Bringing On the ZZZZs

Dish showed off the glamorous life by taking coins to the Penny Arcade at TD Bank. It's not that I'm poor, I just need to create space in my apartment and the coins helped me validate a manicure. Then I watched Dexter. Yep, that's about it. Are we excited? I did scour the streets for celebs and fluffed my hair. When I got around 22nd Street, I scanned the area for Gerard Butler--you know, just in case. It might have been too early in the afternoon...

No celebs, no real news. Oh wait, sure there is: How much do I not want to see 2012? Strap a kid on your back as you run from the tidal wave, it increases the Awwww factor. Though perhaps it'll give John Cusack's career a boost. There's an example of how a funny looking person can become a sexy star. I enjoy him.

One Less Crazy Fat Man on TV

Is anyone upset that Lou Dobbs is off CNN? Yeah, Dish neither (though I'm sure he's a nice man). TG reminded me that if all the crazies go off the air, then PC Fascism will have won the battle and how psychotic would that be? I don't want to see all Begala, Maddow, Carvilles on TV, just as FoxNews shouldn't run the world. I like some Cheetos with my tofu. I guess tofu would be Obama. I accept him as remarkable and healthy but I have to add a lot of sauce to choke him down (go Hillary!!!) and he gives me gas. My secret watching of Bill O'Reilly or Glenn Beck is nothing more than amusement that is ultimately bad for me. I'm sure if I touched either of these crazy bastards, I'd get this icky orange powder on my fingers.

By the way, Dish might be on the radio next week. Details to come. Dish definitely has a face for camera, but voice for radio, not so much. Still the Dish content will be excellent. Still I'm going to start chain-smoking right this second to get my Lauren Bacall back.

Ghosts of Girlfriends Past

The only allure for this one was Michael Douglas, who is inexplicably funny to me. Matthew McConaughey doesn't bathe and Jennifer Garner puts way too much collagen in her lips so it's difficult for me to watch them make out. Because they're mini-icons, visibly paired with others, the producers don't make them boink, which is a travesty for the viewer. Matthew doesn't even take off his shirt or reveal his abs--something we've all come to expect from him. He and Jen have a couple warm kisses, but it's about as much sexual chemistry as between Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock in Two Weeks Notice. My main beef is with the premise itself. Why does everyone have to be monogamous, married, or in love? Why did Matthew have to give up his man-whoring? Do we all have to be the same?

Long live the Brian Kinneys and Samantha Joneses of this world! (Not that I'm either of them, much as I've tried)

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Loser Left Behind

Dear J.Lo's first husband has a sex tape and honeymoon pics and wants to make a mockumentary about being married to her--as if we care about any of her husbands, especially ten years after the fact. Her hubs are mostly men she can kill by sitting on them (though I liked #2, the dancer). Michael Lohan, Lindsay's uninteresting father, keeps yakking about his troubled relationship with his daughter, doing the Jon Voigt thing in showing he cares by addressing a camera. These girls blow them away and now the talentless daddies and husbands (though do sometimes like Voigt as an actor, just not as a person--think something really weird happened in that family) are fighting that feeling of emasculation. Don't even try. J.Lo, Lindsay and Angelina are far more powerful. This is why I love James Brolin. He accepts that Barbra rules the universe. In fact, I'm sure he enjoys having her paddle his ass all night long. Now that's a tape I'd watch.

I'm Ashamed

Dish had one of those days. Not only do I have to suffer TG-withdrawal while he's traveling through Italy, but work-wise, it's been one of those six months. I counted the seconds before I could go home, order Chinese food and watch The Ugly Truth. I now confess: Gerard Butler is my imaginary concubine even though he's probably covered in VD man-scabs. Or Dish is just guessing.

I laughed, I tittered, chuckled, salivated, and blushed. Even Katherine Heigl didn't annoy me. Dish readers, I'm ashamed to say, I didn't want the movie to end. Sure, I'll slam The Machinist from here to eternity, but a sh*tty predictable romantic comedy, I'll allow through the hallowed doors of Dishland.

As Julia says in My Best Friend's Wedding: I'm better with food (though Dish never believes this line for a second--have you SEEN Julia? She hasn't looked at a fudgicle in 30 years). Christian Bale may be a Napoleon with layers and decorative swirls of chocolate, but Gerard Butler is a bold triple hot fudge sundae with double the whipped cream (hold the cherry--fruit ruins everything). Can you tell Dish needs a candy bar?

This Week in Anorexia

I only watched The Machinist to see Christian Bale's emaciated body and how could I achieve that? Well, the flick turned me off anorexia completely. He looks like Skeletor, our favorite Upper East Side housewife prototype and not in a fun way. Long story short: The Machinist can't sleep. Why? Because he's sooooo intense. Jennifer Jason Crazy plays his sketchy prostitute girlfriend who may or may not have died. In any case, if The Sixth Sense and Fight Club had sex, you would get The Machinist.

Shhhhhh: Do not tell TG about this site. He only knows because I accidentally let it slip in conversation several times and now he wants access. Not yet. Today he cracked his rib while skiing but won't see a doctor. It only hurts when he breathes. 38 days until this gorgeous disaster hits Dishtown.

It's Hammer Time

Break out the Boniva and Metamucil: Tenney. Field. Doing it geriatric style on tonight's Brothers & Sisters. I don't know about you but I'm already laughing my freckled hiney off. Jon Tenney as a motorcycle-riding bad boy just seems so funny to Dish. I feel sympathetic vibrations for the luck he must feel to breathe the same oxygen as Nora Walker. The next best thing would be to have her throw food at him. She's so excellent--the Queen of the Hissy and Goddess of Love.

Not sure what to do before this blessed event. Now that Gale Harold is off Desperate Housewives, Dish doesn't care. Maybe I'll read more Proust. In an effort to impress TG, who is one of those dreaded academics, I mentioned my love for Nabokov. He was delighted I had a pursuit separate from my desire to wear as much pastel as The Golden Girls. TG will find out soon enough that my brain is filled with fluff. But it's pretty good fluff.

Dishbrother Starstruck by Chris Noth Just Now

10:53 am, Starbucks, 93rd and Broadway: Dishbrother got atwitter over a star. Dish had no idea he even knew who Chris Noth was because DB isn't exactly up to speed on shows like Sex and the City or Law & Order: Criminal Intent. But as DB got his coffee, he started hyperventilating over Mr. Big. "He looks amazing, really healthy," DB said, his voice shaking. "Healthy" to Dish means "liposuction" and a "lift" but Chris could be hitting the gym, eating tofu and practicing good waste management.

I probed further. What was Chris wearing, what kind of concoction did he get, did he put milk in his coffee? Exciting details: navy sweater and jeans, a plain coffee, maybe a little milk. Chris cracked a joke that he couldn't find any Starbucks on the Upper West Side and the baristas giggled. That Mr. Big is so witty! DB opened the door for him and they walked a half a block. Then he got into a Cherry red Nissan Ultima, which is a "Bride/Tunnel New Jersey car," as DB says.

It's okay, Chris. We don't care if you have a lame car. You look amazing.