Keanu Reeves, the star of the blockbuster film, became my overnight obsession. I saw the movie over a dozen times and memorized the entire script. Though others claimed Keanu was an atrocious actor, I sought out every inch of celluloid he appeared on, no matter how obscure the film or how minor the role. I scoured celebrity magazines and newspaper interviews in search of some bread crumb that would lead me to him. (This was in the days before Google, so I had to do the detective work myself.)
I was convinced Keanu was the man I was going to marry. To speed things along, I planned to relocate to Tinseltown, make a career as a maid, and adopt Keanu’s Norton-riding and surfing hobbies.
Luckily for me, I didn’t have to go all the way to the West Coast to find the movie star that made me see stars. That fall, Keanu came to the Twin Cities to film Feeling Minnesota.
The local gossip columnist reported all the Keanu sightings in the paper and I, in turn, followed the trail. My mother was more than supportive—she even let me skip school one day for the sole purpose of stalking Keanu.
Our first stop: The Loon Café downtown where Keanu was rumored to have eaten. We requested “his” booth.
“Which side did he sit on?” I asked the host, indicating the oak banquette.
He pointed to the side facing the door, and I wiggled into place, imagining the melding of Keanu’s ass with mine. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
After bowls of wild rice soup, Mom and I circled the streets of the warehouse district in her Oldsmobile, driving by the site of the Feeling Minnesota movie set over and over, craning our necks to get a glimpse of my crush. All we could see were orange cones and bright lights that white-washed the sidewalk. On foot, we did lap after lap around the block, hoping Keanu would appear for a cigarette break or lunchtime stroll. No such luck. The closest we came to Keanu was his body double, whom we mistakenly followed several blocks believing him to be the genuine article.
My Keanu crush got put on the back burner when I started dating men in 3-D. He didn't enter my mind much (especially after “The Matrix”—what the hell were you thinking, Keanu?!), until one evening about a year ago, my mother brought a surprise to dinner.
“I was feng-shui-ing,” she said. “And look what I found!”
She presented me with a 20 x 30 framed print from Speed.
“Oh, Mom,” I scoffed. “I’m not 13 anymore.”
“It’s a nice poster,” my mother said, winking at Keanu’s seriously sexy expression.
“It’s kind of intimidating; I wouldn’t want to scare a potential Prince Charming off,” I said.
“Keep it in the garage,” my father opined.
Now outnumbered, I ceded to the parental pressure and propped Keanu’s image above the bookshelf by the back door.
I gazed at Keanu’s photo. He was so handsome, it took my breath away, even after all those years.
Then I realized why: The Hollywood hunk bore an uncanny resemblance to another Canadian cutie: Puck.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Is it any wonder that, after eons of staring into Keanu’s chocolate brown eyes, imagining my hands grazing his shaved head, and admiring his rock-hard body, that I would fall obsessively in love with his real-life look-alike?
More mouthwatering connections between men and food in my next post...
BORN TO BE WILD RICE SOUP
Ingredients
1 teaspoon butter
½ cup chopped celery
½ cup chopped carrots
½ cup chopped green onions
½ cup chopped onion
1 ½ teaspoons minced garlic
1 (14 ounce) can chicken broth
½ cup uncooked wild rice
2 tablespoons flour
1 ¼ cup milk
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon salt
Method
• Melt butter in large soup pan over medium heat. Add celery, carrots, green onions, onion, and garlic. Saute 10 minutes, or until browned.
• Pour in broth; stir, making sure to scrape vegetables from side of pan with spoon.
• Add rice and bring to a boil.
• Cover, reduce heat, and simmer soup for 1 hour.
• In small bowl, whisk together flour and milk; pour into soup pan.
• Cook an additional 10 minutes, stirring frequently.
• Remove from heat; stir in salt and pepper. Allow 5-10 minutes for soup to thicken.
0 comments:
Post a Comment