First let me say that after last week, I hope we don’t have to discuss the Titanic for another hundred years.
And your humble blogger is aware that this blog is a tad late for all the Titanic hoopla we’ve endured over the last week, but as I was finishing the last edit of my novel, Shirts and Skins, before sending it back to the publisher (which I did Sunday night) I did not have time to blog.
I’ll be discussing my book (ad nauseum, I’m sure) at a later date.
But back to my totally true Titanic story.
I had sex – over and over – with someone who was in the 1997 James Cameron Academy Award winning blockbuster film Titanic.
This is usually the point in my story when someone asks me if it was Kathy Bates. Well I do adore Kathy Bates but, no, it was not her.
If you recall, Titanic was the story of Jack Dawson and Rose DeWitt-Something-or-Other who fell in love on a sinking ship. She was rich; he was poor.
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the most original of screenplays.
Perhaps even some of you hopeless romantics have ventured out to see the re-release of Titanic now in 3D (by the way, can I just say that I really really hope that we’re about ready to toss this latest 3D craze in the dumpster along with Bwana Devil and Jaws 3).
Back in 1997 we didn’t need 3D. And the glasses would have mussed up our hair, but I digress.
Anyway, in 1998 your humble blogger was in Napa for a conference and met a guy I’ll call “Peter”. Peter was one of the hundreds of extras who perished in the film. He was from San Diego and had travelled to Cameron’s set in Mexico to throw on a tuxedo and life jacket and walk behind Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. You can see him on the staircase behind them, actually.
He was a very sexy guy.
Ironically, our affair lasted about as long as Rose and Jack’s did. He was unavailable (married or engaged or something), lived on the other side of a different country etc. And so, three days later, when the conference was over, we said goodbye and went our separate ways.
(Okay, so it wasn’t the most exciting Titanic story ever told – but it’s the only one I got. Would you have preferred to hear about my brief affair with a Power Ranger?)
But to this day, even though The Gay Groom is a happily married man, whenever I hear that haunting flute at the beginning of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”, I think of Peter.
No pun (too) intended.
Jeffrey, The Gay Groom