Not everything is rosy when it comes to Dish and Duran Duran. My love is tied up in adolescent angst, many shitty albums, abandonment issues with Roger and John, who left the band and almost didn't come back. Dizzying solo projects, untapped movie/book potential. Simon's beard bothers me because it's so obviously hiding middle-aged jowls. He looks like Shakespeare. Nick's brooches resemble the ones I wore circa 1985 but I let it slide because he's so artsy and a trendsetter. My love isn't blind. Okay, I guess I wouldn't change a thing about them.
By choice, I ditched mountains of work and hundreds of dollars to trek out to Foxwoods yesterday. It's a given that Duran Duran is a bright spot, but something made me cry as I left last night's concert. Maybe because they didn't play
Rio.
Then it occurred to me: I'm having an existential crisis, which makes sense since I've been reading so much Sartre. These were my desperate thoughts:
I've been a fan for 30 years. I'm too old/too much of a fan to keep getting nosebleed seats. I've never flown First Class either. That really sucks.
The two women next to me were drunk and loud. One of them fell on me. She was a cow.
I always dread the moment when Simon Le Bon picks up a guitar and pretends to strum during
Save a Prayer. I hate that song. I hate fake guitar playing. Stop it, Simon.
I didn't have enough space to dance. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I felt awkward.
They played 17 songs. I knew they were stuck in traffic on the way to Foxwoods, but Dish would never cut it off at 17. What they did play was awesome.
Before the show, I met people who hung out with the band on a regular basis. They were in the very front row, lapping up band-sweat. I was green with envy. I wish I could have tagged along with them, but I was the outsider. Maybe if I'd been pushier...Oh well, I sort of wanted to just go to bed after the show.
If this is so painful, how could I possibly attend John Taylor's book signing on 10/16? I probably wouldn't even get in the door.
It made me sad to realize that I'd need to spend more $$$ on VIP packages, be at death's door or freakishly win some deal from a radio show ever to meet them. Or I'd need to know someone and they'd have to follow through (which usually never happens). I could stake out their hotel in NYC, but I'm not a loser. It must be my choice to be
meet-less thirty years later.
This didn't make me feel better. Here's what did:
I left the concert, mascara running, a woman suddenly barfing in front of me, and realized I hit the jackpot when I met TG. He is a real person and gives me joy at every moment (except when he drives in parking garages). He is there at the end. He won 35$ at the slots and got a free Hard Rock Cafe glass -- which is his equivalent to seeing Duran Duran.
A couple years from now, when the closest place they play is Wallingford, Connecticut, I think I will just stay home (unless I win something).
MacKenzie Phillips was one scary bitch on last night's Criminal Minds. She was my favorite on One Day at a Time--though I love my Valerie Bertinelli (thin or fat), too. Ever since she aired all her dirty laundry, I wondered when Mac-Phil would get back to acting, like in those fun cameo roles. Now here she is! I hope she keeps at it. She's an awesome villain.
Not everything is rosy when it comes to Dish and Duran Duran. My love is tied up in adolescent angst, many shitty albums, abandonment issues with Roger and John, who left the band and almost didn't come back. Dizzying solo projects, untapped movie/book potential. Simon's beard bothers me because it's so obviously hiding middle-aged jowls. He looks like Shakespeare. Nick's brooches resemble the ones I wore circa 1985 but I let it slide because he's so artsy and a trendsetter. My love isn't blind. Okay, I guess I wouldn't change a thing about them. 
Today is the official appreciation day for Duran Duran, though Dish feels this should be a daily event. I greet the dawn with Simon's quirky lyrics filling my head "with chopstick." By mid-morning, my sense of Nick Rhodes aesthetic kicks in. I notice architecture, the ripple in my coffee, well-rounded nostrils. At noon, I Tweet my every move to the masses, just like John Taylor. Tea-time is quiet, like Roger Taylor--well, except for my drumming on the coffee table while watching reruns of Sex and the City. By night I prepare again for my New Religion by rocking out like the unofficial but no less precious member of Duran Duran: the indubitable Dominic Brown. To all this, let's say Amen.
When you watch All About Eve, the eyes usually remain fixed on Bette Davis or that wretched Anne Baxter (oh, Moses, Moses!). I salivated over Bette, too, yet Celeste's part hit very close to home. In this flick, she didn't fling the juiciest lines or chomp scenery, but remained a distant observer, a witness to greatness which distinguished her in a different way. She was the wise, cool cucumber. Throughout her film career, Celeste was such an underachiever, starring in many classics including High Society, All About Eve, lots of theater and sh*tty but awesome TV. She won a best support actress Oscar for Gentlemen's Agreement, and she was married 5 times. That's a lot of life in 95 years.
He is my first rabid rock-star crush, but we won't let him hog up the entire day. Nicole Kidman turns 40-something today! 
Damn you, Nick Rhodes. You're probably strolling by Chelsea art galleries as we speak. I live so close to Barney's Co-op, I could just camp out in the hopes that famous pop stars might need to load up on Kiehl's or 400$ t-shirts. It kills me to think the boys are HERE in NYC. Simon's beard is collecting flotsam and jetsam, covering my favorite diva's fluffy jowls. Then there's John Taylor. Ditching the vices of yesteryear, John is juice detoxing (he Tweets EVERYTHING). From what I know about detoxing, it involves multiple visits to the bathroom and that's too real for me. Dom and Roger are probably sitting somewhere being quiet. Where is Dish? Going about the business, as usual, because I'm not a big freak. Deep down, though, I'm standing near their hotel*, hoping for a peek.
Tonight on Lifetime. It's supposed to be a frank show where stars reveals juicy tidbits about their lives. And who better to host than my former nemesis, the woman I've tried to erase from my mind since I was 23, Amanda de Cadenet. She is a triple threat: blonde, gorgeous and British.
You're a thief, John Taylor. This was the title of MY autobiography and now that's f*cked. How could you extract my creative property and use it as your own? Le Bon did this repeatedly with lyrics such as "shake up the picture, the lizard mixture" and "my head is full of chopstick, I don't like it." Okay, maybe I'll let someone AGAIN have priority over my brilliant words, I guess. Officially and seriously, yes, the above is the title of Duran Duran bassist 
I saw very few "blackouts" on the web and I'm not sure this strike is happening. So I'll blog today and I won't bury the lead: We might be on TV very soon. And meet someone on a par with Anderson! Dish is already hyperventilating and counting chickens. TG asked me if it would be on a major network and if he could have blue M&Ms in his private dressing room.
