I Don't Remember Shoplifting Those Magazines

Though I didn't hear him on Larry King, Chris Brown supposedly doesn't remember beating the crap out of his ex-girlfriend Riyanna. If that gets me five years probation, I am totally going on a crime spree. The world will forgive me. I'll still be on TV. My coffers will replenish themselves once the public conveniently forgets my evil deed and finds me cute again.

I once stole four magazines from a pharmacy. I was in boarding school, desperately in love with Duran Duran. I had no money, couldn't run back to get some. My pants were enormous and time was of the essence. I rolled them up and stuffed them down, walked out the door. Now I cringe over what could have happened--suspension, calling my parents, reputation as a lame magazine thief. Thieving is not my bag and, even when I was a thug-adolescent, it was out of character. As you can tell, my obsession was desperate.

Still, I wouldn't have punched someone black and blue for these mags. Maybe I did. I don't remember.

Renewing My Vows to Duran Duran

As I rebuild my iTunes library after two computer crashes, I've come to realize my twenty-six-year relationship to Duran Duran is the closest I'll ever come to marriage. The bonds are steadfast, unbreakable and powerful. Here's how my love is similar to matrimony:

They make me happy 95% of the time (not with Pop Trash and Medazzaland, though love "Hallucinating Elvis" and "Michael"). I may not approve of everything they do, but I don't intervene as this might make the rebellion last longer.

After a few years of hormonal passion for each one, I no longer desire them in *that* way (though I'm sure I would engage in maintenance sex to avoid marital discord).

Much of my income goes to cultivating our union (i.e. new Duran Duran totebag).

Just when I think I love someone more (Fleetwood Mac), Duran Duran does something so adorable, my love burns brighter.

I no longer know where they begin and I end.

I'm sure if one of them had the stomach flu, I would care for them even though I hate barf.

They grow more beautiful and vibrant with age.

When we argue over issues (continued objectification of jailbait models in latest album), I listen to the music and never go to bed angry.

If one of them is sick (i.e. recently, Nick's ear infection), I'm inconsolable and worry every second.

When I see them in concert or hear them, all is right with the world.

Now if only they would cook me dinner when I get home...

Detroit Fat City

Just returned from CT and my stomach jiggled on the train. My fabulous aunt and uncle are food terrorists and fed me gluten and sugar every fifteen minutes. I inhaled at least six pieces of bread. Spaghetti and meatballs. Sandwiches. Butter on bread. Cookies and rugelah. All my favorites but I had to eat a lame apple when I got home. I'm not sure what vegetables taste like anymore. Stars? What are those? My big fixation is the bag of oatmeal cookies they forced me to bring home. I would be kicked out of Hollywood in an instant. Did I say no to their trays of delicious lard-pockets? Will I go up there as soon as I can? Of course. They are far too fun and very thin. I'm wondering if their way of eating and living is the way to go.

I've never felt fatter.

Summer 2009 is...

...the Summer of Death (as Cindy Adams puts it). DJ AM found dead of possible overdose, on the heels of our beloved Tedward's demise. I never understood Nicole Richie's taste in men until I saw DJ AM play on Ellen. He's (was) kinda sexy. Last year, he was in a plane crash and it's sad he survived that only to die of something entirely preventable (allegedly). May he spin in peace.

Death, keep your grubby hands off my Julia, Duran Duran, and Gale Harold. And everyone I know. And me, of course.

Dangerous Cougars

Moral of The Reader: Older women are hot, even hotter if they do evil deeds. They can appear plain and wear puffy dresses, but under their bloomers they seethe with raw sexuality that yearns for dewy-skinned boys. Dangerous cougars also know how to bathe in murky waters and exfoliate. While there weren't enough naked Kate Winslet scenes, we do see her scrubbing a teenage boy, which has to be the apex of adolescent fantasies. Scrub, Fraulein, scrub!

In other old lady news: Meg Ryan is allegedly having an affair with married man--as though this is noteworthy or even true. If bedding a studio exec will get her in another flick, I'm all for it. Maybe the exec's wife has severe back problems or hides her own intrigues (with the teenage gardener next door). Wasn't Meg cheated on throughout her marriage to Dennis Quaid? Why blame Meg? I would do the same thing except I'm not a big puta-nesca.

Dish took a walk along the Highline and finally saw the Sex Hotel. While holding hands with a sweet three-month-old baby girl no less. We witnessed no raunch, so we got manicures.

Sweet Tarts

Dish is an insomniac but today slumbered on the couch in the middle of Oprah and woke up in a puddle of drool (I am repulsive). So, as I chart new paths for myself, I decided to watch Secret Diary of a Call Girl, which reminded me of Sex and the City, except with more sex and swoonier accents. "Carrie" wanders around London gathering experiences and commenting on people and parties. She has loveable friends, a fabulous closet and a revolving door of suitors (okay, paying clients). I had to wonder--how do you get to be a high priced call girl, as opposed to a cheap tart (which, let's face it, is most of us)? Is it who you know? If you're skilled at your job, do you get moved up to better jobs (Spitzer) as in the business world? Oh heck in a handbasket, I'd show up, collect my money and just lie there. Stop swimming in ludicrous waters, Dish!

Exciting weekend planned: Going to visit Dishauntanduncle who spawned Dishsuperhotrockercousin. We will do crafts and grill.

Star Sighting -- Jonathan Cake and Baby

DAMNATION AND HELLFIRE!!! It's so not fair that right after my stinky workout, just this second I run into the luscious Jonathan Cake in Duane Reade. And he LOOKED at me (not *that* way but more in a why-do-you-look-so-bad way). Note to self: ALWAYS BEAUTIFY IN CASE OF STAR SIGHTINGS. Post gym errands are no longer an option. It angers me that celebs are so gorgeous, even at the drug store. JC was arguing with Pharmacist just as Dish had done a few minutes earlier.

Farewell, Dear Tedward

He was the first politician Dish ever impersonated. When Ted Kennedy ran for president, I was moved to yell and point, delivering a potent message of democracy to my stuffed kitty Fluffy. I imagine it must have been tough to follow such formidable brothers but here's how it works in Dishland: Slow and Steady Wins the Race, Sweetheart. Survival gets a medal and--forgetting those flaws for a second--he did a lot of good for much longer. Goodbye, Senator. Thank you and blessings on your coming and going.

To ease this grief, I just learned Dishfamily has a MUCH-TOO-EXCELLENT view of the new all glass Sex Hotel where naked people gallivant, frolick and display numerous nasty curiosities for all to see. Dishfamily dinners are going to be so interesting from now on!!!