Wednesday, February 20, 2008

A Correction

WARNING: Grownup-ish language follows. Shoo the little ones away. You've been warned.





Are they gone?




Good.






One of the things which vex me to no end about what passes for newspapers in the USA these days is that on Day 1 they will issue a huge font front-page story along the lines of:

"Person X Caught Sodomizing Livestock"
and then on Day 6, in tiny print, on page Q17,

"In our Day 1 edition we ran a story where, due to a printing error, it was implied Person X routinely provides sexual favors for farm animals. The headline should have read 'Person X is a prominent farm veterinarian' instead. Person X had been performing pelvic exams on goats when our reporter came by for the interview. The Morning Times Telegraph regrets the error."

Here at ST,BD this is not the done thing. When a mistake or omission happens, it is put out front for the world to see. It's not very often I do something wrong, and so it would be unfair to deprive my readership of the opportunity to witness the blog equivalent of Halley's Comet.

As you might recall a few days ago I posted an entry on crushworthy-to-me persons (I'm appalled that Poppy actually knew 20% of them. In the future I must try harder.) and with which I am rather pleased.

However, I saved the following narrative for its own entry, as it transcends mere crush-worthiness into an actual, y'know, thing. I should have used it in the other one, as a capstone thereto, and not all here by its lonesome.

So mea maxima culpa. Anyway.

This took place epochs ago, when my capacity to decipher what women (in general and my then-recently-affianced, now-wife in particular) are actually saying was not as keenly honed as it is today. I prattled on about this until my beloved's face turning a lurid garnet, accessorized by plumes of black smoke issuing from her ears and smallish flames visible from her nostrils made me wonder if anything was the matter. ("Nothing." she answered, which I, testosterone-addled fool that I was, took to mean "No, there is nothing wrong.")

(I had a conference out in Santa Monica. My we-had-just-gotten-the-week-prior-engaged beloved had a long weekend and decided to come loiter with me and take in a bit of touristy SoCal. There stage set.)

I speak of Bridget Fonda, and the story -- certainly a letdown after all this preamble -- is that we shared an interminable wait in line at a Starbucks. The "system [was] down" and the Mensa Brain Trust running the place could not see their way clear to do anything. It may have caused Colombia to shut down for 2-3 days, gauging from the efforts of the personnel. At any rate, Ms. Fonda (half-caf cappuccino and a bag of some specialty decaf, ground if memory serves) and I were pretty much in the middle of the crush of humanity queue and while there, she complained about the delay given that she was supposed to be somewhere else in short order. I may have said something that made her laugh. A few times.

A cynical person -- not you, of course, but a cynical person -- of an especially morbid outlook would have said it was flirting. Nothing of the sort. Airy, glib banter, nothing more.

She has a great laugh. The sort of laugh that makes you think the laugher is actually both happy and kind. She also smelled pretty nice. (My guess? Chamade by Guerlain, but very lightly so) She was also very, very pretty in a girl-next-door way and has a quick smile. She had just broken up, as it turned out, with the benighted Eric Stoltz after several years.

My then-fiancée was led to wonder, naturally, what had befallen me at Starbucks that had caused such delays. Of course, rather than explain the technical difficulties which had me standing by, I said "Guess who I saw? Bridget Fonda!" and then proceeded idiotically to regale my beloved with the story, omitting no detail however slight. Her mood, to my surprise, darkened visibly and a narcotized meteorologist might have mistakenly predicted thunderstorms from her look.

So there. Now you know my Brush With Fame.

-J.

P.S. She does not have an accent. But I didn't care.

Posted by Joke at 10:03 AM

10 Comments

  • Blogger BabelBabe posted at 11:27 AM, February 20, 2008  
    in my younger days, i was told often that i resembled BF (in Single White Female, mostly). alas, no more. sigh.
  • Blogger MsCellania posted at 11:55 AM, February 20, 2008  
    Uh-uh, bb beat me to my comment. I WAS going to remark that blackbird remarked how bbabe resembled one BF. So you therefore might have a crush on our esteemed Mother Of Four Boys, as well.
    And while her scent these days might not be along the Guerlain lines, but more along the homemade milk lines, I'm SURE she is devine in all ways.
  • Blogger Joke posted at 1:14 PM, February 20, 2008  
    That's nothing.

    I used to look like me.

    -J.
  • Blogger daysgoby posted at 1:51 PM, February 20, 2008  
    Brush with fame AND a coffee fix!

    Much goodness.
  • Blogger blackbird posted at 2:51 PM, February 20, 2008  
    Babelbabe STILL looks like Ms. Fonda,
    as your dear Poppy has a definite Julia Roberts thing going on and Susie Sunshine is Ashley Judd.

    And, do you know who I resemble?
    MY MOTHER.
  • Blogger Stomper Girl posted at 8:41 PM, February 20, 2008  
    You got a sweet-laughing Hollywood babe to flirt with in the long queue? I always get huffing cranky people, who do their best to pass on their anxiety to everyone in their vicinity.

    Blackbird cracked me up.
  • Blogger bluemountainsmary posted at 8:44 PM, February 20, 2008  
    blackbird cracked me up too.
  • Blogger Poppy Buxom posted at 11:27 AM, February 21, 2008  
    Me too.

    Next time I see my mother, I'll have to ask her, "So Mom, would you say I looked more like Julia Roberts? Or you?"
  • Blogger Poppy Buxom posted at 11:30 AM, February 21, 2008  
    By the way, Joke.

    When I call you an "idiot," what meaning do you construe from the word?

    I'm only asking because I'm female, and therefore, apparently incapable of communicating clearly.
  • Blogger Joke posted at 11:58 AM, February 21, 2008  
    "Oh, you zany rascal, you."

    -J.
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