I fancied myself rather worldly and sophisticated. It seems, instead, I have lived a rather sheltered existence.
For instance, I had no idea that James Bond wasn’t exclusively Ian Fleming’s creation.
It seems Fleming somehow lost the movie rights to Bond. And he lost them to someone who wasn’t a handsome, urbane, former naval intelligence officer and clever author, which seems just wrong to me.
But as James Bond films came along, I was oblivious to the enormous angst and drama, especially in the casting of the various Bond incarnations. Shameful, really.
Perhaps I need a subscription to Variety to keep up on my Hollywood goings-on. This might give me a clue about some of the e-mail I keep getting.
It has headlines like, “We lift the curtain on Martha Stewart’s surprising pics,” and “You won’t believe these pics of Ellen without makeup.”
Again, I am clueless. Why would l, or anyone, care what Martha Stewart looks like before she comes downstairs each day?
My question is the same for Ellen Degeneris?
There is some satisfaction in occasionally, seeing stunning actresses looking like the average girl next door, but neither Martha nor Ellen made their money on their looks.
They could grow a wart on their noses or get acne and I don’t think their ratings would drop. But then, it’s been made clear, I do not have my hand on the pulse of the entertainment world.
Much of my email spam is making me feel a bit lazy and out of touch. I refuse to take those jobs I’m being offered at Apple, Amazon and Google.
I simply don’t get around to snagging all the discount coupons and fabulous deals offered by a host of retail stores and Internet sites. Same with the “free” lunches I could claim at various fast food joints.
And I have thus far refrained from stocking up on the half-dozen exotic fruits that are guaranteed to effortlessly shed pounds.
My real question is, who does respond to these e-mails? Somebody must be or they would just go away. I’ve yet to know anyone who has that much free time or is that curious, but they must be out there. I wish them well and truly hope they were able to regain their equilibrium after being forced to see all those shocking photos.
Meanwhile, I continue to stumble through life without those images seared into my brain. Just looking in the mirror of a morning is all I can handle, anyway.
Jean Gillette is a freelance writer putting her bathroom lights on dim. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.