I’m not just a classic literature, long words, passport aficionado.
Nope. I have layers and interests that delve beyond dusty books and foreign flying buttresses.
I’m keen on sport. I enjoy cooking shows. I like chatty podcasts.
And I have no issue with dropping a few brain cells on the gossipy world of La La Land.
I stay away from celeb reporting that involve long range cameras, opting instead to stick closer to the subject matter by way of their actual words, or their blue-ticked social media posts.
Though, at times, I do find myself pausing on the occasional daily rag. And it is then where I’m careful with content. Because that online journalism is the most unimaginative snarky stringing together of the English language that I have ever seen. Not to mention it is horribly edited and highly sexist towards principal female characters.
So, I keep a cautionary eye on my material sources.
Regardless, all that celeb stuff is a quick one, two, three weekend pass around for me … before I head back to my life.
That just being said, I’m not immune to secretly … shhhhh … entertaining celebrities with lingering comments or questions about what I’ve just read about their life.
If my inner monologue had an outside voice? You’d hear stuff like:
Quick Q: What dictionary are you using when you call yourself “shy?”
You have non-family members (often called “your team”) who are intimately aware of your daily routine, your home, and the grooming schedule of your body head-to-toe. So, where exactly is the shy?
Because, if that’s what it means to be “Shy,” then I need to update my profile to: Consistent Secluded Reclusive Isolationist.
Harry, Harry, Harry: Absolutely has my eldest brother Joe disliked the person I brought home. So too has my Dad. And boy did I get a stern talking to from both about never quitting an old job until I have a new job lined up.
Oh, and the parental expectations inherited by Joe never applied to the rest of us. Which means Joe absolutely did and still does get most of the press. It’s called family dynamic. If you wanted to be first? Take that up with your parents.
Ego Crutch (check out the escalator scene from Soap Dish): Parading yourself out of an opened double doored New York luxury hotel, in full daylight, with throngs of paparazzi recording you walking 15 paces to a waiting car … is weird.
Paging Coco Chanel: Why are you checking into a hotel using a pseudonym of someone more famous than yourself? Ever heard of a plain Joe Smith?
Nepo Finger Pointing: Please. Do me a favour and count the number of small operations that hire relatives. Hell, more than not, it is expected that children go into the family business when one exists.
I say good on anyone who can leap over interview rejections, awkward pay raise meetings, cold job callings and networking cocktails.
Elementary Watson: Wedging parts of your name into a product line or a book title is pre-teen in the artistic department.
Threesome: When two celebrities are photographed in a hotel room watching tv, or standing in front of a cactus, or on a beach, dressed up, in an embrace … There’s at least one other person present capturing this exclusive spontaneous private “moment.”
Okay. I’m done. And, yes. That was fun.