I am not a George Clooney crazy.
Really. I own nothing he's ever created, I tuned out of "ER" before he did, and I'm more likely to have pictures of Dave Eggers and Marc Maron up on my cubicle at work (and I do, I do) than I am of any movie actor.
I have noticed this happening lately: I go see a film with Clooney in it.
I come out and my hormones are doing the twisty-tango.
Last night I went to a premiere of "Michael Clayton." As I was leaving with Cameron, Clooney got on the escalator a few folks ahead of me. I literally grabbed her and moved forward as fast as possible. For no good reason, it's not like I was actually going to sidle up to him and his crutch-bearing, Fear Factor-winning girlfriend. But I'd just spent the last two hours watching him have a moral crisis on camera, the last 2-3 minutes (during credits) focusing on nothing but his mug as he rode in the back of a taxi, and I was possessed. The man is the closest thing we have to Cary Grant, who was the most perfect man ever birthed.
Then I got to the bottom of the packed escalator. Clooney and his entourage had already disembarked — but paused right at the bottom. And the person behind them got off to shake his hand. And suddenly there was a clot at the bottom of the escalator. And it was like, we're all going to jam up and fall on Mr. Clooney. Who despite a scraggly beard was devastating (though he seems to need a sandwich) and didn't deserve a dog-piling.
And then my shoe got caught on the escalator and I was ejected with merely one shoe. I started to fall and — he caught me. I stared up into his face and he asked if I was all right, and mumbled that —
Shit, that didn't happen. My shoe got caught and I stumbled and lost the shoe and then yoiked it back as someone else nearly fell over it and by then he was gone.
Damn, man. Like I need something else to get all silly over.