Serious Question

One of Dish's viewers wonders why Jason Bateman has never pursued nudity of any kind, with preference for full frontal?

Here's what Dish thinks: It's not a priority to see a funny person's wang. A hot person's wang is more vital. Jason Segel is an exception but he carries a bat in his pants. Why wouldn't he flash it as much as possible, which he does in Forgetting Sarah Marshall? When you write the script and star, you can order people to put a camera in your underwear. It means you will always have a girlfriend (or a boyfriend).

We didn't start out wanting to see JB naked. On Silver Spoon (he was, like, 12), it would have been illegal. But then JB got hot, so it's understandable to go from indifference to violent desire. By now, JB's image has already been established. For many, it would be like a naked Santa Claus. Exception, of course, with Julie Andrews. She unveiled her boobays in S.O.B.. There's hope that JB could drop trow in another remake of Lolita, the way Frank Langella did. We saw Frank's frank and beans flopping every which way as he ran after that little girl.

For a man, everything south of the border is big deal, even if it's not a *big* deal. Hollywood takes the wang very seriously and covers it with gold and holds it in highest esteem. Only when the codes are given, retinas scanned and i's dotted can that lightning rod makes its appearance. By contrast, girl patches are everywhere in film. I guess the answer is: I don't have an answer.

Jason Bateman is funny, a family man. Not every person thinks about him naked--but some of us do. We can only keep his potential public nudity in our prayers.

Julie & Julia (but not THAT Julia)

The above movie is very worth seeing, though it made me apoplectically sad at the end. What can I say, Meryl is spectacular. I now appreciate Julia Child so much more. Amy Adams is Nora Ephron's new Meg Ryan. The food will make you hungry. If you already love France, you'll love it more. Julie & Julia is a sweet message to all husbands who love their spouses. The marriages in the movie seemed so complex and nurturing.

As if.

New in Crap

I’d been wanting to catch up with our little Renee Zellwinky who’s squiring (or another verb that’s dirty) around with that animal-torturer Bradley Cooper. Had no interest in that 50s George Hamilton piece where she plays a crappy mom so I picked out New In Town, that adorable innovative romantic comedy where a career-oriented city chick goes to freezing and heavily accented Minnesota, wearing high heels while pushing tons of luggage. Whaddya know, hijinks ensue and she goes from sleek and nipply to dumpy and frumpy. Whenever I go to Minnesota, I instantly pack my Yellowstone sweatshirt, turtlenecks, and leave the hair straightener and bold colors at home. I hate to say it, but I will: Renee's character is just an unlikeable bitch until the last ten minutes. If I'd ever behaved the way she does, I'd hope someone would smack me in front of a crowd. Because it's a rom com and bitchiness gets you love (Notting Hill) Renee meets gruff but soft-underbellied (psycho in real life?) Harry Connick Jr. and more hijinks ensue. Bottom line: My butt could have written a better screenplay. In fact, it did.

So, back to tennis, Dish watched 10 hours and predicted the two upsets: Oudin and Isner who played marvelously and never gave up. Oudin is the girl I hated in high school: the adorable eager beaver jock who got whatever she wanted. Love her now that I'm 101. Isner reminded me so much of ExBF18 because of his gentle giant nature and violent fist pump after each point. Such a cute boy.

Pregnancy + Duran Duran = Dish Confusion!

It's 3 am when my eyes drift shut. I'm transported to the "flower room" of my parents' house. "Simon Le Bon and Roger Taylor are here for you," Dishmama tells me. I invite Simon and Roger upstairs to watch television because that's what you do when you entertain Duran Duran. Roger is positively lovely--kind, complex and gentlemanly. I relay that I'm five months pregnant and he congratulates me on the blessed event. Simon gets all eye-rolly because he's bored with baby talk. Once again, I'm not sure who the father is or if I'm "giving birth" to some other BS. I feel desperate to entertain Rog and Simes and keep fetching them refreshing drinks. Not sure how the dream ends, possibly with me realizing I had a stomach ache, which is usually the cause of pregnancy dreams.

This weekend, I'm all about tennis and work and trying to avoid being the third or fifth wheel. Dish had a Friday night out with a fellow single friend, which was highly enjoyable. No talk of relationships and babies (not that I don't love this, but am overly sensitive these days).

Ps. Dish prayers out to the universe for my celeb friend who might be in the hospital. :-(

Star Sighting: Courtney Love

In front of Barney's Coop, 3:10: Freshly disgusting from the gym, Dish walked by this darling blond woman in black who was close-talking with a male friend. She had large blue eyes and, though teenagerish, seemed worn out by life. I will take her hard-partying vibe with me as I go out to my local watering hole where I will drink maybe a tablespoon of scotch.

(I'm sure Courtney will stab me in my sleep now)

Three Rivers of Thought

My girl crush Katherine Moennig is in a new show starting October 4th, Three Rivers. From online vids, she still seems to be in L Word mode but she was brilliant as that tranny on L&O. I know she will excel in whatever she does. The show itself looks like a crap sandwich--Grey's Anatomy wannabe with Hot White Guy, Sexy Smart Girl, Hot Asian-American Guy, Cute Flamer, Hot African-American. I'm hoping there's at least one Latino/a nurse, which will ensure political correctness. If KM is on, I will watch.

Other deep feelings:

The disco-red trim on Roger Federer's black shirt offended me last night in his match against Greul. Anna Wintour needs to get the ef off his clothes and back in Vogue where she belongs. (I realize I'll now be killed)

I wish Jay Leno would let the TV world go on without him. It will.

Dish made a hair appointment and is scared JJ will smack her into next Tuesday for her frivolity, taste in entertainment and overall non-fabulousness. The C word will be used often.

Believe?

My world is crumbling. I read the most disturbing headline on www.perezhilton.com, which he got from Star so it has to be true. Is Tori and Dean's marriage a sham? This season, Dean seemed dissatisfied sexually. She acted as if he were repugnant. Dish kept thinking, hmmmm, a young marriage with no sex, that can't last long. I was moved to tears when Dean's filming kept him away from Tori and the kids. The separation seemed as torturous as if it were my own experience. How many times did Tori burst into tears last season--about a hundred. Tori gives hope that even interesting-looking girls can get the guy (well, having a fantastically rich daddy who casts you in his hit show helps). A dream come true, except for Dean's loud farts. I hope rumors of disharmony are false.

On a happier note, my favorite blond babe, Diane Sawyer, is moving into the Katie Couric stratosphere by anchoring at night! I'm waiting for the first female mud-wrestling joke.

A State of Emergency!

Dish needs some amoxicillin, STAT! I have a little crush on Michael Bolton since Sunday. It's spreading like a bad rash from my yearning heart to the depths of my tortured soul. You have to hear the song that Lady GaGa wrote for him, Murder My Heart. It's a lovely tune, and he sounds so tormented as every good man should be. Can I cry a river of sweet damsel tears? That's when I must look at a picture of him and wish for white horses galloping across the sand. I am Diane Lane to his Richard Gere except Michael doesn't die in a freakish landslide as in Nights at Rodanthe. Poor Michael Bolton went through Hades with that Nicolette Sheridan, twice. I would be so much better for him. Wait...he's 56. He could be my father, sorta kinda. Do I have daddy issues (of course, but not *that* bad--exception: Donald Sutherland and Anthony Hopkins if I've had a few drinks)?

Oh Michael, your darling voice and song touches me. Thank you, Lady GaGa.

(I am very very ill)