February 2, 2000
Charlize and Joseph, Our struggle to have a baby - THE COMMENTARY
By Joseph Planta
VANCOUVER - (Before I delve into this column, lemme say, so I don’t get sued, Steve Martin is the funniest person on the face of the planet. He’s a brilliant writer, and I borrow the idea for this column, from his creative genius. Also, you’d have to be a bugger that reads with his/her lips moving, to believe the following crap is true.)
So after my impromptu visit to the Wedgewood, we proceed on three and a half weeks of... whatever can go on in three and a half weeks. Turns out she reads The Commentary, but can’t tell the difference between Preston Manning and Joe Clark. I tell her nine months, and I laugh. Rather riotously. She sits there with this blank stare on her face. She curls her lip in regret, and I, noticing her in that state of utter venerability, and I wish you were there to see it. (She curls her lip in such a way, it’d even make Hillary want to get an intern of her own.)
I get to know her, and she gets to know me. We do the Hollywood thing, you know, the thing that Hollywood people do when in Vancouver and go to Cin Cin’s. We run into Joy Metcalfe, who the next morning ‘drops’ our names on her Joy’s Journal broadcast. She takes me on the set of Raindeer Games, but I started to get clammy when I noticed that they were going to film the scenes that earned Ben Affleck the title “damn him” from me.
She then, after a rather liquid dinner for two, (at Bishop’s by the way) she casually mentions that she’d like to have a baby. She promptly asks for my help and I promptly say yes. Who wouldn’t want to have a kid with a former underpants model?
We head to the Wedgewood, suite 1440, again and she makes me sit on the couch, while she slips into something comfortable. (Cue, that seductive music!) I sit in the room, admiring her beauty supplies, thinking to myself, “Hey, I thought she just looked like that when she woke up.” (Remember she’s from Hollywood.) She strolls back into the room and asks if I want something to drink. I asked if she had any raspberry juice, and she said no. She then offers to run out to get some, but I end those thoughts by telling her, your lucky to find a bottle for less than $8.50 on Robson. Seems as if I forgot she was from Hollywood, because she sends for one and in less than 7 and a half minutes, I’m drinking my raspberry juice. I, content.
If your wondering where the part is about the baby-making, I’m sorry. But, not as sorry as me, because I turn and instead of long flowing blond locks next to me, I see my alarm clock. It reads 7:00 AM. Time to get up.
So anyways, I decide to see a doctor, because I really think I should live up to my promise to help Charlize have a baby. He asks me a couple questions. I answer, No and boxers and the good doctor says, “Boy, that’s puzzling... what could it be?” He finally figures it out and chucks me a bunch of pills to be taken right before intercourse. I say, “Well, Doctor, intercourse isn’t really an option. Charlize and I have never met, and even though she’s kinda pretty, I don’t think I’d want to meet her. She’s a star and I’m not even a columnist!” The doctor reacts rather bluntly, “What!?! You don’t want to meet that sexy actress from The Devil’s Advocate!?!”
I leave the office, I get my coat, thank the receptionist and leave. I’m standing, waiting for the elevator to open and the doctor comes rushing out, his white coat flowing behind him, “Planta?” “Yes, doctor?” I reply. “No one even reads your ‘column’!” He laughs, as does the acupuncturist who flies out of his own office down the hall to see what the ruckus is about in the hall. The elevator opens, I get in, the door closes and I press down. Having a baby with Charlize is no longer an option.
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