To make up for my dissing, I heard an uplifting tidbit. My least favorite Duran Duran member--who defected in 2006--Andy Taylor is, apparently, a sweetheart. A friend of a friend has dealings with him and reports that he is absolutely charming.
Last night, while watching SVU, I realized an important thing: Robin Williams kinda sucks. When I was younger, like even a week ago, I felt touched by his sensitive roles. Though zany and unpredictable, he could be softspoken, shy, telling you, "It's not your fault." Mork was part of my adolescence. We've seen him crazy, going off in interviews, then sweet and full of warmth. Sorry, but after Insomnia, One Hour Photo, Licensed to Wed, Crap Adams, that robot movie, then last night's performance, I just can't take it anymore. I don't care if he's bipolar therefore brilliant, a drunk but recovering. There's nothing that I've enjoyed of his for the last ten years and he's achieved OMP status with his recent divorce. There.
...is Dr. Christian Troy. I've stuck with him through three seasons of Nip/Tuck and just started the fourth, as I clean up cat puke from a backed-up hairball. I'd never date Christian, but might carry him around in my breast pocket for a spell. He'd give me good advice...and he'd call me "sweetheart." I can't decide if he's a little kinky, a little sadistic, a little good-guy-buried-under-evil, a little gay. Whatever the case, he surprises me. Just when I believe he's that guy I wanted in college then grew tired of post 35, he'll pull out the rug, on which my cat just puked. Blessings on the good doctor, who is my bright spark in this dark tunnel--that resembles my cat's esophagus.
Sometimes, it feels as if I'm just waiting to die. Only about thirty years to go if I'm lucky. As this thought flitters through my head, I look at from my concerned parental zone and see a famous person sitting at the bar. I'm not sure who he is. My mental rolodex comes up empty but he's someone. Who is he? I'm sure he was there for a reason, for me to think about stardom rather than misery or food. Breakups are fabulous because they make me skinny.
Today is one of Dish's saddest days. BF is no longer in the picture, so like a good soldier, I will do as Jennifer Lopez in The Wedding Planner, bury myself in work, friends, Scrabble, and eat TV dinners. When devastated from heartbreak, J. Lo gets plowed, which is how Dish will also spend this Ground Zero evening. Tomorrow, I will start from scratch and rebuild.
It came up on my Netflix cue, just like that. Starring my old friend, the artist formerly known as Catherine Zeta-Jones. Where has she been? Ever since those T-Mobile commercials, I've wondered, is she the same person? Something around the mouth, nose. And on SNL last year, when she tap danced, I was frightened her legs would snap for kindling. Maybe she just looks different in every picture. Maybe it's hard to raise two kids and sleep with OMP* Douglas every night. I'll always love her, especially in America's Sweethearts.
In fact, Tom Cruise was brilliant...because he sort of played that persona he displays to the media. His jaw clench in the opening made my vegetarian sushi rise up into my throat, but I acknowledged this was the best thing he's done since Jerry Maguire. Well, he *looked* the best in Mi:2, which is almost as important.
Star Sighting: April 16th, 46th and 8th Avenue, 6:10 p.m.--Dish was going to a favorite bar before Mary Poppins when Edward Hibbert crossed the path. Most notable trait: he walks with his chest puffed out. How proud and confident he seemed, as if he owned restaurant row. We have him on our favorite persons list. Every time he appeared on "Frasier" and his role in Curtains, well, he made Dish melt with happiness.
