so much more done when there's someone beside me equally under the gun and needing discipline. For now I'll pretend my cat is writing his doctoral dissertation on post-modern feline discrimination. When he runs across my keyboard, he's really typing up research notes. asdsdfjal;sj

Star Sighting: Stephanie March...

... who right this second is using many hand-gestures as she talks with a friend at Le Pain Quotidien in Chelsea. I've seen her in the hood a few times (sometimes with her uggo chef husband) and am always struck by her beauty. Not to mention she's excellent and believable as a brainy DA on L&O:SVU.

Hawthorne

Jada Pinkett Smith seems sunny, feisty and if she paid my bar tab, I'd make out with her no problem. But I question the sense of doing yet another Grey's Anatomy/Private Practice (or rather Practice on My Privates) show. Hawthorne is the goody-goody Nurse Jackie who cares about her patients. She pretty much runs the hospital and I wonder how realistic this is. Alongside her (and you know they'll wind up in the supply closet) is Michael Vartan whose only expression is quiet melancholy and disappointment(though heart him anyway since Never Been Kissed and he's bilingual like Dish sorta is). It's mildly watchable if you're over Tuesday night TV since Real Housewives of NYC went its catty way.

Update: did not buy squirt gun for cat. I blame PussinBoots from Shrek. In my dreams, just as he disobeys, I can't pull the trigger. He stares at me with that big-eyed expression: I'm only trying to love you. Damn cats!

Coiffure Conundrum

Big dilemma--should Dish get all her hair cut off like Meg Ryan did after Sleepless in Seattle, like Felicity in Felicity which doomed the show, like Winona Ryder after she discovered she was a little boy, like Posh Spice after she got Beckammed, like Katie Holmes after she got Cruised? The danger: if unchecked, I could look like Cosmo Kramer (see photos of Dish at 5) and not Annette Bening in The American President. It's a fine line between Adorable Do and Worst Mistake Ever.

Dish's Checklist

1. Go to gym for ten whole minutes--check.
2. Debate watching The Closer or Life on the D List but feel neither will be good tonight--check.
3. Spill Caesar salad dressing on manuscript which now stinks--check.
4. Think about a world where Heidi and Spencer Pratt no longer exist--check.
5. Weigh virtues of studying German Romanticism over seeing The Hangover (desperately want), maybe do both in same week?--check.
6. Look at free weights and say, "I'm not touching you bitches."

All in a day's work!

In other news: It's hard to be so beautiful. I have to hide my fabulousness when I go outside. Oh, Dishmama, how could you have passed on this gorgeosity to your female spawn? I just want to crawl into a hole and work this summer but no. I go on *one* date with Satan a month ago and now have an unwanted admirer sending me WTF presents long after the fact. Dear me, I need a hero. Well, maybe just a gyro--sandwiches are excellent!

Mommy, Can I Have Some Viagra?

I love reading the Post's Andrea Peyser even though I mostly disagree with her. She writes a juicy column and highlights the latest outrage. Today, we're on the same page as she brings to light recent white female bashing by David Letterman and Conan O'Brien. The last two years of Hillary bashing were pretty epic with her "pimping" out her adult daughter for the campaign (the Cheney girls helped their parents, too, but no one touched Dick), along with middle-aged white men (mostly on Fox but pretty rampant across the channels) growing red in the face over Hillary's audacity at every turn. I calm myself down over this issue when I imagine these guys must pop a lot of blue pills and get angry about it. Who else to blame for shameful limpness but Mommy? How can she be powerful when I'm not? I'm disappointed Conan went the frigid-Jewish-wife route. How cliche and unfunny. Doesn't he know how many women cheat because their spouses are sexual camels (either too ashamed to take the blue pill or are just too immature to channel marital ennui)?

Happy Birthday, Yasmine Bleeth

Dish's only claim to fame--I knew Yasmine Bleeth when I lived in France but we were only single digits old. She was this cute bubbly chick who wore her hair up like a ballerina. Or at least ballet-wear was involved. I was porking out of my leotards and tutus so I try to block out the images. Yasmine taught me the meaning of "divorce" and we might have listened to ABBA. We either met in Catholic school or in the 'hood of the onzieme but I remember she was great fun to be around. Over a decade later I was stuffing my face and watching Ryan's Hope. She appeared on my screen, cute and bubbly. I'm still trying to find the letters she wrote me so that I can sell them on eBay (more like, frame them and MEMORIZE WHOLE PASSAGES). Since then, I've followed her career, her highs and lows. I wish her much happiness.

