I Like a Man in Chains

A Jumper sequel?

Is everybody enjoying the holidays? With nearly two weeks of vacation I’m keeping busy: Mannheim Steamroller concert, Christmas with family, two movies (We Are Marshall and The Pursuit of Happyness), a few after-Christmas sales, and trying out my new microwave oven (I’ve yet to master the popcorn setting). Since I don’t expect to make the trek to Grand Rapids next week, I stopped at the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Library on campus to sign a condolence book and received a personal tour of his office. The scene in the painting behind his desk sure looked familiar. Ford Library archivist Geir Gundersen confirmed that it was of Constitution Hall in Philadelphia, which I saw in person last summer.

Earlier this month while browsing the store’s database at Borders, I was elated to discover a sequel to Jumper, the Steven Gould book that Hayden is currently helping to translate to the big screen. The sequel, called Reflex, was written in 2004. Like Jumper, it is a quick read which I finished off in a couple of days. Set ten years after Jumper, Davy Rice (Hayden’s character) and Millie Harrison are an old married couple. Well, old in the sense that they have been wed for several years. As the story unfolds they are arguing about whether to start a family. Millie is feeling the ol’ biological clock tick-tick-ticking while ever-practical Davy worries how they’ll keep their darling munchkin from blurting out Daddy’s secret talent for teleporting.

Just as their baby dispute reaches an impasse, Davy, who now does covert work for the NSA, annoyingly jumps to an appointment with Agent Brian Cox. It seems this is a favorite tactic of the Jumpy One: can’t win an argument… simply vanish into thin air — leave the missus high and dry. Nice.

However, this time Davy doesn’t return.

Millie is left to fear the worst — that something terrible has happened to her hubby — and indeed that is the case. Davy has been kidnapped by a mysterious group that has figured out a way to keep a teleport from jumping. So Millie must play junior detective, piecing together small clues and eyewitness accounts to find her beloved. Along the way she discovers that an unusual but familiar weapon is at her disposal and she utilizes it to stay one step ahead of the leak-prone NSA and Davy’s evil captors.

I don’t know if a sequel was anticipated when TPTB recast Jumper with Hayden and Rachel Bilson, but I do think it will be much more difficult to translate this second book into a screenplay. The negatives? A big budget would be necessary for the special effects. Hayden… I mean Davy is tortured mercilessly by his captors and the result is nauseating, literally. Try to picture our boy with dark circles under his eyes, stringy hair, not in control of his bodily functions. Um, yuck is right. The methods used by his captors to keep him inert are highly technical, requiring geeky explanations that might bore an audience. Even worse, Hayden’s screen time would be slashed to make room for Rachel’s expanded role. Eek!

The positives? Needless to say, Hayden in handcuffs is a dream come true. That alone may be enough to compensate for the negative aspects. Oh, did I mention the nudity? Mmm-hmm, Davy’s captivity involves various levels of nakedness, including the obligatory shower scene, or two or three or more. Are you still with me, or do I need to fetch the smelling salts? Speaking of oxygen deprivation, the air is thick with sexual tension between Davy and his lone female captor, the absurdly named Hyacinth who has naughty hankerings for Millie’s man. Let’s just say that Millie gets to kick some femme fatale butt during this installment.

Even more intriguing is that author Gould left a few threads hanging, allowing for the possibility of a third film, er, book. My guess is that the stork will finally visit the Harrison-Rice household and drop off a bouncing, no, make that teleporting, baby boy or girl. Heck, why not make it twins? One of each!

[30 December 2006]

 

I’ve Been Krabbed!

Warning: Skip if you are squeamish

I lost my virginity this weekend. It’s true. I am an IKEA virgin no longer. It is unlikely that I will forget the experience anytime soon since it was rather painful — literally. Yep, I broke a fingernail while lifting one of those crazy Krabb mirrors from my shopping cart. I know what you’re thinking. “She broke a fingernail. Big whoop-dee-do.”

No, you don’t understand. The nail was bent so forcefully that it broke down in the nail plate, the pinkish area attached to the nail bed where all those tingly nerve endings are located. Ewwww!! Yeah, it’s FUBAR. Torn all the bleeping way across (horizontally). Bled profusely. Luckily, I had a Band-Aid® in my purse. The cashier, bless her heart, put it on for me so I wouldn’t hemorrhage to death. But the edge of the nail kept catching on things, especially as I transferred my purchases to the car trunk. I said “Ow, ow, ow!” repeatedly to keep from swearing.

