Blubber

I've wanted to address Oprah's fat for weeks now. Oprah is always beautiful and I'm freaked out by all the attention she gets from her diets. I prefer Fat Oprah to Skinny Oprah. Let's call a Twinkie a Twinkie: She's never going to be a stick and shouldn't try. If she can be healthy, what else does she need? I say: buy roomy clothes, move more, eat less and smile. It's hard to keep the weight off when you age and sit on a couch interviewing people. My butt has doubled in size from ten years ago. Take heart, fat-asses: Perez Hilton included an article on his blog about how female butt fat shows you're healthy, so I'll continue to bump into floor lamps and tables, thank you very much. With all the angst over the Gaza strip, I'm so not caring about Oprah's love handles.

New topic: Relationships involve a certain amount of diaper-changing. Superman is our activity planner and I make sure he looks both ways before flying around busy airspace. Lately, it seems as if we focus entirely on his crime-fighting life. I've been okay with this since that means we don't have to focus on mine. A miracle occurred. Backstory: Months ago, I told Superman that January 8th was the worst day of my life. I said it once and figured he forgot. Surprise of all time--he called me to ask me about my emotional state (which is perky) and wants to take me out tonight. I feel loved. This beats the fact that I no longer fit into my favorite pants from 15 years ago!

Rainy Day Sunshine

I popped in Hotel Rwanda--you know, that light romantic comedy starring Don Cheadle. As I got into it I realized: this is so not a romantic comedy about a feisty journalist who gets seduced by a quirky yet dashing hotel manager. Hotels are sexy, fun, where anything can happen as long as the bed is made and you accidentally give a room key to two people (oh wait, that's Ready to Wear!). In hotels, you could meet a handsome politician and even though you're the Puerto Rican maid, he'll fall in love with you (oops, Maid in Manhattan). No, Hotel Rwanda is about freaking genocide! Violence, chaos, families in ruin when evil rebels go on a killing spree. Nice and honorable Don Cheadle tries to save everyone. It's kinda like a black Schindler's List but less sentimental (this is how I could get death threats from Spielbergcandonowrong-aholics). Overall, I liked the flick, learned about an area beyond Chelsea and I appreciate Don beyond his singing talent in Jimmy Kimmel's "I'm f*cking Ben Affleck" music video. Well, Don is always good. Bottom line: if you want sex, romance, lightness, don't rent Hotel Rwanda! If you long to feel plugged into vital parts of global history and ache for Oscar-calibre performances, do!

Epiphanies and Gala Apples

ExBF16 passed on a love for Gala apples to me. Like soup, apples seemed like BS. Then over the holidays, I tried to combat my sugar addiction with apples. Why not try the apple my ex ate? It was a healthy yet warped way to bond with the past. Now I understand: Galas are delicious. If Superman and I break up, I'm sure I'll start drinking fruity alcohol and chewing straws.

New subject: Al Franken in politics--I'm enjoying this. Forty-one years ago, as I walked through an Albuquerque chain, I noticed he'd written a book with a political slant. How fun to see a passionate person go from entertainment to public service (though they are kinda the same thing).

And now, Dish will relax with A Fish Called Wanda. Superman approved my choice, though it's a little too fast for him. While a brilliant superhero with Good Will Hunting/A Beautiful Mind brain freakiness, he prefers obviousness over subtlety. This isn't surprising since Superman wore red tights. If that's not obvious, I don't know what is.

Hitch + Superman = Monday Night Party Central

This will be short since Superman has no idea what I'm doing as he plays marathon poker and merges souls with Jim Carrey in Me, Myself & Irene (don't care for this one). We just watched Hitch and must say Amber Valletta is my favorite (along with the fat guy). Crap!

Dish might have been caught. I want to keep this blog a secret for as long as possible...Then again, Superman doesn't read.

First Star Sighting of 2009!!!

1/3/09, 6:15, 20th and 6th Avenue: Dish was right behind a tallish blond man, carrying a shopping bag. As he turned in profile, I noted he had The Longest and Pointiest Nose Ever. Could it be? The light changed and I ran to match his long strides. Yes, I really followed Julian Sands. Around 21st street, he pulled out a headband to combat the cold. After this, he gifted me with a flash of profile again and I wondered if he'd caught Dish mid-stalking. As we reached the middle of 22nd, he turned into Burlington Coat Factory and I had to send sharp warning flares to my conscious mind: Leave gorgeous Julian alone!!! And that's just what I did. (am curious as to what deals he found in BCF)

Dish Using Brain???

Damn that Christiane Amanpour for her hypnotic reporting. Dish has been hooked to the Gaza situation all day. I'm not sure about the history of the Gaza strip, just that it's been going on forever, since I was little. Why Gaza when Donny and Marie were so much more fun? Can't we all just get along?

First things first: to stop this brain power enhancement immediately. Dish is on her way to Superman's house. Lucky for me, his movie taste ranges from Die Hard to Knocked Up.

Very Tragic Event...with Fascinating Coverage

Of course, I'm mourning from a distance the death of Jett Travolta. Can't even imagine what it's like to lose a child you've loved forever. Like many, I'm scouring headlines...finding mostly "John Travolta's Son Dies" (as opposed to "John Travolta and Kelly Preston's Son Dies") and super-rare pictures of the son but several of their gorgeous daughter Ella. I unearthed only two pics of Jett in a sea of John Travolta. I understand keeping a child sheltered from the media and those headline-greedy bloggers (such as Dish). But I'm secretly suspicious (cynical) of the omissions. My condolences to both the mother and father of Jett Travolta, not to mention the little sister who has to grow up without her brother.

Amy is the New Nicole

When I watch Amy Adams, I see big blue eyes, red ringlets and easy access to intense emotions. She reminds me of Nicole Kidman before she got breathy and blond (and lifted). I see Amy having a long career and it's heartening that she didn't need marriage to a superstar to bring her into the mainstream (not that there's anything wrong with that). I enjoy both actresses, though I'm not altogether sure Amy wouldn't suddenly stab my hand with a fork just for fun. For the New Year, Dish enjoyed Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day and feels Frances McDormand is one of the most beautiful women on the planet.