Scarlett replaces Gwyneth …

… as my least favorite movie actress.

I'm watching Match Point as I write this. I loved it when I saw it in the theater and told everyone it was sexy and suspenseful. It seems to move slower on DVD, which only gives me more time to be annoyed by Scarlett Johanssen.

SPOILER ALERT! I haven't been this gleeful about a leading lady's demise since Brad Pitt took the lid off the bakery box in Seven. Aside from annoying me, Scarlett and Gwyneth Paltrow don't have a lot in common.

Gwyneth is self-consciously aristocratic, as though being a Paltrow is akin to being a Windsor or a Grimaldi. But Scarlett simply oozes slut. While Gwyneth is high-maintenance, clear-skinned pretty, Scarlett's vibe is all dead eyes, sleepy voice and swollen lips. (When I think of that captivating little girl from The Horse Whisperer, I'm just glad Pilgrim is dead so he can't see that he risked his noble equine life for such a trollop.)

Yet they have over-rated talent in common. I never for a moment forget that Gwyneth is Gwyneth. And that Scarlett is Scarlett. They are not actresses enough to disappear into their parts, nor charismatic enough to engage me as film personalities. (Like Julia Roberts, Sandra Bullock or Jennifer Aniston. They may not be great actresses, but they sure are fun movie stars.)

I suggest that from here on, directors hire Anne Hathaway for all roles previously slated for Scarlett.

Young Jonathan Rhys Meyer is fun and versatile. From Bend it Like Beckham to Elvis to MI:3, he surprises me and delights me. Still, I'd like all his roles to go to Johnny Depp. Because I believe that every movie should star Johnny Depp.

All I wanna do is sleep

Sleep, sleep, sleep.

When it's as hot as it is, and has been, that's all I want to do. Just going outside for a minute takes so much out of me! Heat is to me as Kryptonite is to Superman. It saps all my powers and renders me downright mortal.

Nothing holds my interest for long. I'm thirsty all the time. My hair finds imaginative ways to curl, all on its own. My eye shadow melts. My institutional gray desktop is so cool that I'm tempted to just give up and give in by pressing my cheek against it and calling it a day. Sleep, sleep, sleep.

Then tonight, after a 45-minute el ride with really cranky fellow commuters, I'll get home and find that if I try to run the air conditioner AND the DVD player, I blow the livingroom/diningroom/kitchen circuit. (Actually I think the problem is my cable box, which in hot weather behaves as if it's auditioning for a dinner theater production of Poltergeist.) But that's OK. Because right now my dearest wish isn't to be tucked in the corner of my sofa watching those DVD's I rented. No, I wish to be in my bedroom. On clean, cool sheets. After (at least) making out with my best friend.* Then sleep, sleep, sleep.

*Oh, it won't ever happen. But it's hot and I'm grumpy and we take our pleasure where we can.