I managed to trim it back but it still hurts whenever I bump it. A friend who is a physician’s assistant assured me that it will fall off eventually and shouldn't get infected (my biggest worry), but it could take 2-4 months for the nail to grow back. It should make the entire holiday gift wrapping process an adventure this year.

So, how does this relate to Hayden, you ask? Well, this flippin’ friggin’ Krabb mirror was designed by some cretinous creature named Tina CHRISTENSEN, that’s how! Mefears it’s payback for creating this website. Has Hayden sicced Clan Christensen on me?! If so, I am doomed.

[18 December 2006]

 

Bad Carma

Well, he is a Ram

“I would think twice before getting into a car with an Aries.”
—Lee Romanov, president of InsuranceHotline.com

A new Toronto-based study on driving habits does not bode well for Hayden. We know he likes fast cars (whether his tastes extend to fast women remains to be seen). Incredibly, your astrological sign may be a better predictor of your safety as a driver than age or even experience behind the wheel. Now, I did a brief stint as an insurance rater and don’t recall zodiac charts appearing anywhere in my rater’s manual. Yet, Ms. Romanov swears by them. As always, I am skeptical of anything involving astrology, and Romanov’s promotion of her book, Car Carma, based on this whimsical study, necessitates further scrutiny. Still, she claims that records of 100,000 North American drivers were analyzed — an impressive number for any study.

Perhaps Tove Christensen instinctively knew this but, according to the study’s results, Aries (March 21-April 19) drivers are the second worst in number of tickets and fourth in accidents (3rd worst overall). My sign, Sagittarius (November 22-December 21), falls toward the middle of the pack: sixth worst in accidents and second best (ahem) in tickets received (7th worst overall).

I would concur with that assessment in my particular case. My accidents have been mostly self-inflicted, single vehicle affairs. Two minor collisions from close encounters with concrete pillars in a parking structure and my garage door frame bears the tell-tale skid mark of a too-hasty exit. Only one ticket so far (knock on wood). For speeding.

Oh yeah, there was another for failure to stop for a school bus, but I got myself out of that one. In my letter admitting responsibility “with reservations,” I cited my profound respect for the law (close family members had law enforcement backgrounds), for school bus drivers (my grandparents being two good examples), plus I recounted the horror of my own school bus accident at age eleven where my bus driver/neighbor was pinned under the bus. For added effect I included a photograph of the bus lying on its side (we did a 180° before tipping over, I kid you not). I even had the audacity to suggest a safer way for the bus driver to pick up her precious cargo. Much to my delight, the ticket was dismissed.

One other quote caught my eye. Referring to the age cutoff for high risk drivers (24 years), the fetchingly blonde Ms. Romanov shuddered, “I’d rather get into a car with a 24-year-old Leo than a 25-year-old Aries.”

Hmmph! My Hayden-sensitive radar experienced a slight blip there. Why the not-so-subtle digs at 25-year-old Aries drivers? Romanov’s company is based in Toronto. Hayden is based in Toronto. Hayden is a 25-year-old Aries. Therefore… she must have the hots for him! Only, she’s using reverse psychology on him, pretending to like Leos instead. Clever, very clever. Oh, wait. She didn’t restrict her remarks to the male gender.

Never mind.

[15 December 2006]

 

Christmastime Is Here

So, I’m a little early

Last week was a busy one for me, celebrating three Christmas/holiday parties, the third being with my dad’s side of the family. A Christmas tree, one anti-social Siamese cat, 14 family members (including one who is allergic to the cat), Christmas presents, party food, and so on, all crammed into my grandma’s small apartment. Everyone talking at full volume because Grandma refuses to wear her hearing aid. Such fun. My little cousins, ages 7 and 9, are Star Wars fans. Someone (not me) gave them Star Wars action figures, C-3PO and Padmé, so they were in heaven. The seven-year-old had made up a Star Wars joke, which we all thought was a fairly decent joke. Heck, I can’t tell a joke right let alone make one up!

