January 16th, 2008

What to Hate

As the “1000 Things We Like” project winds up, I have been planning a silly little “10 Things I Hate” post, mainly about grammatical errors, bad behaviour on TTC and at potlucks, etc. It was going to be a pretty funny post, but now it seems in poor taste, since the death of John O’Keefe by a stray bullet last Friday night. That’s such a weird sentence for a Torontonian that I can only really process it by thinking of it like a meteor strike or a tsumami–totally random and unpreventable. But it’s not, because apparently people sometimes have guns in their pockets as they stroll around Yonge and Bloor, which is not something I knew before, and is certainly not unpreventable.

So that’s what I hate. I’ll bitch about comma splices some other time.

RR

November 16th, 2007

Blindsided by Celebrity Gossip

So last week I was all abuzz about how good the film Michael Clayton was, and how very talented (ok, ok, and dreamy) George Clooney is. I thought I would like to see some other films with him in them, and happily the internet obliged with the above-linked filmography…which I found staggeringly bereft of any film I particularly wanted to see. I’m sure lots of those are quite good, he won an Oscar after all, and maybe I’ll get round to seeing something eventually, but not as exciting as I hoped.

*Anyway*, my Googling led me not only to lists of professional accomplishments but to crazed fan sites (man, a lot of people loved ER a lot) and to news stories concerning the Googlage subject. As a matter of fact, just moments before my search (I love how they rank recently posted stories, usually pointless given what I’m searching for, but I imagine useful if you read the actual news), there was an real, seemingly true news story that Clooney got into a fight with Fabio in a restaurant over, conservative estimate, nothing, but it was so funny I kept searching.

I think I need to be banned from the internet, because I now know a *lot* about George Clooney, and none of it is information that I need…or, I’ve discovered , information that anybody wants to be told (cue you to close the page!) But wait, because George seems to be sort of a decent guy, with a good sense of humour (but not about Fabio) and lots of right-headed political opinions. Also, and this is the point in the search when I got upset, he has a lot of problems that you can feel really bad about: he did a torture scene for a movie and fell and hit his head, tore the envelope thingy of his spinal cord and wound up with spinal fluid *dripping out his nose*. Is that not the worst thing you ever heard? He said the pain was so bad he considered killing himself–even if it wasn’t, gosh, it would still seem possible. Poor guy.

So I was horrorstruck and fascinated, and on I foraged, hoping to find the “George Clooney Regains Will to Live, Control of Nostrils” *Us Weekly* story or something. Such a story is not to be found, but eventually as the years pass (this was in 2005) you find the focus in interview shifts away from brain damage and on towards swearing off marriage, Oscar speeches, Darfur, etc. Which is nice to see.

I thought I had it licked. George Clooney is all right, I don’t need to see any of his movies, I’m moving on. Only there I was in the grocery store lineup, and I turned my head to be confronted my Owen Wilson and *his* woes. Outside the store, I demanded of my friend P–“Why is Jessica Simpson trying to help Owen Wilson get over his woes?”

“I don’t know, Becky.”

“Are they friends? I didn’t know they were friends.”

“Um, I don’t know, Becky.”

“Because if she’s just some chick, I don’t think that will help much. Do you think she knows him?”

“Um, I have a job.”

I might very well get into this, possibly after I finish this post. I have never before known the joys of famous people and what they might be doing, thinking and feeling. I have never thought it might be fun to know, and now I do. Why? I’ve been theorizing, trying to feel less like salon lady with lips full of Botox and a fist full of tabloids. Here’s what I’ve got: I love a good story, and I really don’t like endings. If I like anything–a book, a movie, a relationship, a sandwich–I don’t see why it can’t go on forever. I hate having to give up on characters i’ve grown attached to, having to admit that once the credits role they aren’t my friends anymore. That they were never my friends in the first place doesn’t enter the picture–I related, we got involved.

Michael Clayton, the fictional character, is not coming back–the movie is over, my DVD player is broken, and there’s unlikely to be a sequel (although–I could sorta see it). George Clooney, on the other hand, is likely to be back next week, making fun of Bush, doing something complicated with a motorcycle and that girl who ate a scorpion on tv. And thank goodness, because narrative arc be damned, I just like the story to keep going. Maybe this is why people get so histrionic when famous people die…?

My love she throws me like a rubber ball

May 28th, 2007

Mid-year review and world report

I usually take the opportunity of my approximately mid-year birthday to look over my new year’s resolutions and see which are proceeding apace, which I’m falling down on, and which were actually stupid ideas. I’ll spare you the itemized list, but it seems I’m basically doing ok, except for the fact that I resolved to spend an hour a week (not much!) on current events. Anybody seen me do that? Um, no.

This is pathetic, obviously. There’s such a thing as a daily newspaper, and it’s not just for fish. I’ll read a six-hundred page novel, but if it’s real, something in my brain just quiets down. This is not an attractive quality, I know.

You, Rose-coloured readers, are encouraged to encourage me, but I am going to take responsibility for this irresponsibility as a global citizen. I’m off to CBC.ca after this report, I swear.

In other news, my weekend was made up of the sort frivolity that regularly distracts me from the serious issues of the day. In other words, it was a really nice weekend. Hanging out in my new (rose-coloured) swimsuit with the gang at a summer bbq, seeing the inner workings and sanctums of Coachhouse Books at Doors Open Toronto, eating Italian food, encouraging my thriving students (those little whippersnappers are *so smart*) and having good conversations near and far. Needless to say, I got little work done, which is bad, but when the sun is shining and life is so entertaining, it’s hard to care.

It’s the pause that refreshes / in the corridors of power
RR