Meow

You know that shoplifting actress (as if that's a novelty anymore)? Supposedly she ODed on Xanax while on a plane to London. The little boy's scared of flying. I can relate on that score and only blame her for being less than amazing in movies since Heathers. Haven't we all shoplifted and ODed? Well, I shoplifted four magazines once because I had no funds and Duran Duran was on the cover. At least I did excellent work during my periods of vice--except for the D in Physics. I don't blame the Britneys and the Winehouses for being batsh*t crazy as long as they're producing genius in tandem. If not, go take up oxygen on your own planet. How I long for the real Winona to re-emerge and steal some scenes back from Angelina, for Britney to bust some moves (as well as her sequined bikini) in concert, for Winehouse to fill that much-needed role as an original.

It's time to grow up.

Resurfacers and Religion

Every holiday season, old flames reappear. They say hello, test the waters, hint at underlying loneliness. One must either humor them or press delete. Since October, Dish has had seven resurfacers and the holidays haven't even started. It's a little like Amy Irving in Crossing Delancey except I don't let the Resurfacers into my house during this season--and none resembles the pickleman. By January 2nd, the Resurfacers retreat until spring, the second highest outbreak of "checking in to see who still loves me."

In a random subject change, a woman talked about God on the subway tonight. Shouted, more like. Passed out a pamphlet. It seemed criminal and I turned up Coldplay's "Lost." The other night, as Superman and I embarked on a marathon of Law & Order, I realized all the witnesses had to put their hands on the bible to swear in. How is this legal? I don't remember such outrageousness when I was a witness. Was I given options other than Jesus? If I had to do it all over again, I would swear upon a tin of Altoids. That is my god.

ps. Though Dish adores George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord."

Caught Up and Desperate

Just finished watching last night's Desperate Housewives. Clutched a handkerchief in case my Gale got burnt to a crisp. I'm thinking this might be his last episode and if they write him off the show, I will cry bitter tears forever. My Sunday night ruined (since Brothers & Sisters is not floating my boat this season) because of Gale's mean motorcycle. Maybe Gale's character should have gone up in flames because it would symbolize that he's too hot for that show. Bring on more Broadway shows, indie movies, and dare I say, QAF: Season Six?

Quantum of Hotness

There I was. Daniel Craig in front of me. Superman beside me. Some cute gay boy on my other side. Life couldn't get more perfect. Well, except Superman chewed on straws, ate all the popcorn, raisinettes, and my drink and his own faster than a speeding bullet. Funny coincidence: these days, the movies are about superheroes. What's the difference with James Bond? Nothing. They all have secret lives. So, my brain is collecting facts. I don't want to be like Lois Lane, pregnant and abandoned by a man with covert missions. Despite my mounting skepticism, Quantum of Solace was fabulous and DC is my fave Bond ever. I could have done without the shaky Bourne Supremacy editing style.

Post-movie celebrity sighting: Mo Rocca. 10:20 pm, coming out of Elmo's on 7th and 19th. He flipped his hood but not before I saw him and alerted Superman (who had no idea who he was). I hissed after Rocca: You celebrities think you can hide, but I always see you!
Maybe I'm excessive. This weekend, I heard a Simon Le Bon story that highlighted my faulty logic in trying to meet The Ones I Love the Most. A husband and a wife were in a bar. The husband loved Duran Duran, the wife not so much. Simon Le Bon entered the bar, the husband plotzed, the wife not so much. Simon became more and more intrigued by the wife, even when she told him, "Not so much. I don't really care about you guys." So, basically, the wife played by The Rules and Simon was enchanted.

I will report the following:

*Duran Duran has never been on my radar.
*I so did not write a fifty-page term paper on Duran Duran in high school.
*If I did like Duran Duran, I would have liked John way more than Simon.
*No mullet graced my head, nor did I wear a felt fedora and sportjacket.
*I definitely did not buy coral lipstick because that's what Nick wore to his wedding.
*And I never, ever named my diaries after each member of the band.
*When I accidentally happened upon a Duran Duran concert last May, I did not almost barf chocolate cookie chunks when I saw Simon enter his trailer.
*I always liked Culture Club and Spandau Ballet instead!!!

Just Because It's Friday

[it's like looking at the sun]

A Wild and Crazy Guy

Interested parties should read Steve Martin's autobiography Born Standing Up. The contrast between his funniness and sobriety intrigues me. The ridiculously funny are often deadly serious off stage (Bill Murray?). Shopgirl seemed true to his life and I'd been skeptical that yet another performer could write a weighty book. Now there are two.

Dish is going dark for a few days. My one question: will Obama put a woman in his cabinet? He should put the most qualified, of course. Women get too emotional about things anyway. Speaking of which...Brenda Johnson's doctor just told her she might have early menopause, which induced Fritz's proposal of marriage. Gotta start bringing boyfriends to my doctor appointments because they love hearing about female biology. I'm now fantasizing about fear of Hillary asking for a spare tampon during an Obama cabinet meeting.

Maybe Dish needs to stop watching reruns of The Closer...

No Rhyme or Reason

Jennifer Aniston on 30 Rock: Overrated or a cool comeback? Hope it's the latter. Will find out in seconds.

Can't figure out why I love Jonathan Rhys Meyer so much. He seems a little crazy, but so intense. Velvet Goldmine, The Tudors, Match Point. Love him like a sister. Especially enjoy his new Hugo commercial. He's such a renaissance actor.

I'm continuing my affair with the provocative show Tell Me You Love Me and hope Ally Walker gets hers.

Time for TV!

Wednesday's Whine

Life is generally good--new Prez, new First Lady fashions, exercising obsessively, not eating as much junk food, and burying myself in productivity during a strange, mostly awful year. Not to mention Dish made a command decision. Duran Duran is playing in three cities nearby this December. I am dying to go. I *could* go, but I've spent enough on them this year. Three times would be frivolous and foolish (yet fantastic). Other concerts will come along.

On the brighter side, finally saw Deadwood: Season 3 disk 3 where Dish's imaginary BF Gale Harold plays lawman Wyatt Earp. My indifference to the show might have tainted my enjoyment of Gale, though it could be the offensive mustache. Facial hair hasn't turned me on since Burt Reynolds in Cannonball Run--what can I say, I was a zygote. With utter objectivity (ha!), I can say GH rocked the part, as he did last Sunday as Jackson, the sensitive artiste.

One of the nice things about aging: simple pleasures.