Crazytown, Population: Dish

In the grocery store, people were looking at me. Did I walk out my door without pants? I worry about that. I glanced down and saw my running shorts. But maybe I hallucinated running shorts and I was naked in the store. The answer: people glared because my iPod was fully blasted to Marilyn Manson, my hero of Bowling for Columbine. My name is Dish and I'm an obnoxious iPod user.

The bottom line is I need therapy which is why I watched In Treatment starring omnisexyIrishman Gabriel Byrne. His first patient has a major case of transference. I totally get that. If Gabriel were my shrink, I'd be climbing all over him like a bad rash. He doesn't talk--just asks a question or two ("And then what happened?"), which makes me think: I could be a shrink, too. Just as long as I can prescribe myself meds, no one takes my Cheetos and I can still plays with my iPods!

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button...

...is probably one of the sappiest crapfests I've seen in a long time--this generation's Forrest Gump. Three hours of nonsensical corn syrup (always with a southern accent) shot in soft blues and yellows. While Gump was right wing propaganda, this one is more left wing -- with the PC version of orphanhood and family. Everyone helps everyone (well, it's mostly just the women who do the work). The "other" is isolated, casts off his family the way he was cast off--perpetuating the "you're better off without my freaky self" excuse for the disappearing father (Superman Returns). Blanchett's "Daisy" starts off a precocious sex-starved/bitchy free spirit but, like all the women in the film whose dreams fall in the dust, she winds up changing everyone's diapers. Throughout, Blanchett tells the epic story like Katharine Hepburn would in On Golden Pond: chewing scenery with a turban on her head, constant shaking and saggy waddle under her chin.

Predictable. Babel was better for these two.

Feline Combat

Cesar Millan, aka "The Dog Whisperer," inspired me to work with the "energy" of my unruly cat. I pet him and did the pointy thing to get him to calm down. None of it worked. He still meowed whenever I stood, thinking I was about to feed him. After climbing all over the kitchen counters, leaving litter everywhere, he bit off hair and spit it on the ground in front of me. He woke me up for his 3:30 am feeding. Then his 7:30 feeding. Tried to dupe me into a 9:30 feeding. He knocked pens, keys, bottles to the ground to get me to wake up. He jumped near my head and repeatedly touched my mouth with his paw. Only when I yelled obscenities did he stop. Since he responds to violence, I'm buying a squirt gun. I will sleep with the gun under my pillow, waiting furtively for his morning bat-jump onto the noisy printer. I will roll, fire and cackle as he flies across the room in terror. I've been nice for fifteen years and now it's time to get dirty.

Adding and Subtracting

Chastity Bono is now Chaz and wants a sexual reassignment. If I'd been named Chastity I'd do the same, along with everything that moves. I hope this brings Chaz happiness and wish her lots of peace (along with a massive piece). Is Cher freaking, though? She wasn't so accepting of having a gay daughter, who will soon be a hetero son. And let's face it, Chaz will wind up a gay man because his mother *is* Cher. Full circle.

I went to see a Talking Heads tribute band and they were amazing--otherwise, I would not have stayed out until 2 am. The last time I did that was for a boy--Exbf15--who dragged me in heels all over the crack den of Union Square Park while he rehydrated with a Snapple that "tasted like vomit." I was smitten so happily endured the journey past my bedtime. It takes a village to keep me out late and my old friend's band was well worth it, if only to remember the majesty of TH. Then *sniff* they dedicated "And She Was" to Dish! I choked on my Altoid. When life seems like an endless stream of assignments and slow decay, little bright spots make it enjoyable.

There's a World Outside Your Window

I did buy my Rolling Stone. Am only skeeved by Clambake's chest hair. Isn't he supposed to be into waxing? I don't want to see real skin or hint of post-puberty! Oh well, it'll keep me entertained.

I'm indoors all the time working but tonight will step out to see a Talking Heads tribute band (starring an old friend) at 10:30 in the Village. Over ten years ago, Exbf8 got me David Byrne's autograph during a flight. DB loved my name. Wish I loved his music. THs and B-52s grate on Dish's nerves, though "And She Was" is my fave.

Gracious is a Virtue

I'm sending out the love to former First Lady Laura Bush, who came out in favor of Sotomayor. She may not have the flash of Michelle or plant gardens, but she's a great reader and rocks in her own special way. You can't help who you fall in love with.

I love it when icons make surprise appearances: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gS8vqgLTKvQ. No matter how many doobies he smokes or lewd acts he performs, George Michael has a special place in my heart (especially since he named an album after Dish). For another treat, watch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8jEnTSQStGE .

More Shocking News!

