Bride Wars

The dinner between Superman and Dishmama went off without incident. S and I had competing acne breakouts and he spilled water over my place setting but that was it for drama.

Today, I tried to see He's Just Not That Into You. Sold out for the rest of the evening, even with the bad reviews. I dragged Dishbrother and Dishbrothersweetheart to see Bride Wars, starring promising actresses Kate Hudson and Anne Hathaway. While the flick had no basis in reality and Kate should never do bangs again, I laughed a little. It was slightly Beaches with one bombastic character and her eager-to-please best friend--except no one died of cancer. Kate deals with weight issues (like Bette Midler) as Anne sports a string bean form with long black hair (like Barbara Hershey). Worth a Netflix rental if it's raining out, you want to eat a whole pan of brownies and have nowhere to go.

Favorite part: the preview of Julia Roberts's new movie with Clive Owen. I was so dazzled by Julia, I had to hold my brother's hand. Want desperately to be her best friend and I would get bangs if she asked me to....

The Great Mother

Tonight, Dish brings Superman to meet Dishmama, Dishstep and Dishbrother. For some reason, I'm not nervous. Having delivered a parade of freaks to my family, nothing fazes them anymore. I've lived through The Family Stone, Meet the Parents, Home for the Holidays and ever other horror show involving relatives and boyfriends. Survival involves my helping serve and clear dishes. Also, Dishmama is a pro, not at all like Diane Keaton from The Family Stone. In this flick, Di makes an icy Sarah Jessica Parker feel like a Martian. By contrast, Dishmama will pile food on Superman's plate, solicit his superior knowledge of finance and changing lightbulbs, gush over his insight, then bully him into taking food home. Superman will leave feeling as if he's the King of the World, without quite realizing why. That's the magic of Dishmama: everyone is welcome (except for misogynist commentators during Hillary Clinton's campaign).

Here's Why I Could Totally Be The Duchess:

1. I wouldn't mind doing my wifely duty once a year with Ralph Fiennes.
2. Except for one instance of rape, moving his mistress (my ex best friend) into the house, and acting like it's my fault that I had two girls, Ralph would be the ideal husband: he doesn't talk much, his blazing eyes are mildly hot, he has money/title, he might die first and I'd already know He's Just Not That Into Me, i.e is a d*ckhead with ingredients listed outright.
3. The wigs alone are amazing.
4. If Ralph grosses me out, I could close my eyes and imagine...um...George Washington?
5. Seems to me drink was freeflowing in 1774 and Keira imbibed so much she set her hair on fire. If only she'd had an electric guitar and could bite the head of a rat, the scene would've been epic!

My favorite moment: Keira and Dominic double-act and should receive Oscars. Not only do they play Georgiana and Charles, but at a party, they pretend to be acquaintances (when they're secretly in love). Double the talent!

Poor Keira Knightley, though. She thinks LOVE conquers all in The Duchess. Whatever happened to marriage as a business arrangement? Marrying the one you love is so 50 years ago. If she were smart, she would have hidden her extramarital exploits, downed tons of port and collected the $$$. Oh dear, look how cynical Dish is. Bunnies and kittens bunnies and kittens bunnies and kittens...

Stop Hating, Women!

Shame on you, Faye Dunaway and Etta James, for dissing the younger women trying to create their own legends. You had your time as tootsies in the spotlight. Sure, I wouldn't be happy if Britney Spears played me in the story of my life, but I would let her do it and not be bitter (maybe a little, but I'd keep it to myself). Witness the latest catfight that makes women laughable in the public eye and brings us all down: Faye Dunaway said they should have cast a "real actress" instead of Hillary Duff for the new Bonnie & Clyde movie. (Did anyone SEE Mommie Dearest?) Hillary should have taken the high road and praised Faye as an icon--she didn't. Etta is enraged that Beyonce sang HER song at the inauguration. Celine Dion also sang that song on her CD, New Day. I plan to dance to it at my wedding (that will take place in the Age of Hellfire). How could Etta be mad when she's often a solution in the New York Times crossword puzzle? True, I am more into listening to Duran Duran than Beyonce but Ms. B. did an amazing job. I don't blame wanting to grasp as much spotlight as possible (hello, blogging?) but, as Whitney Houston once said, I believe the children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way.

