Barry Manilow at Radio City Tonight!

There are no words, except FANILOWS UNITE! I'm trying to contain my excitement because it feels as if I'm cheating on Duran Duran. I love Barry! I hope his hip replacement work tonight. I'm ready to sing and dance and revel in being 13 again.

Khloe and Lamar are ending their show after the second season. Doesn't that sound so reasonable? Reality shows should come with a time limit. Real life takes priority. I'm going to try to watch less reality TV, though all will go to hell when The Bachelorette returns with Emily Maynard.

If it weren't for Barry, I'd say it's a Monday:

My browser seems to be flooded once again with LeAnn Rimes bikini shots. She used to be a SINGER. What happened? It's as if she went from having a career to being Mrs. Eddie Cibrian, as if that's a step up.

Some fallout from the Kimmel Correspondents' Dinner speech. Keith Olbermann zinged JK for his cracks. Why are my feelings so mixed? Keith is just so yicky, polarizing, but he is entertaining as sh*t. It's hard for me to imagine him not on TV and, yet, his diva ways make it so. Perhaps he could take over Khloe and Lamar's time slot. Keith Kardashian.

The Killing is Back!!!

Tonight, The Killing returns. I've waited for this all year, way more than Mad Men, which sent me to Lily White's Party*. My favorite red-haired detective, played by Mireille Enos, is an inspiration. She runs like a gazelle, doesn't eat or sleep or marry her weird fiancé until she finds out who killed Rosie (much like Who Killed Laura Palmer but without the freakiness).

There are public figures one can't help but watch. Keith Olbermann seems a vile creature (based mostly on Dish's psychic thoughts and Page Six) and yet I adore watching him. It didn't surprise me that he was fired by Al Gore's Current TV or that he was replaced by vile-scenery-hogging Elliot Spitzer. The yicky boys stick together, sort of like chunked noodles when one forgets to put oil in the boiling water and then stir. Taking this metaphor further, Keith has popped open the lid, strayed from the clump and jumped, sauceless, onto the white stainless steel stovetop where he will stick forever more. Deep Dish Lesson: Slather yourself in olive oil, separate from the pack while remaining in the pot.

Once Mary Ann's was demoted to a B-rating in my neighborhood, my husband and I raced to eat dinner there. We felt that the potential for vermin scurrying through the kitchen and pooping in corners and other unsafe cooking practices made for more exciting meals. Our expectations were met. The table was sticky and my fork had not been washed. The bus-bathroom deodorizer permeated the main room, reminding me of when TG popped the question over chips and salsa. My cheese quesadillas were delicious, as were the frozen margaritas and pork enchiladas. This place will always be special to me.

*My parents' bald-faced lie to get me to sleep