fan dumb

Sorry, Tuffy; the name is just too good not to steal – uh, recycle.

This story is stolen from the book I’m reading now: Starstruck: When a Fan Gets Close to Fame by Michael Joseph Gross who was, and is, a fan himself, so he aught to know.

On April Fool’s Day, 1934, when Ray Bradbury was thirteen years old, his family packed up and left Waukeegan, Illinois, for Hollywood, where his parents would search for work, and he would spend his free time outside studio lots with the packs of fans who collected autographs from movie stars. Remembering those days, he told me, “Of all of the people who did that sort of thing, I was the only one who had a dream of the future. I had a purpose for what I was doing. I was standing outside the wall of Paramount Studios when I was thirteen years old and I had a dream that I would jump over the wall and land inside and write a picture.”

About twenty years later, that dream came true. Walking down the red carpet with John Huston at the premiere of Moby Dick, Ray Bradbury was shocked to see, standing on the pavement, some of the autograph collectors he had known as a teenager. He left John Huston’s side and approached them, hoping they would recognize him. “I said, ‘I was that crazy boy who used to stand with you in front of Paramount.’ They said, ‘Oh yes, what are you doing now?’ And I suddenly got very embarrassed and didn’t want to tell them. There was this chasm that opened up between us, between what we had done together, what they were doing now, and what I was doing now. And I said, ‘I worked on the screenplay.’ And they said, ‘Did you type it? Were you in the stenographer’s department?’ And I said finally, ‘No, I wrote the screenplay.” And a strange thing happened at that moment. Suddenly their hands shot out, and there were half a dozen autograph books in front of me, and somebody handing me a pen. I crossed the border. I was not collecting autographs now. I was giving my first ones. It made me cry. I had made it over the wall. But none of those other people had made it over the wall.”

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over the viaduct

Yet under the blanket.

I’m not sure if I’ll be able to tolerate the flying vermin which have infested my house for the last three months long enough to blog this, but I’ll try. As I said recently, I don’t look like I’m typing; thanks to the fruit flies which attend every vegan hippie like the pages surrounding Cleopatra, I look like I’m Carol Channing, playing to the back rows on Broadway.

But I’ll try.

—————————————————————

I didn’t really believe it. None of us really believed it. Until the blanket. Until they pulled out the blanket and draped it over him and even then, still, some primal instinct within us was wishing, hoping, truly believing that they’d tuck it under his chin and say, “There you go, Fred,” and he’d say thanks, it’s cold out, but the only one who said it was cold out was the nurse who’d been working on him ever since the car hit him.

And as they pulled the blanket up over his face, it got even colder.

Amy Winehouse: Love is a Losing Game live at the Mercury Awards

Yes, I know we’re all about the YouTubes lately, but watch this and listen and tell me how I could NOT put it up. It’s over mannered, it’s over-rehearsed, it’s overdone (and so is the hair, the makeup, and the reputation as a hellraiser) but it is, nonetheless, astonishing. Lyrics after the jump.

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Leave Chris Crocker ALONE! sez Seth Green

You remember the original, from YouTube celebutard Chris Crocker? Which was sparked by the trainwreck, from LA celebutard Britney Spears?

Here’s the penultimate, from the guy who played Little Scotty Evil in all those Austin Powers movies:

And the transcript, courtesy of the uploader

Leave Chris Crocker alone…leave him alone! He is just a human, he has ideas that he knows is important and opinions ppl should hear about other ppl. he-he loves his grandmother, and hes going thru a tough time.. that britney pool didnt build itself, he had to build tht himself, he put all those pictures up after buying and collecting them all. did u do that?! u didnt do that….. you cant talk about someone when ur not willing to do wat they do.. u hve not spent a mile walking in his sneakers, or platforms or pumps,or i dont know what he wears,but i bet its stylish… fuck u, u judgemental people…he is dealing with a lot right now, u dont know make fun of him, if u wanna make fun of him ur gonna have to go thru me…and i am tough to go thru cuz i am (idk what he said here,tangable?[ed note: yes, “Tangible”])..leave him alone. and watch robot chicken sunday nights at 11:30 at cartoon networks adult swim, season 2 dvd available right now. so buy it… and leave him alone… ugh!

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Let’s all hate Toronto! Wait…WHERE?

Why, you ask…to which I reply, ever been there? Here’s the must-see movie of the year, coming soon to a theatre anywhere but Toronto.

 

From the movie’s site:

If there’s one thing that truly unites Canadians it’s our national pastime of bashing Toronto. The first film on the subject, Let’s All Hate Toronto is a hilarious tongue-in-cheek road doc. The film follows “Mister Toronto” as he embarks on a coast-to-coats Toronto Appreciation tour, encountering “recovering Torontonians” and those who would be quite happy never to step foot in TO.

Is Toronto really Torauma, Onterrible? Yes, according to a “professional Toronto hater.” And in Calgary they finally discover the answer to a question that has boggled them for ages: why do all the trees point west? (“Because Toronto sucks that much.”)

Now, this all sounds fairly straightforward, and I, of all people, am not one to dismiss something that unites all of our great, yet divided, nation (really, only laughing at Conrad Black comes anywhere near close) but there is one little problem, one teensy thing preventing me from joining in the risibling and the ridiculizing.

What is this “Toronto” of which they speak?

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