So it's official: Prince Albert--"His Serene Highness" of the Principality of Monaco--is finally giving up his long, LONG cherished bachelorhood and tying the knot with a tall, blond, South African swimmer named Charlene Wittstock.  (And, yes--Charlene is a girl.)


"Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

The two will marry some time in 2011, according to reports.

Now, it may just be me, but if I were a healthy, relatively attractive, multi-gazillionaire and--most importantly--HETEROSEXUAL prince, I don't think I would have had that much difficulty selecting a bride.  I mean, I would have assumed that there were plenty of attractive women chomping at the bit to become the new Grace Kelly, and that a Monagasque prince, such as His Serene Highness Albert, would have been able to pick practically any woman who struck his fancy.

And yet, here he is, a 52-year-old first-time fiancé.  Puzzling, n'est-ce pas?

Now granted, Charlene is a very pretty, very slender, very blond young woman, with good breeding and athletic arms.  Exactly the kind of girl I would have wanted to date when I was in high school.

I'm just saying.

All the same, I wish Crown-Prince Albert and his soon-to-be Crown-Princess Charlene all the best and many happy returns.

But if Albert starts making excuses like he "needs to study for his big exam in the morning" or he "can't have sex tonight because he already has plans to watch the Golden Girls," well, the good people of Monaco may just need to move on to Plan B--crowning Andrea Casiraghi, Princess Caroline's eldest son, as supreme ruler of Monaco.


"The name's Casiraghi--Andrea Casiraghi."

A very hot idea, if you ask me.

So here's the difference for me between Canada and the United States.

In the United States, I am one of several hundred million people.   Just one of the common masses, you might say.  The chances of my meeting the President or being invited to the White House any time soon?  Nil.  I knew someone once who was invited to the White House (by George W. Bush, no less), but he and I aren't even friends anymore.  (Me and the guy who got invited to the White House, I mean, not George W., who I never really was friends with, to say the least.)

But in Canada, you see, I am part of the elite, a member of the socially privileged class, practically an aristocrat.  Case in point--my connection to the incoming Governor-General, the prolific author and widely-respected legal scholar, David Johnston.


I love books so much, sometimes I just hang out in the stacks at the library.  Cheerioh!

Professor Johnston taught law at McGill University a number of years ago when I was a student there.  I remember one occasion in particular when I met with him in his office because I was applying to another university where he had studied years before.  He was jovial, inquisitive, and very down to earth.  We talked about his experience at that other university I was applying to and how it prepared him for what he was now doing at McGill; we also chatted about what it was like hosting The Editors, a weekly show about current U.S.-Canadian events that he hosted and which aired on PBS back in the day.
 
(Incidentally, another participant from that show who went on to a fair amount of fame himself--although not necessarily for the right reasons--was former Vermont Governor Howard Dean, whom I remember most for his clarity of thought and level-headedness as a contributor to The Editors.  So ironic.)


Aaaaarrrggghh!

Now, don't get me wrong, I am not suggesting that his Excellency, David Johnston, will be inviting me to Rideau Hall (the luxurious mansion where the Governor General and his spouse will reside) next week or even the week after; I mean, first of all, he doesn't actually take office until October 1 of this year, so he can't invite me at least until then; plus he doesn't have my current mailing address. 

All I'm saying is, I'm a lot closer to the pinnacle of society here in Canada then I ever will be in the U.S. because, at the end of the day, Canada is about one tenth the size of its giant neighbor to the south, so it's easier to know more people here in Canada and, as a result, reaching the "top" here is just a much easier climb.

Next stop--Buckingham Palace.


Croquet, anyone?

I have been in Toronto, Canada for the past three weeks, and tonight was the culmination of this city's "Pride" festival, which celebrates Toronto's LGBT community.  This year's celebration was actually the city's 30th.

And what a celebration it was.  I can't tell you how many times I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming--it was almost too much happiness to handle!  I have never seen anything like it anywhere before--an all-out party, but infused with total warmth and peace. No fights, no drama; just people having fun and being themselves. Even the buses were decked out with Pride messages:


Did you know certain buses are just born gay?

