Archive | March 15, 2011

Dear Franco …

Last night, you said I was the transit authority to your bus lane. Your cruelty reduced me to tears. It was hurtful, to say the least, but I chose to let it go.

But when you shouted after me into the cold night air, your words slapping my ears like day-old trout, that I’ve never been more than the James Cameron to your Spielberg – you crossed the line. I tried my best to think of how successful Titanic was (commercially at least); but you and I both know, there was enough room on that door for Leonardo and I can never forgive Kate for that.

So let me answer by saying – you are the Hugh Grant to my Sense and Sensibility; the Cher to my good taste; the expiry date to my cheese.

I will never forget the time we shared in Copacabana but at some point I need to say to you, there isn’t enough pineapple in the world. You were once the Carmen to my Miranda but the flame has undeniably burnt out, like a sparkler grasped too tightly in a chubby five-year-old hand. You will always be my first love; the one who taught me that musical theatre does have a point and that, while Jack Black can’t act, he’s still really funny.

Thank you for that. (No thanks for the tattoo of Popeye in drag, or my now immovable devotion to Andy Griffith. I suppose, some scars last a lifetime).

Please know that red is maroon without you.

You will always be, my Matlock.

Forever yours (not really), xxx

The Griff

a short aside

An older Mark Hamill got in the lift at work today. Come to think of it, Mark himself is somewhat age-ed, maybe it was him? My very own Luke Skywalker!

“Ladies, check out my light sabre!”

Cue scream.

I always thought it a pity that little Mark never became bigger. In life, and in film. I guess I’ve always had a penchant for the short man, they seem like such a neat little package. Somewhat emasculating? Apologies. As a tallish woman, this penchant goes unanswered because a small man will simply make you feel like a large woman, which just ends in tears really. A lot of famous actors are short. William Goldman had an obsession with the short movie star (which he talks about in his book, Which Lie Did I Tell?)

He once saw Stallone in a swimming pool and surreptitiously sidled up to him, to answer for himself – just how short is this guy?

Answer: pretty bloody short.

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