Why Do I Keep Dreaming about Tom Cruise?

It happens about once every quarter, like the delivery of my TIAA-CREF statement. The Scientology Prince appears in my dreams, leaving me serene the next morning. I don't ask for him to show up but as soon as he does, my subconscious is in starry-eyed awe. During my waking life, I only watch his movies to assess his clothes and hair. He and his personal life bore me, as do his interviews and gay rumors.

Last night, we were shooting some movie where our child was kidnapped (go figure, my subconscious wants me to be an actress). The girl has a cute mop of black and big green eyes (not my features since this is TOM we're dealing with). After scenes where I freak out, crying over "my baby," Tom comforts me, we make out on the way to rescue her (he's not a good kisser, but was nice to me, didn't wash his mouth out with Purrell afterwards--apologies to BF who is eons more appealing), and somehow, he finds the solution to where our girl is by locking himself in the bathroom and reading the label on a bottle of Scope. Brilliant! After the take, Tom and I walk down the hallway and I tell him I never believed the gay rumors. He flashes that smile and hangs a finger on one of my beltloops, so trying to seem like a Casanova. I know the truth. Of course, before I could figure out what that truth is, I wake up to a wailing cat.

In other news, Live Free and Die Hard was breathtaking, especially when Bruce drives a truck off a tumbling bridge, which somehow takes out a fighter plane. Great action sequences, though am not understanding how Timothy Olyphant was cast as the formidable villain. I kept waiting for him to break out the Clearasil and journal his feelings. They gave him a touch of grey at his temples, but he seems about twelve...and girly. Not like a psychotic computer nerd. Eric Bogosian was way better at this in the Steven Seagal masterpiece, Under Siege 2: Dark Territory.

As far as action movies go, I'm waiting for the girl-triumphant Jodie Foster flick coming out in September. I'm so into watching her play it straight, with Naveen Andrews no less. But a gun-toting Jodie should not be missed.

Ex-Mayoress Scores Free Love

July 6, 2007, 7:50 p.m. Central Park: We were waiting to piss outside of Shakespeare in the Park's "Romeo and Juliet" when we realized Rudy's ex Donna Hanover was right in front of us. She seemed to be comforting some cranky blond babe, her daughter perhaps? We wondered if the daughter was bemoaning the plight of accepting good friend Judith Nathan as a stepmonster, or the embarrassment of Daddy running for prez. Well, we didn't care about that, but rather focused on Donna's split ends, which were as resplendent as ours. We loved that she wasn't totally glam. Despite BF's anxiety about getting into the show on time (as if we were going to hold it for three hours), we made it through the long line. Lifelong credit is due to BF for waiting in line for five hours for tickets. No one else would have done this for us and we are lucky. Who knew Lauren Ambrose could do something other than play an emotional teenager? Oh wait...that's totally Juliet.

July 4, 2007, 10:20 a.m., 19th and 7th Avenue: We plodded with BF toward the deli for sandwiches to take to Jones Beach. We sniffed and almost missed Victor Garber and friend walk past us. Both gents seemed animated and happy and we pointed him out to BF, who said, "Who's that?" Uh, Alias? Titanic? And those are just the most commercial things. Okay, there was the episode of Will & Grace. BF had no idea who he was but we assured him Garber was huge...and we see him in our neighborhood so often we might introduce ourselves. No we won't.

Soap Opera Star Sighting and Praise for Duran Duran

June 26, 2007, 8:45 p.m.: Wobby on scotch, we were skipping toward home when on 21st and 6th Avenue, we spotted him, that absurdly endowed hot guy on Ally McBeal, who now plays "John" on One Life to Live. He even looked at us as he walked by, though his dog gave us the cold shoulder. Bitch!

June 30, 2007, 2 p.m. ish: In the Duane Reade on 19th and 7th Ave, we were paying for our rewetting drops and Altoids -- bemoaning the state of our bank account -- when we turned and saw our beloved Mo Rocca standing in line. We wanted to remind him that we opened a door for him at Le Pain Quotidien a month ago. We didn't, of course, because keeping a blog is a more passive way of making a fool of ourselves.

Thought of the day: We were mesmerized by the concert for Diana today, mostly because Di and Dish have something very important in common--Duran Duran is our favorite group. We would love them even if they farted the classics on their next album. They can do no wrong (except murder and pedophilia). Next year marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of our unconditional love/obsession and we might send them an anniversary card, which will probably land in the lap of an underpaid assistant....

Club Star Sighting

June 21, 2007, circa 4:45 p.m., 17th and 7th Avenue: We did a triple-take, too, as club phenom Amanda Lepore traipsed past us. Because we couldn't help looking, the former he seemed annoyed with us and just wanted to cross the damn street. Either that or she couldn't see past the haze of botox. And because we had to stare even more (celeb whores can't help it), we checked out the junk in her trunk. Nice she-butt!

What's Up, Doc?

Okay, this is terribly mean, but we've noticed Chloe's Bugs Bunny tendencies for years. And she has gorgeous teeth and a great smile. We hate it when she does this partial thing. Dish has one front tooth longer than the other, which is why we try not to show teeth. It's because we once opened a beer bottle with the tooth and chipped it.

Cruise Hayes Haiku

Open mouthed brothers

We grin the light fantastic!

Separate from birth

With babies and beards

(Who lathers up the cowboys?)

Life is beautiful!

Once in a Lifetime Sighting

June 11, 2007, 4:45 pm, 18th and 7th: As we rushed home to watch Dr. Phil, we were accosted by a familiar creature on a bicycle. It was the Talking Head-master David Byrne, wearing a Devo cycling helmet! He almost ran us over, which would have meant missing a touching bitchfest from TV's most popular bald psychologist (Dr. Keith is #2). Ten years ago, a former BF approached DB on a plane and asked him for his autograph. With less gray hair, the singing star obliged and remarked on Dish's unusual name. We wanted to yell after him thank you, but then remember our hatred for cyclists.

In other news, BF texted us that Paris Hilton has found God. We're not wowed by this because everyone finds God, it seems. Why not Satan, Hecate, Erato, or Allah? Shouldn't they get their due? Why can't Paris find implanted in her buttcheek the piece of lead that came from the pencil a friend stuck on her chair in the fifth grade? Oh wait...that was our finding. God and speed, Paris.

Sightings by Rodin and BEA Bounty

Mucho long overdue, but on Memorial Day, we hung out with BF at the Met and soaked in a few seconds of culture (secretly noticing, of course, anatomically butchered Greek and Roman statues) before diving back into our obsession with Brothers & Sisters. We can't pretend to understand Surrealism and it pains our sense of order to see an armpit in the middle of the desert. Still, as we exited and made our way through obscene Rodin sculptures (and we wonder how he got to be in a family museum), we saw Brian Stokes Mitchell in a lime Polo-esque shirt, looking all of about twelve. Because we once espied him sucking down an ice cream cone in Hell's Kitchen, we weren't crazed with excitement. BF responded, "Who's Brian Stokes Mitchell?" We patted his arm. He has so much to learn.

June began with our occasional trek through the hoards at BEA. It takes about forty-five minutes before the claustrophobia sets in so we walked fast by the booths. We were really there to spot celebrities and our prayers were answered when a thinner and looking-exactly-as-in-movies-and-TV Chris Elliott (aka Woogie) walked by. While rewarded by this sighting, we headed for the Exit sign. The shakes had set in. Only for Duran Duran would we have weathered our phobias.