The parade, which went on for hours and basically took over Yonge Street (Toronto's equivalent of Broadway), featured your perennial muscle boys:


Hey you!  Why don't you come over here and open up my Guaranteed Investment Certificate?  It pays 9 1/2 %!

But there was also a military presence in the parade.  I personally saw a gay marching band from a Canadian military base, and I heard about a contingent of actual gay soldiers marching too:


We're looking for a few good men.  (Preferably with their shirts off.)

Even some of the dogs got in on the action:


I like it "ruff."


Does this boa make me look fat?

All in all, it was yet another reminder that this country of my birth, which I have been away from for almost 9 years, is CRAZY progressive.  It almost makes me wonder why I ever left in the first place.  (Oh yeah, 'cause I was a conservative closet-case back then.)

So in closing, here is the acronym I came up with for PRIDE:

P is for the parade, which blew every other parade I have ever seen clear out of the water;

R is for the ripped bodies grinding on the dance floors all weekend long;

I is the for the insanity that was the corner of Church and Wellesley Streets (the epicenter of Toronto Gaydom);

D is for the drag queens who kept the crowds entertained for hours on end;

and finally

E is for the excitement I felt to be a part of this grand celebration of inclusion, self-expression, and love.

Happy Pride everyone!

Is it weird that I have a crush on the current Governor of the Bank of Canada. Mark Carney?

I mean, look at him:



He's hot, right?  In that bookish, slightly-older, intellectual hunk way.  Like Pierce Brosnan in Mamma Mia:


"I can't sing for s%$#, but I look pretty hot in linen!"

It's like, you could meet at the Met to check out the latest exhibit, then have a conversation about the causes of the fall of the Weimar Republic, and then have really, REALLY hot sex.

I mean, I'd much rather do those things with him then any other of the world's major central bankers:


(L-R) Bank of Canada Governor Mark Carney, Bank of France Governor Christian Noyer, German Bundesbank President Axel Weber, Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke, Bank of Italy Governor Mario Draghi, Bank of Japan Governor Masaaki Shirakawa, Bank of England Governor Mervyn King, European Central Bank President Jean-Claude Trichet, IMF Managing Director of the International Monetary Fund Dominique Strauss-Kahn and World Bank President Robert Zoellick (in back). (Stephen Jaffe/International Monetary Fund via Getty Images)

No offense to any of them; I'm sure Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke is a wonderful conversationalist, and Bank of France Governor Christian Noyer probably knows tons about wine. But frankly, I'm just not that into them.  As for Bank of England Governor Mervyn King, putting aside the fact that he looks like Barney Frank, I just would never sleep with someone named "Merv." 


"Although I didn't get laid much at uni, I now control Britain's monetary mass. Cheerio!"

Now, you may be wondering: what makes me think that Governor Carney would sleep with me?  Well, first of all, who cares?  It's just a little crush; I'm daydreaming aloud.  So relax.  That said, check out the way he holds a coffee cup:



I'm just saying.

                   
     Liza Frulla                  Janice Dickinson
(former Minister of         (former supermodel)
Canadian Heritage)

I guess the more work you have done, the more you begin to resemble Janice Dickinson.  Or former Minister of Canadian Heritage, Liza Frulla.  Whichever.  (I think the take away is--don't have plastic surgery.)

This past weekend, I did a little cabaret show at a restaurant called VYNL in the Chelsea area of New York City, and in the opening act, as a joke, I sang a bit of "It Sucks to Be Me," the song from the Broadway musical, Avenue Q. The lyrics go like this:

When I was little,
I thought I would be
A big comedian
On late night TV.
But now I'm thirty-two
And, as you can see,
I'm not.
Oh well,
It sucks to be me.

It was hilarious and all, but it got me to thinking. The fact is, in the last couple of years, I have embarked on a new career as an artist, which is one of the most difficult careers I can think of, and I am in my mid-thirties—the exact age at which so many of my friends and peers, it seems, are hitting their respective strides in their respective careers.