Question: What does Yoda eat for dessert? (see answer at end of this post)

I have about half of my Christmas shopping done, no presents wrapped, and haven’t even begun my Christmas cards. Everyone seems so organized compared to me. My mom is überorganized. She makes to-do lists and actually crosses things off. Pray tell, why didn’t some of that efficiency rub off on me?!  I often wonder how Hayden manages during the holidays. Does his agent or manager do his Christmas/holiday cards for him? Does he do his own shopping or does he get a personal shopper? Is he one of “those men” — the ones who utterly loathe holiday shopping, thus putting it off until the last minute? Last year Hayden was filming Awake in December. This year it is Jumper, which was supposed to wrap in early December but got pushed back to mid-January. It must be a pain trying to juggle the usual holiday chaos with a shooting schedule. “Better him than me,” I always say.

Speaking of talented thespians, the kids at our church put on a boffo Christmas pageant/musical last Sunday. Is it acceptable to call a religious pageant “boffo”? They memorized all their lines as well as several songs with choreography. Only one kid had no rhythm (there’s always one). Somehow I doubt my Christmas Eve performance of “O Holy Night” will be nearly as dazzling. A spectacle maybe. Ha, ha. I’m singing the tenor part of an SAT (soprano/alto/tenor) trio. I can actually sing all three parts, just not all at the same time. Yeah, I have a pretty good range, as long as it’s not too high or low. I can’t reach the screechy notes or bellow bass parts, but I can sing along with the likes of Amy Lee (Evanescence), Karen Carpenter, Raine Maida (Our Lady Peace), The Chipmunks, and on a really good day, Christina Aguilera. Although I prefer to sing alto, we are usually short on tenors, so I get drafted to sing with the men. Hey, I can think of worse things in life.

Well, I’ve managed to ramble on long enough. I hope to write more before the end of the year, but given the hectic nature of the season I thought it best to muse a little about it now. Hope everyone enjoys the holidays. Peace on Earth and all that jazz. Providing all goes well, I will see you on the flip side (2007, that is). I’m already hard at work on my Not Enough Hayden New Year’s resolutions.

So, what does Master Yoda eat for dessert?

Answer: Milk and Wookiees, silly!

[13 December 2006]

 

Police Nab Bullrun Driver

Relax, it’s not Hayden

Remember Bullrun 2006, the road rally Hayden participated in last July? Well, my ears perked up last night when a Detroit news station reported the arrest of Camilo Pardo, chief designer of the Ford GT, who “unofficially” took part in Bullrun 2006. The 43-year-old Pardo will be charged with misdemeanor reckless driving in Michigan based on a recent speeding violation compounded by a history of multiple license suspensions and speeding tickets.

I missed the earlier report in October when they highlighted video of participants racing pell-mell through Michigan without regard to life or property. Apparently many tickets were issued on westbound I-94 and Pardo admitted to leading racers from the Ambassador Bridge (at Detroit/Canadian border) to Ypsilanti. That means Hayden was in my neck of the woods, people!  I take westbound I-94 to work every day (Ypsi to Ann Arbor). Holy cow! The boy practically waltzes into my backyard and where am I?  Off gallivanting in Pennsylvania. What more does the poor guy have to do to get my attention?

I seem to recall that Tove Christensen snitched on his little bro — gloating that Hayden received five speeding tickets in a single day. At the time I had wondered if it might have occurred in Michigan. They would have traveled a Toronto-to-Chicago leg and I-94, a major east-west interstate highway, is the most direct route through Michigan. Hayden better watch out that he doesn’t amass too many tickets in one state, lest he be judged a menace to society and hauled off to jail! Hayden, sweetie, be forewarned: if it happens here in Michigan (where a precedent has now been set and our boys in blue aren’t “feeling the love” for Bullrun drivers), I’ll be forced to bribe the judge to revoke bail at your arraignment. We can’t have you leaving the state now, can we?!

[08 December 2006]

 

Roma

Hayden is on location in Italy filming Jumper. I don’t mean to sound catty but after perusing the location pictures from Rome… I hope his costar Rachel Bilson (The O.C.) loads up on some pasta. Mamma mia! That girl is much too thin.

What’s that? Get back to Hayden? Oh, right. Sorry. Sometimes I get so distracted.

Soooooo, Hayden is in Rome. Imagine my surprise when, on my birthday (earlier this week, Monday if you really must know), a large box arrived containing not one, not two, but dieci (10) pair of size 36 Italian-made shoes! Seven dress pair, two pair of sandals, and one pair of loafers. Impressionante! I was flabbergasted. How thoughtful. And much too generous. I could never accept such an extravagant gift. Yet, what a coincidence: I had asked for a shoe rack for Christmas. Looks like I’ll need another, eh?

