Two Princes...

Duran Duran is in Central Park Tonight! It's the only thing Dish is looking forward to in life. After this, there's nothing so Le Bon better not cancel due to predicted t-storms. Who cares if a little lightning hits the keyboard and singes Nick's nostril hair? I get electrified just watching them rock out on stage. In any case, I'm there with my slicker and roast beef sandwich.

The only problem is: General Seating sucks. Last time I did that--other than on SouthWest Airlines--was in Paris, at Duran Duran's Big Thing concert at Bercy. Five hours early and 20 y.o. old, I was plowing down 12-y.o. third-tier Duranie bitches to get my seat next to an amp, which gave me permanent damage in my left ear. What I do for love. But now, 20 years later, I haven't got time for the pain so will arrive an hour early for a nosebleed seat. I can see sh*t anyway. I just pray for no cancellation.

The Oscar Curse

You know what's funny? Turning on the TV to see Holly Hunter in Little Black Book--about a paranoid GF checking on her BF only to find eventually that he's a DH. Holly plays the wisecracking mentor who eggs Brittany Murphy along. I'm like, Holly, what were you thinking? Did you need the money to support your twins? It's almost like she's mocking us by being in the movie. That's it!

So, I console myself by watching Jennifer Love Hewitt in The Truth About Love, about a cheating spouse and how the best friend, a rugged yet filmy Dougray Scott, is really Mr. Right (he usually is). I secretly love J-Love. She has such a nice smile. And she just seems nice. When those bikini pictures showed up last year, I loved her even more because she and I have the same ass--only mine is even bigger. In her honor, I'm totally wearing a bikini and jiggling next time I go beaching.

Don't Rent the Following:

Some of us love Matthew Perry despite his lack of chin. If you want to keep that love alive, don't rent Numb. It's so stinky, you'll beg for those 94 minutes back. Poor privileged Hollywood writer--who doesn't ever write but his severely-eyebrow-tweezed partner Kevin Pollock does--has Dis-something Disorder where he doesn't feel. I wonder, is some girl's gonna try to enliven him and he won't appreciate her till she's gone? This special, lucky girl is quirky--likes to say f&ck all the time. But even though she swears a lot and is a horrible trumpet-player, she draws the line at his shoplifting pens. My favorite is the last-minute rush to the airport to tell her he does love her--let's overlook his shtupping Mary Steenburgen repeatedly, even though he didn't feel it. She's checking in and he blurts out his feelings. It's just so real. Every romantic moment I've ever had involved the dude jumping in a cab and rushing to deflect my spontaneous flight to Yemen (at 100 Yemen Road, in Yemen). My guess is this went straight to video. Bring back Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip!

Hey, Brown Eyes

I hear you're single again. Me too. You don't want to get married. Me either. So, what say we hang? I mean, you're not really my type, but your sense of humor would help me forget that. You could introduce me to Julia Roberts and she and I could start a knitting club--and you could watch. You're getting long in the tooth--though your new veneers are fab--so I reserve the right to choose a younger model somewhere down the road. Plus, if you and me are together, I could encourage you to stay away from those hoity toity Coen brothers and do One Fine Day II. And how about that Facts of Life spin-off? I'm dying to give you another mullet, Georgey Porgey.

A Place Where Nobody Dared to Go...

Go see Xanadu on Broadway if you were/are the following:

Obsessed with Olivia Newton John to the point where you even saw Twist of Fate, along with Xanadu (when it first came out and more than once).

Want desperately to relive the 80s.

Obsessed with Gene Kelly so much that you'll see him underused and feel your chest swell when he and Olivia dance together. It's like looking at the sun. Tony Roberts is not Gene, but he's pretty fun anyway.

Obsessed with ELO as much as it embarrasses you to admit it.

Miserable and need some confection.

Eager to see someone so much better than Michael Beck in the film version. Cheyenne Jackson is tall, tan, talented hotness as Sonny Malone.

Open to the idea of seeing someone attempt to recapture Olivia. Kerry Butler is freakishly amazing!

Tickled by super-flamboyant drag-queen gayness, as Dish is, especially when Andre Ward comes out on stage as one of the muses. He stole many moments and one of his lines made me snarf and pee.

Loved Jackie Hoffman in Kissing Jessica Stein and want to see her as the gawky muse.

Don't have the attention span for Shakespeare and need a short play with no intermission so your ass doesn't fall asleep.

Tom Cruise Once Again in My Dreams

Somewhere between 4:30-6:30 a.m., my R.E.M. state went as follows:

After hours of trying to find the right work-out spandex, going up and down escalators, I come back from the gym. A limo pulls up beside me and the back door opens. It's Tom, Katie, and Suri. They ask me if I need a ride home (three blocks). I say no, but ask if I can say hi to Suri. She's too adorable and I want to stay in the limo. Because the Cruises are probably way busy, I leave them to their famousness. Katie gives me a huge hug and I'm on my way.

Why won't they leave me alone?

Anemic Star Sighting

May 27, 71st and West End, 6:20 p.m. It's suddenly raining like crazy. I'm carrying a monster backpack and opening up my crappy umbrella. I look up to see Ross's former girlfriend, "Elizabeth" on Friends--the one who threw a water balloon on his head. It takes me a whole half block to place her. Lesson: Never date Ross from Friends because you'll want to smack him after five seconds. Alexandra Holden peeks out at me from under her umbrella. Very pretty and one of those pale blondes. Then again, it totally could have been someone else.

Fifteen minutes later, friend of Dish sees Blythe Danner going into the Times Square subway, talking on her phone, calling someone "Honey." Blythe is wearing a floppy hat (honestly).

Hey, Cutiepants

Let's face it, reality shows are where leathery has-beens go to make a desperate attempt to regain stardom. Hello, Bret Michaels, Peter Brady, Tori Spelling, Paula Abdul, Anna Nicole. The list goes on forever. If I were a has-been, I'd go to Lifetime. There, you'll find a stable of fun-to-watch actors who have the misfortune of being without tv show or film, but who are still delicious.

Imagine my joy when, fresh from Jag, David James Elliott appears in Lovesick: Secrets of a Sex Addict, about a bored wife who needs to fill her empty life with reckless shagging. Just my speed. The wife is lured by David's magic penis into a torrid affair, and she's goes bananas. Ultimately, we learn that love-starved whores really need hugs, not plugs...and usually from their affection-withholding fathers. It was difficult to believe that David was the icky one, but he has that Mark Harmon quality--can be Prince Charming or a serial killer. Keep it up, DJE!

Tonight Dish sees Xanadu on Broadway. Cannot wait!