Okay, it was my intention when I started this blog never to be crass, or destructive, or part of the weird gawker aspect of a fame driven news cycle; and to that end I’ve tried to write pieces mostly on Hollywood history – which means I usually write about people who are dead or buildings that are immune to the damage of paparazzi. Or, I fictionalize the hell out of everything industry related and hand it to you in a short story. (And, yes, tomorrow is yet another short story Sunday.)
So, here we go – where you – dear reader – and I have never gone before: a true story about me and a movie star who is very much alive.
(photo via Wikipedia Commons)
A very brief account of being in a star’s tractor beam (or, as my friend Lanier would say, an encounter with “spellbinding white hot glamour”)… I was on set visiting my husband one evening during a night shoot, and at midnight we all congregated in the catering tent for lunch, it was a particularly cold night for Southern California and the very kind on-set costumer saw me shivering and handed me a huge warm red parka, possibly four sizes too big, with a shaggy fur lined hood, which I immediately pulled on and snuggled into. Then I noticed George Clooney staring at me, really staring at me, from across the crowded room, not only was it crowded, but Mr. Clooney seemed to be the magnetic nexus of a swirl of people. But, he kept looking my way… when it suddenly dawned on me… he was probably wondering who the girl was with the raccoon draped over her head…
Here’s something that’s worth paying attention to – Mr. Clooney, well known for his philanthropic work is auctioning off a luncheon date to benefit the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network, which works to provide safe schools for all. Details here, in the Hollywood Reporter:
http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/george-clooney-glsen-372442
Did I say that? Gee how spellbindingly white hot and glamorous of me. I just love this story. Wish I could afford to bid on that lunch just so I could say thank you for your support Mr. Clooney…
Hugs from Fogsville (sunny and gorgeous just like George today.)
It sounds like you handled yourself well. I think if Mr. Clooney was staring at me I would faint dead away or turn scarlet red. Probably both.
Mr. Clooney has a goofy sense of humor and is a good egg — the only reason you could possibly faint in his company would be from laughter 🙂
I rather fancy that the swoony Mr Clooney was thinking “who *is* that compelling and gorgeous creature…with a racoon draped over her head?” 😉 From your description you must have looked the cutest, and myserioso to boot! A fine combo as Mr C (not Tom Bosley) seems to have agreed.
Nice to hear that he really is one of the good guys and a goofball besides. Winning is the word (and not in the scrofulously nutso Charlie Sheen definition either. Thank the Gods).
Talking about cold nights (and days) it was *snowing* here today, blankets of snowflakes drifting and plastering against my face and onto my umbrella, and now *I’m* shivering with the heater on! O woe!
I enjoyed this post. I agree with Monsieur Perfumed Dandy about It’s In His Kiss and Dusty. His comment over on that post recalled her performance on The Pet Shop Boys’ What Have I Done To Deserve This? to me, she *kills* on that song (Since you went away I’ve been hanging around/I’ve been wondering why I’m feeling feeling down), that *voice*! Even when she’s singing in ecstasy there’s a sadness (uh, I think). But then again I love the voice of Karen Carpenter (don’t laugh), even when the music is too twee her voice was so beautiful, it just aches. Oh, great women singers… Sorry, rhapsodizing there, don’t mind me. Your use of various songs in your work got me thinking off this. I love it!
Two thirty-five a.m. in the frozen north… Are you still taking steroids? Stay warm!
Have you seen the women Mr. Clooney dates? I stand by my statement. He is a good guy, and a practical joker, and very up front and to his eyes I probably looked like a waif who wandered into the catering tent to get warm. Not so much anymore, but, years ago when I was in my twenties through my late thirties strangers would walk up to me and ask me if I would babysit for them – bizarre in itself – but, when I told them how old I was and that I hadn’t “babysat” in years they would say, “oh, but I thought you were sixteen!” It’s a function of my stature, or lack thereof. I’m a statuesque… five foot… and no inches. I don’t have the mental capacity to convert that to meters.
Maybe another story on Wednesday… or maybe I’ll wait for the weekend. What do you think? No, wait, go to sleep now!
Sleep, sleep, sleep,
V
Sleep, what’s that? Yep, still taking steroids. It must be ten years since I had to start taking them, I only have to take a small dose now but they and the immunosuppressant irritants aren’t too nice sometimes. Like now.
Babe, I work in feet and inches so you’re fine! “Five foot…and no inches”. Statuesque schmastuesqe, you’re perfect. Ahem.
Post the next story when you feel like it, the waiting only heightens the anticipation ;). Take it easy, don’t stress yourself over anything, get some beauty sleep, and enjoy the week. Now, I gotta see if I can get some sleep. Wish me luck. R.