Now, if I was a mistress of guile the story would end there. I would leave you hanging, cruelly twisting in the wind… wondering whether Hayden actually sent me this outrageously nice birthday present. “If only,” she murmured wistfully to no one in particular.

No, I have a colleague who is a native of Rome. Every year she goes back to visit her family — and stocks up on new footwear while she’s there. Last week she was lamenting the fact that her feet had grown larger and last year’s purchases no longer fit. Then she looked down at my little feet and asked what size I was. Next thing I know, a banker’s box full of shoes shows up in my office. Beautiful shoes with hardly any wear. She has great taste, too. What a lucky girl I am. With friends like this, who needs Hayd…

Um, so… uh, no, it wasn’t a birthday gift from Hayden. Darn! Just a weird coincidence that he happened to be in Rome when I received a surprise gift from Italy. I love coincidences like that, don’t you?

Ciao, i miei tesori!

[06 December 2006]

 

Dueling Tongues

I admire DesiringHayden.net because webmagician Jen shares my fine attention for detail regarding Mr. Christensen. Through manipulation of thousands of photos of Hayden she noted that he frequently sticks out his tongue, so she has an entire gallery devoted solely to tongue pictures. In Hayden’s defense, I imagine the number would be drastically reduced if people weren’t capturing his every move on film (or pixels). It’s not quite fair that someone can isolate a single frame of video to depict what really amounts to a flick of the tongue. Occasionally, though, I believe he really is doing it to maintain (or merely fine-tune) his balance. Now, my grandma would have scolded me if I had stuck out my tongue as much as Hayden does, so my collection of tongue pictures is rather skimpy.

Therefore, you can imagine how ecstatic I was to come across this rare vintage photograph of yours truly with her tongue sticking out, à la Hayden. And check out that awesome tan and sunkissed, white-blonde hair. You know, a passel of women in Hollywood would kill for hair that color. Unfortunately, that photograph represents the apex of my cuteness — at age six, or thereabouts. Once I started losing baby teeth, it was all downhill from there. Not so with Hayden, thank goodness. I mean, doesn’t our boy look adorable — at 25? I know I’m jealous.

Maybe one of these days Hayden and I could have a real duel. Who has the fastest tongue? I have a feeling I’d lose that contest. No, I think I would fare better at that time-honored sport of… tongue wrestling!

P.S. Oh yeah, almost forgot… Happy Birthday to ME!!

[04 December 2006]

 

Advice to the Lovelorn

While we are all sitting around waiting for Hayden to acknowledge our existence and put our phone numbers in his Little Black Book, I thought I would pass along some of my “Romantic Advice Gleaned Through the School of Hard Knocks.” You see, I recently filled out a profile that asked me to describe my best (or worst) date. Oh, that’s easy!

My worst date ever was when a male friend escorted me to a formal banquet just so he could dance with a girl he liked who would be attending (the fact that she preferred to go stag did not deter him one iota). I actually had a new boyfriend at the time who couldn’t take me because… he was taking an old girlfriend instead.

Now, it’s not as pathetic as it sounds (yes, I’m lying). Weeks before they broke up he promised his former flame that he would be her date for this special event, which was the college equivalent of a prom. Much to my surprise, she expected him to honor his commitment. He felt terrible about stranding me. As he put it, a woman was going to be pissed at him no matter what he did, so he felt his best strategy was to piss off the understanding one. Since the old girlfriend was clingy, needy and harbored delusions hopes of reigniting their relationship, I was justifiably leery of the entire arrangement. Yet, by being the adult in this nightmarish ménage à trois, I ultimately won his heart in the end.

So, if you think my advice is “be the adult,” you would be WRONG. No, my advice is: raise a fuss, stomp and scream, turn blue (or red) in the face, and insist that you — not Ms. I’ll-Throw-Myself-Under-A-Bus-If-You-Don’t-Take-Me — you are number one in his life and he better act like it (especially if he wants any future nooky).

Why? While I was busy patting myself on the back for being ultra mature and tolerant (not to mention a paragon of virtue), he learned that whatever made him feel good, more comfy, less guilty, etc., was all that mattered. From that point on, my feelings became secondary. Of course, it took me a couple of years to figure that out. It’s a sad fact, but love often turns your brain into mush.

Thus, my advice is: Stick up for yourself, girlfriend! If you are worthy of his he is worthy of your love, then you ought to come first — before the old girlfriend, his mom and his drum sticks.

