Oh the
disappointment
So there
was this big wedding in Venice this weekend. Perhaps you heard about
it. Clooney got hitched, and I didn't get an invite. Did I expect
one? Not really, but then again, in this crazy voyeuristic world, I
am constantly encouraged to peer into the private lives of my
celebrity icons. My most basic instincts are constantly stimulated
by a steady diet of personal stories, some real, some fiction,
(thought it really doesn't matter) about those who dominate the pop
world. After all, I know a lot about Georgie. For instance, he once
was the most eligible bachelor and each and every bade he squired I
got to see and to be honest harbored some less than gentlemanly
phantasies. George has been in my world for so long that it is hard
for me to feel that I am not intimate with his life. Hell I was
compelled to see every movie he made even the less than entertaining
“Monument Men.” I know a lot about George and while many of
these "A Listers" like to complain about the paparazzi, we all know
that much of pop coverage is actually the work of the “PR” folks
who are paid handsomely to constantly feed the beast of popularity.
The fact
George can command 8 figures for a role, or allowed to spend bundles
of money on producing or directing is directly related to my spending
and viewing habits. To think that and not get an invite, well, I
figured it was downright rude of him. An aside, I once bought a
chance to attend a red carpet event with him through Omaze. Now I
knew entering that it was pure chance to get that opportunity. But
the wedding? Hell, I am sure the great pop icon could afford
another plate of food, but then again I realize it would have played
hell with the seating arrangement. Kinda of like the awful decision
as to who is going to sit at the table with the drunken uncle who is
a leech and is wont to slobber on to every female especially those
within reach and to be hit by his spittle as he attempts to talk.
But hell
I have follow George through all his liberal endeavors. Where he
went, I followed with my contribution. When he was in Africa for one
thing or another, I was with him in spirit. As I mentioned I was
with him through every movie. It was me the fan who made him what he
was. An invite would have shown that the more than larger than life
star was really with the common guy. But alas, rather than a first
hand account, I was reduced to seeing the reports on Facebook. I was
compelled to see Matt Damon on the water taxi all duded up in his tux
with a big smile on his puss. It was almost like the bubble over his
head would have read, “Yeah you suck, I am here, and you are not.”
Oh well, such is the life of us little folks. We can look but not
touch. We can imagine, but we can never truly appreciate what is
like to be in that rarefied air where you can actually hear the icons
fart, and excuse themselves to empty their bladders. I am left on my
lonely isthmus. Left on the shores of smallness while those who are
larger than life, my life, dance on clouds of popularity. I now will
have to wait and read about how scrumptious the meal was, how
embarrassing it was when Bill Murray tried to do the twist and his
back gave out, how the wedding party got together to pull a prank on
George, but failed when he learned of it and came up with counter
that set the whole room laughing. All of that fun and frivolity
unfolded while I spent the day in my small world. And then, again,
it is Autumn in New York and nature filled me with so many colors
that it was easy to let my mind wander, let my eyes feasts on the
vibrant leaves and vines. There are the larger than life
personalities and their doings, but none larger than the world in
which I exist. Congratulations guys. I know you too were filled
with all the splendor of living as was I.
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