Friday, August 11, 2006
An Open Letter To George Clooney
Up until I saw this picture today, I thought you were quite possibly the perfect man. Minus the womanizing, anyway. You are thoughtful, handsome, liberal, and you seem to want to make movies with your own production company that are intelligent and lightyears from the usual Hollywood dreck. And that house on Lake Como? That's just gravy, baby.
You are on my "cheat" list. You know, George, the one where if we were to meet in a hotel bar and you wink and press your room key into my palm, I would so NOT be in trouble if we had us some hanky panky. Don't worry, Hubba-hubba gets a list too. I'm nice like that. And I'm positive that you wouldn't be mad at me for choosing Grey's Anatomy the other night over a rerun of Ocean's 12. Cuz, I mean, it was Ocean's 12, not 11. I get a pass for that one, right? Hubba-hubba didn't think so, but I know you would be more understanding than that.
But, now that I have seen this photo, I am not sure if I could go through with it. Oh, I might make my way to the elevator, and even press the floor button. I'm thinking though, that this image, which is now forever seared into my brain, would keep flashing before me, even with you and all your hunkiness right in front of me. I mean, the hair! The bowl they used, it must have slipped quite the few times! The white turtleneck! With your showbiz family, didn't anyone bother to tell you to never wear white to get your picture taken? It washes the color right out of you, just for future reference. And the glasses! They look exactly like the ones that someone's Aunt Velma might wear. The teeth, well, I must admit you thankfully grew into the teeth.
All right, George, I'll make you a deal. As long as you have a tux on, exactly like the one you wore to the Oscars, I'll take the elevator all the way up and softly knock on your door before I turn the key. Just don't ever accuse me of being shallow, and we'll be fine. I know, honey, you're welcome.