New Religion: Born-aGale

It's official: All roads lead to Gale Harold. I've tried to deny it, though my dreams tell the truth. And in revisionist history, I will pretend devotion to others (i.e. Meryl Streep, Barbra Streisand, David Bowie, Pink, Duran Duran--though, like Zeus is to Jesus, DD is a precursor to GH) never existed. I am declaring myself "clear" since this religion has to have a perfect shepherd, or rather someone to write the bible and commandments. Tonight, I will commit my last non Born-aGale sins: eating carbs, picking off my chipped manicure, and dressing like a librarian. Tomorrow, on my first day as a Born-AGale, I will go see theater--okay, Mary Pooppins, but not my choice--and behave with a modicum of integrity. I will smirk, be skinny and absorbed in my art. I'll grow at least one foot and avoid all interviews or overtly commercial ventures.

For those who have followed Damonetics (the worship of Matt Damon), we don't encourage interfaith cavorting, though I'm sure we could have mixers and dance-offs. Just as long as the hair is perfect.

(Crap! That means Dish has to watch Deadwood!)

Billy Crudup, Pink, and Blythe Danner in My Dreams

It's official: Dish is batsh*t crazy. Apologies to my boyfriend (aka BF) who has to endure middle-of-the-night wakings, the last dream being about Britney Spears shopping. Last night, I dreamt Billy Crudup and I were walking around some city--not New York--under French Connection type highways and bridges. He was consulting me on a name change. He wanted one that was more zippy and marketable than Crudup. I came up with Billy West or Billy Lane. He loved Billy West, especially since he was about to move to Los Angeles.

Switch to my throwing Pink a birthday party. I was sweeping up a large hall with a lame-ass broom that didn't pick up much. Stress over getting all the arrangements ready. Did I even know Pink? No, but I loves her anyway.

Suddenly, I am in a play, acting in the role of "Charlotte," a bridesmaid for a sweet young thing played by Blythe Danner. She's excellent, though up close, I can see she's over twenty-five. We are on a ship that wrecks in the ocean, landing on the shores of Japan. We are clothed in kimonos. Oh crap, I forget my lines and run to the script off stage. My line is "Hey!" and I miss it. Luckily, the more competent actors wash over my fugue amnesia.

So, yeah...I'm ready for the straightjacket.

Smart People and the City

BF has a man-crush on Dennis Quaid. He won't admit it, but when I see Frequency on his shelf and notice his mentionitis on DQ topics, I get the drill. Who wouldn't love Dennis? He's spanking hot and is an excellent actron in classics, bombs, and innovative roles (Far from Heaven--sllluuurrrpp). I'm sure BF's love will grow when he notices DQ is playing ugly in Smart People. I will secretly be pining over Thomas Hayden Church whose yelling line delivery tickles me. I respond well to authority.

In addition, I want the Sex and the City cast to succeed beyond the show. Garnier Nutrisse and Ice Princess are acceptable products, but please... So let's hope unsexy Sarah JP is excellent, busting through to receive hoards of remarkable scripts. I'm just happy to see her in a movie where she's not dressed for a circus.

In the German part of our program, Yahoo has a trailer for Tom Cruise's Valkyrie, where he takes on Hitler. I was hoping he'd do a German accent, but his eye-patch was enough to make me laugh. Not that eye-patches are funny, but...well...just on Tom, as he takes on Hitler while speaking full-on American. Warning: causes instant flatulence.

Margot Made JJL Sh*t at the Wedding

Does a great movie have to contain likeable characters? If not, you could watch Margot at the Wedding. It's deep, full of torment, hard core acting, flawed characters, somber lighting, victims, abusers, teenagers. By the end, not only did I hate everyone in the movie, but I wanted to crawl into a prescription bottle. When Jennifer Jason Leigh pooped her skirt, I shouted, "Oh come on!" I dunno. It was Stinky McStinkerson so I replaced an image from the movie with my cat, who is also stinky. I applaud filmmakers trying to do intelligent work, though.

To offset this disappointment, I will plunge into the cheesiest, inanest, predictablest, but good-lookingest movie possible: The Holiday where homebody Kate Winslet exchanges houses with career-diva Cameron Diaz (future naked pillow fight?) to get over their toxic mens. Cupid's Arrow hits hard when faintingly gorgeous Jude Law shows up for a bang-fest with Cameron and Jack Black charms Kate with his sensitivity and fatness rather than his hotness. Happy ending? I dare say, oui. I'm ovulating already.

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.