Starfucker Wednesday: George Clooney

In preparation for today’s Oscar-themed Adventure in Starfucking, I decided to kick off my morning with a little one-handed salute to George Clooney. And while, in general, my Hump Day Morning Monkeyspank is a satisfying one, I just couldn’t manage it with visions of George dancing and writhing in my head. And why? Why, when Mr. Clooney is one genuine hunka hunka burnin’ movie star? A man who looks good gray, wears the sexy hell out of a suit, and seems like he’d generally be the kind of man that could have deep thoughts about humanity and then suggest some manly wrestling in a pool full of olive oil?

I couldn’t do it because of this picture. This picture haunts my dreams and, apparently, my waking moments as well. It’s from Entertainment Weekly a few years ago, I think, and it scares me. It’s not like I’m afraid to see him with his shirt off or anything (see left), but seeing someone who’s generally so debonair with that idiotic look on his face is too much for me to handle. Especially since he doesn’t like the paparazzi, and has a better control of what the media says about him than pretty much anyone else I can think of. So it makes me wonder how something so candid-looking, so silly yet not at all funny–in other words so incredibly dumb could get out. I’d be exaggerating if I said it was as bad as the Amy Winehouse crackpipe video, but it’s along the same lines.

It’s unfortunate–really unfortunate–because, in general, he’s one sexy mofo. And, you know, I’m not saying that as a fifty-year old woman that liked him when he was on ER, but as a twenty-six year old man who’s only seen one episode in the entire 712-season run of ER. (If you care, I saw the one that Ewan McGregor directed, and thought that it was dull despite the sexy McGregoriness of it all.)

Anyhow. Intern George is nominated for Best Actor for playing the title character in Michael Clayton, a movie which disappeared from movie theaters before I had a chance to ever see it.

It’s a corporate thriller, which sounds like a snoozefest, but it got a crapload of praise and also stars the always delightful Tilda Swinton. Also, I really like the poster, which is sort a pretty rare occurrance with me and big Hollywood movies.

Generally, I like the movies he’s in, although, now that I look at his IMDb profile, I realize I haven’t actually seen as many as I thought I had. I don’t even think I’ve seen Batman and Robin oe the Solaris remake, not to mention the fact that I missed out on Syriana and Good Night And Good Luck. And Oceans 12 and 13, despite the fact that 11 is one of my favorite movies of the last decade or so. (And despite the fact that my roommate owns them.) Also, there’s also Out of Sight, a movie I’ve seriously rented about 73 times over the last nine years and never actually gotten around to watching.

According to IMDb, his next movie’s going to be Leatherheads, a romantic comedy about old-time football with Renee Zellweger and Stephen Root, who owned the station on NewsRadio and who I haven’t seen since although apparently he’s been in about fifty-nine things since that show got cancelled. Who knew?

He’s been in romantic comedies before, and I guess now would be as good a time as any to mention that I actually kind of really like One Fine Day, the movie he starred in with Michelle Pfeiffer about that peaceful time back when only overwrought businesspeople talked on their cell phones all day.

He was also in O Brother Where Art Thou?, an enjoyable but kind of really overrated Coen Brothers joint. (Although it’s not as enjoyable, or overrated, as The Big Lebowski, as far as enjoyable though overrated Coen Brothers joints go.)

I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention my favorite thing he’s ever done, which is to direct Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, the totally batshit story of Gong Show host and Palisades Park writer Chuck Barris. It’s a hilarious, crazy, and totally underappreciated movie, and not just because it involves Julia Roberts in crazy wigs.

So, to reiterate, George Clooney is a hot man, despite the fact that I can’t apparently get off thinking about him. Because while the man is basically a politically conscious menatplay.com scene in the making, he’s just–I don’t know, too nice? too well-groomed? not hairy enough?–to really ignite the fire in my loins. Which is odd, really, because–that one horrific bathing suit picture aside–I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man look bad. Not even in the paparazzi candids where he’s scowling at the camera, clearly wanting to punch the photographer but too suave to risk messing up his hair.

I guess he looks like a hugger. Although he seems like the kind of guy you should be able to have rough and immoral soldier fantasies about, the truth is that I’d kind of just want his manly arms wrapped around me on a cold evening. He’s a relationship sort of man, I guess, and while relationships with celebrities are nice to think about in theory, that doesn’t mean much when you’re trying to rub a quick one out before work. And while I’d still totally like to wrestle the man naked in a pool of olive oil*, or even rub his gray beard against mine while we played a friendly game of tonsil hockey, I think I’d honestly prefer him with his clothes on, his tie straightened and his sexy eyebrows furrowing with lefty angst as he explained things to me about the environment and Darfur. Not that I really want to talk about Darfur, and if I ever met George Clooney I’d try to talk about hundreds of other things first, but I have the feeling he’s the sort of guy that controls the conversation and only talks about what he wants to talk about.

Below, a couple more pictures from over the years. I think the third one’s my favorite, because of the gray scruff/black eyebrow thing.

(*I’m not sure why, but I totally would and just popped a semi thinking about it.)

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