That picture to the left there is one I took of Mr. Wes Bentley. You might remember him as Ricky Fitts from "American Beauty" or as Blackheart from "Ghost Rider". I remember him from the patio at a local pub where he hung out with us plebs and bought a round of beer. When the Palinode pointed him out and said That guy's a dead ringer for Wes Bentley, I said He sure is, and then it turned out that he actually was Wes Bentley, and we went back to our drinking, because in Saskatchewan, Canada, we tend to be fairly relaxed about fame. Mischa Barton of "The O.C." fame was at that same pub on another night, and I did not see a single person go up to shake her hand, but then, in that situation, I think her leopard print stretch pants were a little bit offputting.On Wednesday evening, I saw Wes again, and because I had neglected to thank him properly for the round he had bought the other night, I motioned him over as he walked by my table so that I could shake his hand. Really, I just wanted to shake his hand and apologize for not thanking him for the drink. Really.
Initially, I was under the impression that I was just looking up at him and saying Hey, Wes, thanks for that beer you bought the other night, and he was smiling along and thanking me for my thank-you, but then he looked down at my hand, which I then looked at, because if Wes Bentley is looking at something while I am talking to him, then I am also going to look at it. So there Wes was, looking down at my hand, and I was also looking at my hand, and MY HAND WAS RUBBING WES BENTLEY'S BELLY IN LITTLE, TINY CIRCLES. I do not even hug people all that often, but there I was rubbing a major film actor's belly. I paused what I was doing, patted his belly twice, and said I think I must just really like your sweater vest.
Just when my life was looking like it might be getting a little bit cooler, it was very much not. Or so it appeared at the time.
Since the Wes-Bentley-belly-rubbing incident of late Wednesday afternoon, I have had a windfall of excellent things happen, which inclines me to believe that Wes Bentley is a laughing buddha. Since rubbing his belly, I have been graced with the amazing generosity of others more than a few times:
When I looked back to figure out what I could have done to deserve all of this, it was pointed out to me that the only thing I have done that is different lately is rub Wes Bentley's belly. Since that embarrassing moment when I found myself stroking his sweater vest, I have been gifted with the promise of a laptop, realized my dream of registering for the BlogHer '08 conference with the help of all of you out there, and the Palinode and I have been honoured by our friends with a surprise party and gifts to show their appreciation of us after a difficult year.
Wes Bentley is a laughing buddha, I swear to you. He is a very slim, well-built, and blue-eyed laughing buddha, but a laughing buddha all the same. Would all of this good luck and prosperity be mine if I had not laid hands on that famous stomach? I think not.
Labels: the here and now, the photographs