Drum sticks??

Don’t ask.

And the corollary is: Never, never, never fall for someone who is on the rebound. It’s not worth the grief.

[29 November 2006]

 

Wickedly Hot

You knew I couldn’t stay away for long, didn’t ya? Celebrated Thanksgiving with the family. Celebrated early birthdays (both my brother and I are December babies). My sister is famous for giving hilarious birthday cards but, for some curious reason, her cards to me always emphasize my age or question my intelligence (apparently forgetting we are from the same gene pool). I can almost forgive her, though, since she indulged my chocolate addiction with some Wickedly Hot Chocolate. “So Sinful It’s Almost Illegal” is right. I had a second helping in the shower because it smelled so good. It’s a shame you can’t eat this stuff!

Ohhhh… you thought I was going to say that Hayden is wickedly hot. And that “shower” reference probably got you hyperventilating. Gee, sorry about that. Tee, hee.

Also got a new phone system with three handsets. I can assign banners, i.e., meaningful names, for each handset to override their default values of Handset #1, Handset #2, etc. I couldn’t resist naming the one in my bedroom “Chrish.” I’m still trying to figure out what to call the other two. Maybe Elvis and… JoeSully, my pet name for Joe Lando. Three equally hot men. in. my. house.

As per tradition, we watched the Detroit Lions lose their Thanksgiving Day game exchanged Christmas gift ideas at this get-together. Not surprisingly, “Lunch With Hayden” was numero uno on my wishlist. My family may have to pool their financial resources and donate a mickle of moolah to his favorite charity but, hey, I’m worth it!

[27 November 2006]

 

Regrets (OT)

This is going to be a difficult (off-topic) post. Please bear with me.

I’m feeling incredibly guilty, incredibly selfish, and I feel like I’ve done irreparable harm to someone I love. I can’t go into specifics but, rest assured, it has nothing to do with Hayden. I was asked to take on a position of responsibility; a position I recently turned down. If I had taken the position, I would have done so mostly out of guilt, but after turning it down, much to my chagrin, I feel even worse. Unfortunately, I can’t undo the harm I’ve done and that is what hurts the most. The consequences of my decision… may end up harming a lot of people and I don’t know how I will live with that.

Normally, I am an upbeat person. I’m finding it hard to be that person right now. As a writer I like to make people smile, maybe even laugh. Smile? Laugh? Just can’t do it.

After sealing my fate last night I watched medical drama Grey’s Anatomy, a show that manages to make me feel good inside and feel like crap, all at the same time. It was probably the worst show for me to watch last night, feeling as crummy as I did. Yet, there were moments when it made me feel almost human again. I cry a lot when I watch GA. Happy tears and sad ones. I can identify with Meredith’s messy life, but I can also identify with her nemesis, Dr. Addison Montgomery (Shepherd), the former Mrs. McDreamy. Like me, she has regrets about hurting someone she loved and hurting herself in the process.

Earlier this week I read through a journal I kept during my last serious romantic relationship. It was downright depressing, which probably contributes to my current state of mind. I made several bad choices then; I continue to make bad choices. So where does that leave me? Unsure. Contemplative. Full of regret. Glum. It sucks to be an adult sometimes.

I apologize for being such a downer. I guess I’m just trying to say that it may be a while before you hear from me again. Maybe never. Maybe next week. I just don’t know at this point. Things look bleak and dreary now, but one never knows what tomorrow will bring.

Maybe I should give myself a pep talk. Hang in there, kiddo. It’s never as bad as you think. Things have a way of working out for the best. It will get better. It will. I will survive this.

P.S. To make matters even worse, Bo died today.

[17 November 2006]

 

Give It Up!

Around here the only subject that matters is Saturday’s OSU-UM football game (Ohio State and Michigan are ranked #1 and #2 nationally). My lucky duck siblings are going to the big game. I thought Ann Arbor was an intimidating town on game day until I spent a Saturday in Columbus a few years back. All I’m saying is, if you venture into Buckeyeland wearing “maize and blue,” make sure your life insurance premiums are paid up! Those Bucks are intense about their football (e.g., they have no qualms about using children as propaganda tools). I work for UM and my sister works for that school down south. Ordinarily, that would call for some trash talking and heavy bets. Only one problem: I don’t root for Michigan. As a proud Michigan State alumna whose blood runs green, I am morally bound to hate those “arrogant asses.” Once upon a time I used to root for Michigan. Then I graduated high school and gave up childish things!

