40 is the New 14

The Secret says that if you put it out there, you'll get it. What are the chances that Duran Duran will show up to my 40th birthday party? 100% if I put it out to the universe and just believe. Why didn't I know this when I wanted to marry Keanu Reeves? BF asked me what would happen if one showed up? Would that Duran need to sing? No. My family might die. I would have to sit down. Someone might have to get me a pill. Maybe I exaggerate. I did endure a lunch with my favorite TV heartthrob a few years ago. I couldn't eat, but didn't hurl. And I'm going to be 40, after all. In truth, I'll be happy to have a nice cake. It's so much effort to put anything out into the universe. I'm too tired.

Since I'm almost 40, I can legitimately complain about health issues and have dated taste. For example: I have lower back pain and just discovered Nip/Tuck (and staring at Dr. Troy's odd sideburns)--a shiny new toy on my playground of entertainment.

ps. Happy 800th birthday to Steven Seagal. Since he's the reincarnation of a past lama, that's probably his real age. I bet he's tired, too.

Contact High at a Ray Davies Concert

4/8/08, Beacon Theater, 8: 45 pm. On our sixteen-month anniversary, BF and I had nosebleed seats, so all I saw were Ray Davies's chicken legs and bright thinning-in-the-front hair. The voice, though, is that of a triumphant bear with a slight cold, which I soaked in even though I always thought of The Kinks as the band that took away slightly from Duran Duran's airtime on MTV in the 80s. And he was Chrissy Hynde's luvah. The music holds up in any era and I relished seeing yet another oldie but goodie come back. Like a good straight boy, BF bobbed his head, swayed jerkily and sang. Throughout, we were treated to the smell of marijuana wafting to our section. After the concert, Dish sped home to read his bio and thought, omigod, he and I are so much alike--except for the age diff, nationality, stardom, music, children, marriage, gunshot wound--I came close once. I am now a fan of Ray Davies (even though he's a Gemini).

4/9/08: 18th and 7th Ave, 1:15 p.m. Dragging my nasty ass to the gym, I brush by Janel Moloney. Oh no you di'nt! I gasped out loud. Amber Frey. More importantly, that chicky on The West Wing! Looks exactement gorgeous like on TV but here had on a black coat and may have had shorter hair. Just in case you wanted minutia.

After Le Chiffre

Run don't walk to order from Netflix After the Wedding, a Danish movie directed by Susanne Bier, where a family's sh*t hits the fan. It stars the enigmatic Mads Mikkelsen, also known as bloody cry-baby Le Chiffre in Casino Royale. Only here, MM is a do-gooder who returns home to find the product of his errant sperm. The movie explores themes such as fatherhood, fidelity, death, and lost love. Poignant, well acted, beautifully shot. Dish even cried at the end. This is the perfect antidote to Rush Hour 3 where the most ridiculous stunt ever concocted--using the French flag as a parachute from the Eiffel Tower to those reflecting pools--upset my chi. After the Wedding restored my faith.

Possible Gale Harold Sighting But I Could Be Totally Blind

It was last Saturday (3/29), 6:45 p.m. Fresh from a friend's wedding reception, BF and I were walking westward. I might have been slightly tanked from my thimble of scotch. While BF regaled me with sparkling anecdotes, I glanced back. Half a block away was this tall man with perfectly tousled hair, walking a dog. Same gait, features and all. Could it be...? Would Brian Kinney even own a dog? I only looked back twice because BF is always more important. After the potential star went into an apartment building, I gushed to BF and said I now knew where my super-fave-actor lived (though I respect privacy, I'd get too nauseous around any of these people, and as of now, I can't remember where it was). BF set me back on my wise course by asserting that GH probably didn't live there, it could have been someone else and why didn't I tell him sooner so he could see GH for himself (as if he cared)? It probably wasn't him only because I am blind as a bat...and more significant, my Spidey celebrity sixth sense didn't go off.

Cashmere O'Connor Star Sighting

Today, 12:00 p.m., Le Pain Quotidien on 7th Ave and 18th: Pleasantly diversified actress Frances O'Connor was walking in as I was walking out. I hogged the door for a split second while trying to place her. Sleepless again, I felt like death but got a nice perk at this sighting. Lovely woman, no makeup.

Hers is the only character on Cashmere Mafia that I like and FC ain't even Amurican!

Speaking of foreigners doing American accents, that Johnny Lee Miller is amazing on Eli Stone. I've decided.

Steven Seagal Travels With Me

Last night, as I scoured Michael Caine's bio on imdb.com, I learned that he didn't enjoy working with Steven Seagal in On Deadly Ground. I don't blame him. What right did Steven have to direct the great Caine? Then I realized that I'd just had my pre-travel Steven sighting, which happens without fail right before I fly. These last ten years, it's become a tradition to watch a Seagal movie the night before a flight. Tonight, it's Fire Down Below, which often describes the sensation I feel after I eat spicy food. In Seagal terms, it's where the evil Kris Kristofferson dumps toxic waste, down below. The power of good, i.e. Steven, helps the Hillbillies stand up for themselves and falls in love with Marg Helgenberger, who makes honey and wears lovely cotton dresses. I adore Marg because she looks exactly like me. Okay, I'm hallucinating, but she's very pleasing in everything she does, even as the token girlfriend. On the dark side, Kristofferson hangs out with strippers and derides his son, therefore, he deserves to go to jail where Seagal promises he'll get his dues from "Tyrone." That Seagal, he takes care of everything. And I hope he is the angel who carries my plane to safety tomorrow. My friends think this fondness indicates brain damage, but I don't care. We all need tricks to get through this life.

Why Are All the Stores Closed?

You'd think it was a holiday. And if so, why are stores closed for this holiday? I guess it does give one hope that after death, one can return. That would justify all the zombie movies out there. If Jesus hadn't risen, I might not enjoy decapitating chocolate bunnies or the sight of Peeps on Duane Reade shelves. The actual Peeps themselves are disgusting but visually stunning.

Speaking of stunning, Dianne Wiest rocked my afternoon in Hannah and Her Sisters, perhaps Woody's most uplifting movie. This flick came out when I graduated from high school and I wondered then, who is this fluttery-voiced chick with the perpetual squint? She's amazing! Her character is sort of what I might have turned into, except that I've have been in only two professions--if you don't count the dry cleaning stint. She can't sing, can't act, has some talents and bad habits, along with a string of disappointments, but a nice spirit, which I hope New York bitterness hasn't killed in me. Please, though, I hope very much that I don't end up with the Woody Allen type.

The Sound of Commandments

Happy Resurrection of Jesus! Dish really isn't Christian, but Jesus was probably awesome when he was alive. To celebrate (the Vernal Equinox) Easter, I tried to watch for the first time The Ten Commandments, but Anne Baxter's lusty character makes me cringe. I'm sure she was awesome as well, but frankly, the acting sucks in the movie. Maybe that's why it's such a classic? So, I turned to The Sound of Music and my heart began to thump. Not only do I wish Julie Andrews were my best friend, but Christopher Plummer is a hot hardass-turned-softie. The chemistry between them is palpable. I want to cry already, but I'm not that big a ween.

Okay, maybe I am. Will bury my Kleenex before BF gets here. I'm subjecting him to Hannah and Her Sisters. Woody Allen and Jesus. Epic.