Adam Clambake has FINALLY come out as a homosexual. Next week, Dish is coming out as a giant Raggedy Ann doll. But really, it's a sad day. I had such high hopes Young Gay Adam would switch at the last minute--maybe find interest in an atonal 40-year-old spinster with a blog.

Not so much in television: I tuned in to Gene Simmons's Family Jewels but it was like watching paint dry. This family can't act, even in reality! There is something sexy about Gene, much as I try to deny it. The hair is getting Seagal-ish, though.

Last night's The Closer, well, let's just say I got my dishes done. Pardon all the negativity (we knew the positive stuff would last five minutes), I'm overworked and under the weather.

So Much to Watch; Too Busy to Watch

The Closer premieres tonight. Hope it's not as bad as last season. I wonder if Brenda's case will force her to join with the FBI (for the millionth time). Lots of shows with similar names: The Closer, The Listener, The Cleaner, The Mentalist. I have a few: The Labotomist, The Proctologist, The Guidance Counselor--Actually, I'd watch these.

Kathy Griffin's Life on the D List also premieres tonight. Can't wait because I love her. Though I'll probably miss it.

Colbert is in Iraq--wish I could stay up and watch. He makes my insides turn to mush (in a good and not vomitatious way).

David Carradine's Cause of Death Keeps Dragging Out: Face facts, he was probably getting his freak on. There are worse ways to die (of boredom) but when you're a celeb, it's mucho embarrassing for family.

In Dish news: I had my quarterly Gale Harold dream: He was still recovering from his motorcycle accident and we sat outside, waiting for a movie to start. I asked if I could share his blanket as it was cold. He said okay, as long as I got him some snax first. TYPICAL! To friends and family who are so nice--and not just when there's a problem, or are bored, or need snax, or are filling time--my eternal thanks and love.

Nick Rhodes is 47!

Two score and seven years ago, a baby was swaddled in a manger with Birmingham deer, groundhogs and rabbits chanting happy songs in British accents. The Lord came upon him and said, “In fifteen years, thou wilt play a synthesizer, and it will be GOOD.” That precious baby was Nick Rhodes. Back then, he was Nicholas James Bates, as in The Bates Motel. But we know Nick is no crazy-mama-shower-killer. He grew up to be the keyboardist of Duran Duran and his own makeup applicator. Frank Lloyd Wright was also born on this day, but we don’t care as much about him. He just built stuff. Even today, Nick displays fierce hair/fashion attitude and takes good picture. The only bad thing for Nick is that he’s a Gemini, which means he crazy. Happy Birthday, Nick!

Roger Federer Gagne, C'est Genial!

He ties Pete Sampras's record, he wins at the French Open in three sets, he shines in the Gillette commercials, cries sweet triumphant tears to show he's not an alien robot from Mars, nice people and a-holes love him, celebs pine for him, and he impregnates his wife with his super-tennis-DNA sperm. What *doesn't* Roger Federer do?

I bet he can't dance. Dish went to a tween dance recital yesterday and saw adorable little girls flailing around in metallic leggings. Must go to American Apparel to buy metallic leggings for myself, then sign up for tap lessons again. I may look like a shiny gold elephant. Lucky for me, I dance like one, too. Dish’s favorite moment in film (aside from Roy Scheider making the shark explode): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvglHa_P9BA
Tonight is about the Tonys not because I've seen any plays but I love all gay events and Dolly Parton (even gay men love big boobs). It's one of the few show-biz venues where being out is in. Somehow, this is funner than the closeted award shows with its audiences of tired fake marriages and beards.

Julia Alert!

My imaginary best friend is renting a place in the city for the summer. Must go and investigate, maybe suggest she and I start a knitting circle while she's filming Eat Pray Love. If she asked me, I'd knit her an ivory mohair sweater with cables and popcorn stitches. Dish talks a big game and this will never happen. I like to give stars their privacy (too lazy to stalk).

This is my weekend of tennis so your words won't reach my ears. My hope: Federer beats the giant Swedish tool that is Soderling. Women's tennis has been sketchy at best, with no clear favorites. My new gay boyfriend K, who might love Federer for more lustful reasons, has convinced me to get the tennis channel. Dish is a secret jock.