Speaking of giving things up… that brings me to my annual pitch to Hayden. Let’s talk trash, Chrish dear. Yeah, babe, I’m talking to YOU — about that trashy mouth of yours! The one you insist on putting cigarettes into. Uh-huh, that one. I’m askin’, pleadin’, and down on my one gimpy knee beggin’ (ouch!) that you relinquish your nicotine habit. Pretty please… with sugar on top! Yes, folks, here in the U.S. (where Hayden partially resides), November 16 is The Great American Smokeout Day — the only time of the year I ask my darlin’ Chrish to consider giving it up. At least try it for one day. What can it hurt? And for any of the rest of you who may need a similar kick in the rear end, consider that:

• 20 minutes after quitting, your heart rate and blood pressure drop
• 12 hours after quitting, carbon monoxide levels in your bloodstream normalize

And that’s just the beginning, Hayden, hon. There are many more perks. Smoke will cease to permeate your gorgeous hair and designer clothes (including that which you loan out), fine cuisine will taste much finer, your breath won’t stink (might score you a few more dates, huh?), your skin won’t wrinkle prematurely (allowing you to put off that nip ’n’ tuck a few more years), you will have 19 less carcinogenic compounds in your bod, and your automobiles won’t require detailing quite as often. Nor will you have to stand outside in the miserable, freezing cold to get your wretched nicotine fix. While I doubt the cost of cigarettes is much of a deterrent since you have more money than Bill Gates George Lucas I’ll ever see in a lifetime, just think of the extra dough you could cough up (pun intended) and donate to poor, starving orphans… in Africa (sniff!). Think of the children, Hayden!

Hey, in return I promise:

• not to give you a hard time when you get grumpy during withdrawal
• to accept phone calls 24/7 to talk you out of lighting up “just one” Marlboro
• to send you care packages containing hard candies, gum, a rubber band*, my Pure Relaxation CD and Sudoku puzzles, to take your mind off you-know-what

Experts say you can learn something, even from failed attempts to quit. So I will be there for you, sweetie, the next time you try. Promise.

*wear the rubber band around your wrist and snap it whenever you get the urge

[15 November 2006]

 

Pet Names

I have a pet name for Hayden and, no, it isn’t McDreamy.

Nicknames can be fun. I’ve known people with some strange ones, some cute, some crude. As a child I have known a D.J., a girl named Jake, Stormy, Beaver, Pita, and Jupiter. In my extended family there is Sonny, Baldy, Sis, Michael Mary, Icky, Ranny, Nick and his son Nick (their real names are Walter and Tom), and a third Nick (real name Clifford).

College is where a lot of people acquire nicknames, including myself. On my brother and sister floors in my co-ed dormitory we had: Ginna, Camel Lips, Kringe, Dwan, M.P., Spunk, DeeDee, Mickey a.k.a. Bubbles, another girl named Jake, Kath a.k.a. Trixie (my nicknames), Pebbles, Sped, Joe Devo, Chessie, K.Y. a.k.a. Dad, Gramps (even older than Dad), Gunk, and Captain Vive.

I received two more nicknames during my tenure in the university marching band. I was in good company along with: Milt, Butch, Boo Boo, Chet, Snidely, Spaz, Wednesday, Gar, Flame, Mooch, Wee Woo, H, Fred, Wiener, Clem, and my best friend Chip. In a moment of sheer boredom, the percussion section leader assigned monikers to all members of that section, along with their groupies. Being in the latter category, I was dubbed “Katie.” Another drummer who had the great misfortune of being in my diagonal for pregame drills christened me “Spunky.” He thought it an apt description of my derrière, which he was forced to stare at for long intervals during rehearsals. Poor baby! I tell ya, there’s no equivalent to having that name yelled across a football field in front of 300-plus people! Spun-kyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!

Everyone calls me Kathy instead of my formal name, Kathleen. My sister used to call me “Khaki” before she mastered “th” sounds. My aunt calls me “Kat,” a former coworker called me “Katrina.” A family friend used to tease me with “Blondie”— that is, until the day I could retaliate by calling him “Baldy.” And then there is the ultimate humiliation: when Mom can’t recall her firstborn’s name and resorts to “Mopsy,” the name of the family dog. Grrrrr!!

