4/18/07, circa 5 p.m.--While sitting at Le Pain Quotidien (daily pain of expensive lattes), Dish saw the great Wallace Shawn enter with a babe. They walked toward the back, their auras the colors of the rainbow. Made it very hard to eat our mini-mousse cake, but we managed.
Then four days later...we were in the fifth row for the LAST performance of The Producers, five minutes before curtain when roaring applause broke our chocolate-dipped Altoid coma. Who was it? Why Mel Brooks! We noticed Patricia Neal coming in, too, but were a little pissed she beat out someone for an Oscar, we don't remember who, and that was thirty years ago, or something. Okay, so we didn't recognize her at first because we're a little blind. Anyway, Mel (not Gibson) sat down and was besieged by fans. We wanted to yell, hello, this is New York and the show is about to start. It was fabulous, by the way. And we might switch over to the chocolate-dipped Altoids al permanente.
Fast-foward to today. We had an event to attend, a cocktail party whatever at The Lighthouse Building. As we walked in, Stephen King walked out. He, too, had a shiny rainbow aura... spattered with blood.
Other than this, no celebrity shenanigans are cared about by us. Except that Larry Birkhead gets the kid. We're upset Rosie O'Donnell is leaving The View and we can't be bothered to watch anymore. We saw it coming, but still...And could the Today show get any non-newsier?I love Meredith Viera but I don't care what a bad cook she is, nor do I need helpful hints on how to grate cheese. What else, okay, since we're trying to see less movies like Blades of Glory, we highly recommend The Lives of Others. Might have to buy that one. In order to quench our drool fest, we stole and watched BF's copy of The Quiet Man. For the record, we drooled over the always-excellent, sometimes movie-choice-challenged (On Deadly Ground) Michael Caine, not Brendan Fraser--though he's cute too.
And now, it's time for
Richard III where we will writhe in ecstacy over Ian McKellan (and Annette Bening). But before Dish goes, we must confess to strange dreams. Last night, we dreamt we were auditioning to be Jackie Warner's (the
Workout Goddess) cleaning lady. After cleaning Jackie's house and having her bitch us out for neglecting to dust her stereo, we went crying to our best friend, who was Julia Roberts! We were so excited about this we had to text our brother--since being friends with Julia is our fondest wish (after health, happiness, more money, etc...). A few nights ago, we dreamt we were in a hotel room with Tom Cruise and we were dying to ask him the real deal about Scientology. When we tried to converse with him, he kept saying, "Where did you get this information?" Moral of the story: It's bad to eat salami sandwiches so late at night. Makes for weird REM.
May 23, 2007--1:45. Dish was walking from the West Side Market. We can't divulge the contents (lard sandwich) since we'd just come from the gym. As we made our way up 15th on 7th, we spotted this glowing bronze sternum. How did someone do that to their chest? Was it make up? We looked up and saw the angelic face of Helena Christensen, supermodel of the 80s and 90s, former lover of Michael Hutchens. Was it really she? As HC passed us, we whipped our head around. No butt and twig legs. Had to be. What are the chances she was buying a lard sandwich, too? Okay, yes, we're bitter over the lost chances to model due to lack of discipline and height.
Dish can never resist spending money on overpriced lattes so we went back to Le Pain Quotidien for the second time. As we entered, a salt-n-peppered Mo Rocca, which sounds too much like the drink we ordered, exited carrying a Bandes aux Fruits (strawberry turnover). Buried under our coat so as to hide our bad hair and bloodshot eyes (allergies), we were nice to hold open the door for him and he thanked us. Yes, he thanked US. A celebrity said something directly to us, thanking us for our kindness, which only happened because we recognized him as a celebrity. Otherwise, girlfriend could have opened the door herself.
Every time Dish vows to hate Judi Dench, we can't help loving her. She's just so perfect, like that phony baloney Meryl Streep. She proves her perfection once again in Notes on a Scandal, which details a slightly lesbionic lonely spinster's intense female friendship with pedophiliac Cate Blanchett (who approaches that same perfection, except her lordly voice in Lord of the Rings annoyed us). Chaos and confession ensue between the girls all against the backdrop of Phillip Glass's endless cascading scales. When next we dish with our girlfriends, we're going to have his music playing in the background. It just lends a dramatic tone to everything. In any case, a teen gets to have sex with his art teacher (who doesn't?), Judi stops teaching so she can pick up more chicks, and Cate somehow reconciles with her old turd husband Bill Nighy. All in a day's work for Dame Judi.
Two sightings within five hours. Friday, May 11th, 7:30 p.m. We were walking to the subway on 18th and 7th when we caught sight of a black-haired Seth Green. We did our usual zoinks double-take, which he might have noticed. Good thing: We're taller than he is and could kick his ass. Bad thing: It might not have been Seth Green. We celebrated our celebrity sighting with Chivas and a cheeseburger. 11:00 p.m. As BF escorted us home, we spotted a familiar head of white hair on a tall ex-vampire. It was Frank Langella! We couldn't help ourselves--we giggled upon remembering his full frontal in the remake of Lolita. An excellent score for a Friday night.
Since their baby news, we've left them in peace, have avoided their movies or discussions of their talent. Dish has a life, too. And yet, a tale of Cholera in 1920s China was hard to resist. In fact, watching this movie helped us re-diagnose our March 2007 ailment. Dish did have Cholera that first week, not the stomach flu. A fun movie -- despite the Cholera, maybe we just like saying Cholera -- and so far, we highly recommend. Naomi goes brunette and acts her butt off. After this, we move on to another spirit-lifter, Notes on a Scandal. 
4/18/07, circa 5 p.m.--While sitting at Le Pain Quotidien (daily pain of expensive lattes), Dish saw the great Wallace Shawn enter with a babe. They walked toward the back, their auras the colors of the rainbow. Made it very hard to eat our mini-mousse cake, but we managed. 
And now, it's time for Richard III where we will writhe in ecstacy over Ian McKellan (and Annette Bening). But before Dish goes, we must confess to strange dreams. Last night, we dreamt we were auditioning to be Jackie Warner's (the Workout Goddess) cleaning lady. After cleaning Jackie's house and having her bitch us out for neglecting to dust her stereo, we went crying to our best friend, who was Julia Roberts! We were so excited about this we had to text our brother--since being friends with Julia is our fondest wish (after health, happiness, more money, etc...). A few nights ago, we dreamt we were in a hotel room with Tom Cruise and we were dying to ask him the real deal about Scientology. When we tried to converse with him, he kept saying, "Where did you get this information?" Moral of the story: It's bad to eat salami sandwiches so late at night. Makes for weird REM. 
April 13th--Right before we started our work day, we ran out to get an overpriced latte. As we returned to our building, we noticed right in front, a woman in baggy clothes and short, straw-blond hair picking up dog poopy. We thought, nice that someone else is dressing down in the morning as Dish wore her pajama bottoms in public. But upon our approach, we noticed the smoldering brown eyes and the flawless skin of our LIZZIE from dreamy Pride and Prejudice, the version that haunted us for years! That Lizzie, aka Jennifer Ehle, who keeps doing Tom Stoppard plays on Broadway.
