Aniston Lowering Herself

Since I can identify with her on so many levels--looking great in a bikini, being dried up with one foot in the grave--I feel Jennifer Aniston is scraping the bottom of the barrel by dating John Mayer. I saw him in the Swiss Army store in Soho a few years back and I could have totally beaten him up. He may have the wit the call himself a "douchebag" and speak Japanese to papparazzi, but she can do better. She was married to today's latest advertisement for overpopulation. Every girl knows you have to at least go a step higher than your previous catch. Or date someone who's super smart and interesting (read: to make up for the hideousness). I say she needs to hold out for a hero...and not Jack Nicholson.

In similar news, I have a crush. I am noticing XYs again. My new crush is at my gym, which implies all sorts of things. He's everywhere, hanging balloons, greeting people, making calls, opening the doors when it gets stifling. One day as I fiddled with my audio-device, he came over to help. So now I love him.

Indie Manhattan Malaise

It seems that every indie movie set in Manhattan is really depressing. Or maybe because Heather Graham seems to star in all of them. I loved her in Boogie Nights, but Adrift in Manhattan is exactly what its title suggests. I felt bad for everyone and I already feel bad. There are interesting character studies but I wanted to give each a hit of Zoloft--not that I have any for myself.

And if I can complain some more, I'm irritated by the random Brit/Scot/Irish person on soaps. They are usually just so full of themselves with their sexy accents. Like Aidan and Seth (I think that's his name, he's kinda beefy and has the shaggy hair going) on All My Children, Duke and Anna Lavery and Jax (wtf kind of name is that?) on GH. I hate them and the soap's attempts to infuse Hugh Grant in these small town yet affluent bumblebutt communities. Oh god, did I just say this? I should be killed. Maybe it would even things up if they had me on where I could do my best Rochester, New York accent. Now that's sexy.

Keeping Secrets

I could divulge some secrets--which athletic star has herpes (okay, which one doesn't?), which two mega "good guy" stars regularly cheat on their longtime spouses, which reality star is hooked on crack and is borderline retarded, which super gender specific pop star is actually gay (who isn't?)--but I won't. I can keep some important secrets, especially my own.

A friend to Dish saw Lou Reed on 5/10 down in Tribeca. Oh how I wish. Speaking of Lou Reed in that they did a cover of "Perfect Day,"Duran Duran will play in Central Park on 5/31. I knew they'd come to see me again. And just in time for me to cross this month's finish line.

Star Sighting

5:54 p.m. 21st and 7th: Dish trudged toward an acupuncture appointment and there was Jonathan Cake pushing a baby stroller...in Chelsea. Yes, he's as handsome in person. Did I hear him speak? No. What has he been in? Countless shows, though not starring...unless you saw him in "Diamond Girl" where he plays a perfect delicious a-hole who takes the doelike heroine to get a new wardrobe, beds her, succumbs to his tender wender feelings, then casts her aside before someone informs him that he loves her madly deep down. Mr. Cake was brilliant as an Alpha hero and we hope he gets more of these kinds of roles. Though, he's good in everything.

And now, I'm just thankful that after my first acupuncture experience, I'm not suddenly speaking fluent Spanish.

Mother's Day Star Sighting

12:30 pm. 18th Street, b/w 7th and 8th: Dish walked a whole avenue home from celebrating motherhood. In a green t-shirt and drinking a soda, Jack McBrayer stood outside an apartment building. We made eye contact and I could have caressed his baby smooth, sun-burnished skin. He reminds me a little of my childhood nemesis, so I feel both affection and violence toward him. Mostly, I want to touch his silky, flaxen hair. It's just so floppy, like tissue paper.

Immediately after, I watched Sweeney Todd and was underwhelmed, though not too seriously. Great performances, visually stunning, but the second half sank like a wet cat fart. Maybe it was because I started ironing, therefore couldn't focus. I'll say now, I don't care how ancient Alan Rickman is, he's zexy.

Embarrassing Purchases

I'm not sure why I did it, but my hand pulled out Music and Lyrics from that damn Duane Reade $9.99 movie rack. So, my Saturday night is planned out, with a quickstop at my nearest gay bar to be around my beautiful neighborhood boys, like on Queer As Folk only a little uglier.

No star sightings in a while, though I called a celebrity today and left a message on his voice mail. And my cousin Paul, a celebrity to me, called to thank me for attending the Bob Schneider concert. We agreed Schneider looks like his younger brother Lee, which must incite an urge in Paul to deliver a beating.

For Mother's Day, might I suggest a renting of Serial Mom, starring the husky-voiced Kathleen Turner? She drops some excellent f and p-bombs.

Gone Baby Gone

1. The scent of Satan

2. The smell emanating from a jar of Gulden's

3. My cat's litter box

4. The quality of my master's thesis

You can guess the unifying factor. Just like the consistency of Dish's brain matter while re-entering the online dating world. Too fast, to be sure. As I watched Gone Baby Gone this evening, I saw one of my past would-be online suitors gallivanting across the screen--with lines! I yelped. And then wished I'd pursued that avenue just so that I could have visited him on the set, so that I could be near Casey Affleck. Not that I even notice Casey Affleck ever. But he was good in this, and I must give his brother props. It wasn't a stinky movie, though as expected, Morgan Freeman gave an annoying speech about life and how to survive. I hate that b-tard ever since he left "The Electric Company." My childhood and adolescence cut short by Driving Miss Lazy. And yet, I'll be the first to rent The Bucket List.

Speechless with Love

I can't express the joy of seeing my Paulie play with Bob Schneider, who is now on my favorite list. Paul Mercurio was stylish, smooth, connected to the crowd but not too much. Unfortunately, I got panty-blocked by some chicks and couldn't throw my thong. But a nice boy from Oklahoma chatted me up and asked me about my family and Paul. My lovely uncle, Paul's dad, was there and we agreed Bob used the eff word a lot and was it necessary? After two weeks of nauseating misery, I felt sheer pleasure listening to music, thanks to my family. Look for Paul Mercurio rocking halls and hearts in the future. Not only he is super talented, but he is super nice.