According to my 30-second inexhaustible research, Hayden’s nicknames are/have been Big H, Den and Hayds (yawn). Personally, I find all of these attempts at brevity to be lacking. Hayden is such a terrific name; I would never dream of hacking it into little pieces. Instead, my pet name derives from his last name.

Chrish.

It’s cutesy, I admit. Alas, it’s not even original. I “borrowed” it from this book (subsequently made into an Emmy-nominated television movie, Alex: The Life of a Child). Alex — short for Alexandra — a daughter of sportswriter Frank Deford, died from the effects of cystic fibrosis at the tender age of eight. Her older brother, whom she adored, was named Christian but Alex always called him Chrish (sounds like Chris but with an “sh” sound at the end). That name has stuck with me through the years, so I guess I must have liked it. Now I have bestowed it upon Hayden. May he wear it well. Just remember, I have first dibs on it, so don’t even think of absconding with it.

Smile, Chrish!

[07 November 2006]

 

Fashion Tip: Always Underdress

A member of our student staff came by my office earlier today to take an informal poll. Which movies are the best: Star Wars or Lord of the Rings? Oh, puh-lease. These younglings need to understand that Star Wars wins hands down (this pollster youngling happened to agree with me). Orlando and Viggo don’t hold a candle to Hayden and Ewan. It’s not even a contest. Besides, Jedi Knights always rule. They have the coolest wardrobes and nothing beats a lightsaber!

Speaking of cool wardrobes. I am a keen observer, especially when it comes to all things Hayden. Did you know that Hayden is inclined to loan out an item of his clothing rather than let a woman freeze to death? Well, I’ve noticed two cases where this is true. At least I think so. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part that he would be so chivalrous.

Unfortunately, in order to prove my point I must rely, almost entirely, on tabloids and surreptitious photos taken of Hayden. Normally, I am loathe to rely on rags as a resource, but, providing the first case is true, my inference in the second case has a high probability of also being true. In the first case, Hayden reportedly loaned his sweater to actress Sienna Miller while filming Factory Girl. According to the tabloid, he loaned it to her because of the chilly New York City air. Hmmm, do we trust a tabloid to be um… accurate? Depends.

Exhibit #1:
Picture of Hayden and Sienna
(in Hayden’s sweater?) on
location for Factory Girl

Assuming we do believe that Sienna was wearing our boy’s warm and cozy (not to mention Hayden-scented) hoodie, then Case #2 supports my theory.

Case #2: One stealthily taken snapshot of Hayden with another blonde (does this portend a soft spot for blondes?) reveals said blonde wearing a red and black plaid scarf wrapped around her neck.

Exhibit #2: Hayden and pixie-ish
blonde female wearing
suspicious scarf

This photo was reportedly snapped in March of this year. I thought nothing of it until a month later, when I spied another series of photos taken in April of Hayden dining with his brother Tove at an outdoor Los Angeles café, sporting the very same red and black scarf!

Exhibit #3: Hayden in suspiciously similar scarf

Now, either it was Hayden’s scarf and he loaned it to the pixie, er, woman, or it was hers and he kept it as a memento. Given the verity of Case #1, I deduce that this red and black scarf was none other than the property of Mr. Hayden Christensen, Your Honor.

Oh, sorry. Got carried away. We’re not in a court of law, obviously.

Just to demonstrate, though, that you cannot trust tabloids… at least one online rag (I forget which one and does it really matter?) tried to pass off a carefully cropped version of Exhibit #2 as a picture of Hayden and Sienna Miller leaving a hotel together in New York City, implying a tryst had occurred between them (she being on the rebound for the umpteenth time from Jude Law). Sorry. Not buying it. While this woman does resemble Sienna and her hairstyle at that time, it isn’t Sienna. Even more obvious, the uncropped photo plainly shows a sign above the exit door that says “Skydome/CN Tower/Roundhouse.” The Skydome, et al, are in Toronto, folks.

Exhibit #4: Tabloids lie, lie, lie!!!

Anyway, the moral of this story: when on a date with Hayden, ladies, always underdress. That way he will loan you — his seemingly climate-challenged companion — a scarf, jacket, or sweater and you get to soak up all that manly Hayden scent which permeates the proffered article of clothing (heavenly!). Just don’t let him loan you a baseball cap. They usually end up getting pretty nasty. Say “No!” to caps.

Who am I kidding? His clothes probably reek of cigarette smoke. Blech! So much for aromatherapy.

[03 November 2006]