On that note, I'm going to watch Ralph Fiennes act all constipated and Keira Knightley sport Louis XIV hairdos in The Duchess.

Ps. Dissing seems to be infectious! Stephen King just smacked around Stephenie Meyer, James Patterson, and Dean Koontz for being "terrible" writers. This from someone who writes 1,000 pages for what would be captivating (i.e. edited) prose at 400! That's the problem when you have no synopsis and just feel like filling up pages with "brilliant thoughts" (no one cares about). Oh wait, now Dish is dissing. (Loved On Writing, SK!). Never mind!

Paul in the Mall

As we witnessed Steven Seagal's impaling of a pesky fighter in Jesus formation over a sharp fence, I mentioned to Superman about the discrimination between fat women and fat men in Hollywood. He perked up when I rambled about Paul Blart and Kevin James. So, of course, we're seeing Paul Blart: Mall Cop in a couple hours. I'll confess: I want to bask in visions of a fat boy riding a scooter to fight crime in a mall. I want to belly-laugh as he runs into things, falls down, busts out of his too tight uniform and jiggles. I'll save my serious movie viewing--Doubt, Slumdog Millionaire and Milk for the weekend. Oh, and I'm reading The New Yorker again so I'm allowed a little Paul Blart. Or rather, a lot of Paul Blart.

Steven, Please Help Us

In a world covered in snow. One woman, Dish, is under the weather and blowing her nose into takeout napkins. Her fearless counterpart, Superman, is a little crabapple from work (undiagnosed ADD). What they need: Steven Seagal (cue big boots walking through a saloon door, shot of hideous long jacket) in The Glimmer Man. Can Dish rally, haul her cookies back out into the snow (read: Superman is bossy AND lazy), DVD in hand, for that one chance to help them both?

Steven, it's up to you.

Self-Righteous Pill

With a glad heart (and perhaps a fever), Dish sat down to watch Righteous Kill, starring fabulous OMPs Robert De Niro and Al Pacino (FYI--the leather jackets = automatic enhancer of kewl!). This extravaganza begins with a montage of measuring "whose is bigger." B&A compete in shooting, chess, chasing bad guys but they're brothers who love the badge and the gun, especially the big, hot sweaty gun. I knew one of them would be schtupping a too-young babe and that's when goddess Carla Gugino appeared, egging on Bobby to do it to her harder. The little vixen has been flashing her wherewithal all over since playing the mom in Spy Kids. Wonder if she's afraid of being typecast as the good girl? In any case, Bobby and Al drop tons of F bombs, threaten 50 Cent, call everyone a bunch of Mother-Fellas and play pranks to bring down a vigilante killer. The ending was a flipping over of Heat, though you don't have the cool soundtrack. In fact, this film is as deadly as up-close-and-personal cat flatulence.

Nothing could dampen my spirits, especially since I received a nice thank you note from Shirley MacLaine. Well, her assistant wrote it. And he invited me to visit her website. I did just that. But there was nothing about me.

More About Fat Boys

Once I thought about Hollywood fatness, I couldn't stop. What would happen if Jack Black, Seth Rogen and Kevin James lost weight? They'd be average, slightly peculiar geekazoids (the ones who never have sex in high school and are so filled with pent-up rage they wind up as movie producers and starlet breakers). In some ways, they sacrifice their health for their craft, just as women do. The more fat they wield and flop into pools, dousing tanners within half a mile, the more they can feed their families. Fat can be unsightly, but on these cats, it's cute, right? And it gets them laid in Shallow Hal, Knocked Up and Hitch. For serious lard, can we look at Tom Hanks since he stopped acting as much, and Liev Schreiber's post baby? The latter looked a little puffy in today's Post. Hmmm, if I were to watch the Super Bowl, I'd see litheness. Because football players are not fat. It's all muscle underneath those costumes.

Boys fat in talent and athleticism: Dish's kudos go to Nadal and Federer who played a punishing match in Australia. I was touched by Federer's tears, though my corazon belongs to Nadal.