The Bitch is Back

Thanks to my Gale Google alert, I just learned he's returning to Desperate Housewives on May 3rd. Can greatness be far behind?

Now for the bad news: Dish didn't like Slumdog Millionaire. Taylor Dayne would tell me I have a heart of stone. The "Best Picture" had moments but was too sentimental and crapola for me--except for when the little boy crawls through crap to get an autograph. Dish would do the same thing.

Dish is a Twit

Follow Dish on Twitter. I am Dish Snacks, but username is--well, what else would it be, but all one word. Don't have pic up yet because my computer--the one that just filled with smoke--has all my pics. If you're already on Twitter, make sure not to follow Ashton Kutcher. Girlfriend is constantly updating and I don't think he has much else to do.

Star Sighting

5:20, 15th and 7th Avenue: Tonight, I encountered beauty itself. I've waited twelve years to run into this goddess. She's little with hair as red as mine and a gorgeous face. I wanted to thank her for all her good works, for Bull Durham and for making me see how nuns can be sexy. She's the original cougar but far too complex to be categorized. And besides, she wouldn't give a sh*t.

Yes, we made eye contact and it was consensual.

Star Sighting

3:05 pm, b/w 18th and 19th and 8th Avenue: Supreme OMP Harrison Ford on the street. He wore a blue shirt, sunglasses, and flashed a smile at someone. He's such a stalker. This is the third time I've seen him in ten years. He used to live in my neighborhood uptown, now come to hear he's in Chelsea, a block from Dish! Well, I would let him make me breakfast (even though he could be my father).

So, Dish has a big announcement: Saw Duplicity today and must assert that JULIA HAS NOT HAD WORK DONE. My sources were faulty. Girlfriend just wore freaky eyeliner, which can make that area look strange. In the opening scene, her face is suspect but I blame it on bright lighting, false eyelashes and her profile. It's the same face as Charlie Wilson's War. Julia is gorgeous and makes 41 look sexy, romantic and full of possibility. My only criticism is that her hair is like ratty vines throughout. Was this on purpose? Hair is a topic in the film. When she pulls it neatly back, I can breathe again.

The movie itself is worth seeing, as long as you imagine Clive Owen is twenty pounds heavier. He has joined the Lollipop Guild with a huge head and stick figure body. A wonderful actor, he could still make me breakfast--as long as he ate some himself. The story itself forces the viewer to use his/her brain. If you're not used to this, go see the new Hannah Montana.

Lastly, Dish must confess a new obsession: Suze Orman. She's all over the place now that the recession is the new black. I love her bright personality, her reactions to callers, and her no-nonsense advice. She's a delight and I can't watch her enough.

Stop This Salad

I caught ten minutes of Camille Claudel, which put Isabel Adjani on the map (after her boinking Warren Beatty, which prompted the disaster Ishtar). Izzie is impossibly beautiful and it’s no wonder Daniel Day Lewis fell in love and had to impregnate her. In this story, Isabel is a gorgeous genius in an age of male artists. It's so hard for her until she wears black when Victor Hugo dies and Rodin (played by Gerard Depardieu, who is starting to get super-fat) must have sex with her. The clash of the Titans ensues and Camille needs more. She screams and screams and Rodin says, “Arrete avec cette salade!” because Camille is an insane artist squashed by a famous gigantic bearded fat man. After a while, Rodin isn’t that into her, and I keep thinking that if she’d had some good meds, Camille might have been able to deal with Rodin’s sexist-it's-all-about-me ways. Over a hundred years later, I still love Camille's art more than Rodin's. He seemed all about the crotch. Her work exudes more emotion.

To cope with copious ironing, I also caught a gander of Oh, God! which reminded me of John Denver's sweetness. It almost made me cry how nice he seemed. Another one who left this earth too soon...

At Least *Someone's* Getting Married

I pulled my left anterior deltoid muscle from--wait for it--accidentally stepping onto a moving treadmill. I like to keep to my WASP roots and not express hurt or outrage but the "OH!" was loud. Dish went flying but I pretended nothing happened and ran three miles immediately. This happened two days ago. I thought I was fine until last night, I tried to open a jar of peanut butter. Like Michelle Pfeiffer's character in Frankie & Johnny, I can open any jar. It took two attempts and I felt my muscle saying, "FU, Dish," then shatter.

What did I do to ease the pain? Filled a cup with granola (because I'm trying to eat what's in my house thanks to Suze Orman) and sat down to watch Rachel Getting Married. I'm not a big Hathaway fan but she got raves for her work. First of all, I'm pissed at Steven Soderberg because ever since the shaky camera in Traffic, EVERYONE is doing the shaky camera in indie movies. I get it, show the chaos, the frantic and real life--and make your viewer nauseous and nervous. I expected more from Jonathan Demme. When the opening credits ended, I thought, "Cool, he's going to make his characters talk into the camera. He can't help himself." None of that. All shaky camera and Anne Hathaway with her crazy assymmetrical hair (hmmmm, to show how crazy, off kilter and druggie she is?) pissing everyone off. Dysfunctional but loving family, people going bananas at a wedding, someone gets smacked, crisis ensues, suck it up for the big day. That's every single day for Dish. At least in Margot at the Wedding Jennifer Jason Leigh pooped herself. Anne's transformation at the end is effective and there, you don't see her acting. Debra Winger continues to be Lovely and Amazing (ha, that's an indie movie, too).

I give a lot of credit to Hathaway for doing this role. She has talent and courage. If I were America's Sweetheart, I'd be installing a beer bong around my head for the cameras. Let's hope she continues to choose challenging roles.

Nutritious

Dish bristles when someone talks excitedly about "veggies." I'm eating this crap called salad but I won't use endearments to describe what is merely a carrier for dressing. Does Michelle Obama get aroused by grilled vegetables? Probably because lately she's the empress of all earthbound territories and I don't blame the world for loving her. Now that Julia Roberts proclaimed her love for Michelle, I must bow down. I got a little buzz by her meeting Queen Lizzie (who is bubble gum adorable in pink), her confidence and big smiles. My one beef, the Obamas complained to her about their busy-ness and jet lag. When meeting the Queen, hello, everything is perfect. Must agree with eye-twitch Tina Brown that the iPod gift filled with videos of Lizzie's visits was "inspired." They could have brought her a commemorative Obama victory plate (on which Lizzie could eat her veggies).

Off With Her Head!

In Dish family legend, Anne Boleyn is our relative. What better way to celebrate her than to watch The Tudors (pronounced Tee-oo-dahs) starring that little sexy beast Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Though, he makes me laugh the way he storms around, banging babes and pretending to be super in love with Anne. You know Henry and Thomas More and the Pope (Shout out to excellent Peter O'Toole) are having a gay old time together running Europe and throwing back buckets of red wine. Even funnier is that Henry VIII is supposed to look more like John Goodman and not hunkalicious Jonathan. Unless being married made him explode later with his twenty chins. I've seen it happen 100 times. In any case, I'm watching, knowing my little upstart trollop relative will get her head chopped off eventually. He just got rid of his cougar first wife Catherine of Aragon, though I would have gotten sick of her too with all her Jesus talk. Plus, she seemed like such a downer. Anne was funner, perkier and knew The Rules (i.e. abstain from sex as much as possible, act like you don't care about the man, and pretend to be a virgin). Right now, Henry, sporting a Prince mustache circa 1986, is trying to cop a feel but Anne puts him off. Way to go!

Update: Dishmama assured me that we are, in fact, related to Anne. She's like my great-grandmother practically. Does this mean I can marry Prince William?