Touch My Six-Pack, Rose

Revolutionary Road: Two beautiful people fall in love and fight for two hours. The end. (sadly, no full frontal)

My friend "Betsy" is like a sister. She's fun-loving, wild, and even while running through the woods, hundreds of miles from home with no transportation, she lands on her feet. Her hyena laugh sends people into orbit; no matter how many chocolate pancakes she's eaten, she still has a banging cyclist bod; her big eyes sparkle and always convey happiness, which makes me happy; she's had four engagement rings (Exbf8 got me a 5 cent "promise" ring from a gumball machine because it was "special"); Betsy talks dirty to my cat, convinces me to make adult prank phone calls and do drive-bys of people we don't like. She's loud, which makes me want to be loud. This past week, she got some kind of cult training where she's supposed to be positive. Because I'm a little too Anna Karenina, I'm trying to do the same thing. Ex: I rejoice in having to work all weekend because I am a contributor. The rain blanketing the city is like the Lord baptizing our blessed community. I'm so Tony Robbins, Tom Cruise and John Travolta all rolled into one piece of Positive Pie.

Shocking Death!

WTF: David Carradine is dead. The Internets said something about hanging but not for purpose of suicide. Dish Dao: if you're going to do freaky sexual stuff, at least have a hooker spot you. Sad that this cult-icon is gone.

Duran Duran is in Russia. Watch them sight-see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5YfDez1pHc. Somehow, this is more fascinating than video of Dish sight-seeing. Not fair how good Nick looks in light pants (coz skirt is better?).

For a switch in snacks, try soft Oreo cakes. They seem nasty and kinda are but if desperate, they work.

I'm watching The Love Boat where Robert Urich and his blond wife adopt an 13-year-old orphan named Pepito. It's so precious how they teach him not to steal.

Shocking SVU

Before I die, I'd like to see Denzel Washington in a comedy. Pelham 1, 2, 3 looks like the usual horsefeathers and another freak-ass toupee for John Travolta.

SPOILER ALERT: Last night's L&O: SVU took Dish to uncomfortable places. The rabbit-eyed blond (white-blond males always wind up being crazy and evil) slashed Stabler and I could feel that knife in my chest. Or maybe it was the too-tight underwire causing me pain. I'm always too lazy to try on bras before I buy them. Marishka Hargitay used her super-powers of seduction to save the day. A special R.I.P. for my secret favorite character--the one I'd marry if he were real--O'Halloran, played by Mike Doyle. Did anyone else notice how tragic this was? For seven years, he gave such TLC to those abused carcasses. They better not kill off my Ice-T.

Star Sighting: Eric Bogosian

11:45 a.m., lobby of the Woolworth Building: EB remarks to guests how beautiful the inside is. No merde, Mr. Talk Radio, but tell me, what was it like to work with Steven Seagal in Under Siege 2: Dark Territory? Did you feel type-cast as the brilliant but neglected villain? His character might have succeeded if he'd just tried to take out Cleveland instead of, oh, the entire world! Baby steps.

Dish has ODed on Cool Whip and beef. I'm taking Deepak Chopra's advice to drink hot water. Nutritionists say to add lemon but that tastes like pee. So my diet today is warm water (put someone's finger in it while sleeping--hee hee) which counters caloric-excesses of the past week.

Tonight

I've waited decades for Jay to leave The Tonight Show. Conan O'Brien is perfect. And perfectly tall. Dish went to Toronto with him once. Well, we were on the same plane. (I was in coach)

Let Me Eat Steak

Deep Dish Thoughts:

1. When working hard and ignoring social life (as Dish is doing until end of July), it's okay to eat red meat five times a week.
2. Retardation is when you can't open an envelope without a letter opener. Guilty!
3. Chicken fajitas + The Cosby Show = Nightmares that wake you up in a cold sweat at 3am.
4. Prince Harry's visit to NYC is distracting when trying to read Rousseau in the original French.
5. Would rather see Obama's boobies than LBJ's. Glad we've come so far in Presidential hotness and displays of such. Keep it coming. But I want to see Sotomayor in a thong. It'll give Rush Limbaugh a massive heart attack.
6. Sleeping through Justin Timberlake on SNL a second time = very frustrating!
7. Never rest on laurels, or buy Cool Whip and Pistachio ice cream after doctor says you've lost weight and are in fantastic shape. Fatness is just a spoonful away.
8. Adam Lambert is so last week. (still love him)
9. Work, because nothing new is on TV until September, unless you count The Closer. Maybe they'll knock Brenda up--unless Fritz is shooting blanks. (pun intended!)
10. Crackwhore Pink is an excellent shade for the toes.
11. Green Day's new song was phoned in. No new music!
12. Pray for families of Air France disaster. Sigh. Just when Dish was ready for a trip to Paris...
13. Pray Dick Cheney shuts his big fat face, though like his new stance on gay marriage.
14. Susan Boyle went bonkers after being #2 on talent show. I don't like being #2 either.
15. Don't burn steak!
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