Marked for Scotch

I was caught in an embarrassing situation but it's my fault. A dreamy former classmate met me for a drink at Penn Station and found me reading Seagalogy: A Study of the Ass-kicking Films of Steven Seagal by Vern. I was lost in the brilliance of this text and didn't think to stuff it in my bag before detection. Discussion ensued. Why didn't I bring Proust instead? Because I was in the mood for Seagal and Vern captures how Steven is an enigma wrapped in a riddle.

It's fun to wallow in the past and my friend was a blast to spend an hour with. True, he's not so fixated on Naomi Watts' baby bump or how Carla Bruni went from Vincent Perez to Sarkozy, but we shared dating stories and the fact that we're still hung up on our exes but trying to ignore it with a mighty influx of inept substitutes. And, I admit, it's nice to be around beautiful people (though Penn Station has more than its share of uggos!) and I try to do this as much as possible.

Big Life

Dish got caught in the rain. Wearing light pink. Okay, I wanted there to be a spontaneous movie scene where the heroine runs toward shelter, her boobs glowing through her top and somehow, she makes it underground before the aliens infuse her with heart-stopping goo. Instead, I got home with a sac full of damp paper.

To begin my night, I watched Two Weeks, a choice inspired by my ongoing love for Sally Field. She can do anything -- TV, movies, Osteoposis commercials. I'd love it if she could change the lightbulb in my chicken...I mean, kitchen. Hmmmm, someone ate too much sesame bean curd. Anyway, if Dish didn't know this was based on a true story, I'd venture that it was a snoozefest. Well, it was. Probably because the real story is so huge, so unimagineable, it's impossible to capture on film. Sort of like the first time you have sex--not like in romance novels where all the parts fit perfect and ecstasy ensues. Two Weeks is about a mother (always played by Sally) on her deathbed and how the spawn deal with it. I'd like to say there was no crying, vomiting, crapping in one's pants and morphine but I'd be lying. You kinda get the gist. And yet again, just like in Forrest Gump, Sally dies! Why Sally??? If she dies on Brothers & Sisters, so help me... In any case, parting thought: I feel for whoever went through this experience. It's truly awful.

Immunity

I'm just not feeling The Closer this season. Could be my seasonal ADD as I wait for the fall's lineup. Summer fries my brain. Last week, I was excited because Brenda and Fritz got into a fight. But this episode, all was resolved and Fritz's milk chocolate leather jacket offended my sense of aesthetic. I wanted more yelling, more impaling on the painful relationship sword. Instead, they boobed up today's episode with the ever-excellent Jennifer Coolidge but the case made my butt fall asleep. I need me some decapitation, post-fight elation, sugar mastication, another Fritz-Brenda altercation.

To perk myself up, I'll read the latest issue of Fitness:RX where Jackie Warner is calling me. I love that hot lez, though my friend L. insists her nose is not real. Say it ain't so!

Dark Nights

During these dark nights, Dish likes to spend time with her good friends, Scotch and Dark Chocolate. It's the ideal amuse-bouche for The Dark Knight, which Dish just saw. Review: Too Freaking Long. Not enough cool Batman antics. Heath had the best lines, moments, but was a mite cliche-crazy. I still enjoyed it, loved everyone in it--and by everyone, I mean Michael Caine whose claims on my heart remain ironclad. Heath's portrayal of this hideous villain only made him more sexy to me--the green hair, the purple suit, poorly applied lipstick, what a hunka hunka. I'd smear his makeup and let him freak me out anyday. It's so sad to think such talent is gone. I hope he gets the Oscar for this (but really it would be for Brokeback Mountain).

As for the Batman, I used to fantasize about someone making up a "Batman" dance. I mean, the costume is ripe for excellent club moves, with horns darting, cape swirling, mysterious identity. Just a thought.

Lethal Hair Weapon

You know what's fun about the Lethal Weapon series? Enjoying the evolution of Mel "Sugar Tits" Gibson's hair. Watch and learn:

Lethal Weapon:

Lethal Weapon 2:

Not much change between 1 and 2. Perhaps in 2, Mel's hair is more sculpted, less wild, which relates to Riggs's character. That's so deep, Dish.
Lethal Weapon 3:
Trust me, there is much more Mel hair in this film. It flies, it floats, it's glossy and buoyant. He even sexes it up by putting it in a ponytail.


Lethal Weapon 4:

He cuts that sh*t off because frankly 44 + Mullet + Alcohol + Cigarettes = Sad OMP!

And just for fun:

What Would Brian Kinney Do?

OMG, John Edwards had an affair? Another politician behaving badly? Shocking! Dish is so over this story since Page Six and National Enquirer called it 500 years ago. Did anyone believe me then? My respects to Bernie Mac who I always thought was clever. Very sad when the talented and the good die too soon.

Now onto narcissistic affairs--Dish had a date with a "Tom" last night. He was nice, attractive, but I might chew through him in five minutes. Dating again feels wrong and yet I will attend to this new list of suitors anyway. How does this relate to celebrities?

Welcome to my nightmare. After drifting off to Steven Seagal's The Glimmerman, I dreamt I left Tom on the street and went to my building. He followed me, did a Dustin Hoffman "DDDDDIIIIIISSSSSSHHHHHHH" on the glass window and tried to break into my apartment. So, needing sanctuary, I packed a suitcase, went to the airport and flew to Georgia. Who was there to pick me up but Justin and Brian from Queer As Folk! Justin was pissy as he drove because Brian was paying attention to me. Brian said, "It'll be all right."

I woke up and figured that Brian Kinney would waste 0 brain cells on any of this.

Mad Dash

Re: Rachael Ray's cooking show. Ya know, I kinda like her--except for the whole "yummo" thing--but her dishes seem like a one-way ticket to diarrhea-town. She makes food preparation look easy and I enjoy her roundness. And yet, my intestines bunch up in dread over oily grilled sausage, surrounded by marinated, oily, garlicky eggplant, etc...

Speaking of dread, never ever ever watch Mad Money. I only got through twenty minutes. It is a gross misuse of talented actresses. Even Diane Keaton and Queen Latifah can't polish this cat-sh*t. Sadly, too, my once adored Katie Holmes begins to show an awareness of the camera matched only by her husband (except in Jerry Maguire and Lions for Lambs where he's fab!). Her character is perky and dim, tall and misunderstood. I was so bored and outraged, I couldn't finish my ironing. Truly a cinematic suck-fest.

Buffet

Where to begin? My long trip is over but it was fun. Thoughts: Anderson Cooper and I should be related. Loved hearing him diss the Lohans on Regis and Kelly this morning. His laugh might annoy me after a while, though who wouldn't want such a smarty-pants in the family?

Speaking of family, nothing says love like Nicole Kidman's devotion to her son in the atrocity remake of a remake, The Invasion. Delicious and ciggie-worn Daniel Craig tantalizes her with undying friendship. Not only that but hunktastic Jeremy Northam vomits on Nicole, thereby infecting her (FUN!). And yet HAPPY HAPPY ENDING for all!!! My heart yearned for a creepy scene as in the previous installment, where Donald Sutherland points and yells at the non-zombie human. I wonder, is this Nicole's response to Scientology?

Lastly, Dish was awarded a creepy scene in the form of Zac Effron, who invaded a dream. Isn't he, like, really young and girly? Am I officially a cougar? My internal summit concludes it was another "gift" to help with the agony of dating, which in New York is like a buffet--your date/boyfriend is constantly on the lookout for a better girl, but he'll be with you in the meantime.

This afternoon is devoted to Mad Money, which could be madness itself.