For example, I was out just last night having a drink with a friend who is a pretty well-known Canadian journalist. His most recent career challenge? Figuring out how best to justify his hefty 2010 salary increase. (Don’t worry; it worked out just fine. His lawyer did the negotiating.)

Then there is my friend Russ who feels—as he has put it himself—“work just really isn’t for me.” I recently heard from a mutual friend that Russ has been working for a multinational IT company on projects that required him to travel to Tokyo, Paris, and Budapest. Sigh.

And then today, I was watching the Canadian cable news (I’m spending the holidays at my parents’ house in my hometown of Montreal, so give me a break). And who should I see, going on ever so articulately about the trial of Charles Taylor, the former president of Liberia, currently taking place in the Hague? None other than my old buddy Jeremy, who is evidently a big muckety-muck on the international legal scene now. This is him doing important things somewhere international.



Meanwhile, I just did a show at a restaurant.

I suppose the difference between these friends and me is that, unlike me, they have all been working at their chosen professions for years, whereas I really am starting from scratch, at least as an actor. (As some of you may know, I walked away from a seven-year career as a lawyer last year and enrolled in a full-time acting training program in New York.)  And, no doubt about it, I'm having the time of my life in school right now, getting to live through all of these incredible artistic experiences I thought I never would.  But no matter how you slice it, not knowing where your next pay check is going to come from is kind of scary.

I mean, what if all of this effort leads absolutely nowhere? What if I just don’t have what it takes? What if my hairline recedes before my big break?

But you just can’t think that way. I recently learned that Wassily Kandinsky walked away from a burgeoning and very lucrative career as a law professor in Russia at the age of 30 to study painting in Germany. And look how that turned out.



I bet Wassily had his moments of self-doubt too. Right? But he stuck with it, even when everyone around him thought he was nuts. And he enjoyed a full head of hair well into his later years.



OK, that does it—enough navel-gazing for today. It’s time to do my vocalization exercises.

And then maybe I’ll gorge myself on more holiday food.

You know, come to think of it, I really should get to the gym. But I don’t even have a gym membership where I am staying...

Maybe I’ll just in stay in bed today.

(You see? This is what happens when I have a break from school and nothing to do.)

But isn't this the Baldwin that used to be really hot?



Billy Baldwin--the hot one, right?

Yeah, not so much anymore.  I mean, check out the paunch!

(Which reminds, I better hit the gym soon.  But first, more Chardonnay.)

In this interview, Stephen Colbert discusses Carl Wilson's book Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste.  While the title of the book may seem a little negative as regards Celine, the book, it turns out, is actually quite measured and objective.  Of course, in the interview, Colbert is as eloquent and biting as ever, whereas Wilson looks like he just a did some meth in the green room to calm his nerves, and it didn't work.

To settle it, I think Colbert should have Celine on his show so that she can explain the mystery of her greatness.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Carl Wilson
comedycentral.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor NASA Name Contest

With the revival of Speed-the-Plow by Pulitzer-Prize winning playwright David Mamet about to hit the boards of the Barrymore Theater 20 years after its original Broadway production, I thought you might be interested to learn (or be reminded of) who originated the role of the ambitious secretary Karen in the play those oh-so-many moons ago.




Also, I'm not sure which is scarier--Leeza Gibbons's 1988 hair or Jennifer Beals's 1988 glasses.

Oh.... my .... God.

I just found out that the CBC (the "Canadian Broadcasting Corporation" for those non-Canadians out there) produced an unauthorized bio-pic about Céline Dion's life last year.  Here is the trailer:



I don't even know where to begin.

Watching this film is even more cringe-inducing than watching the real Céline Dion (which I sincerely did not think was possible). Seeing Enrico Colantoni (star of the NBC series "Just Shoot Me" and a graduate of the Yale Drama School, no less) playing René, Céline's grandfather-like manager/husband, made me feel sorry for the world.  And the woman playing Céline looks like her delicate, slightly prettier second-cousin. If that cousin were from Lebanon. (Not even close, people.)

I have already started growing my hair out so that I can play Céline's son, René-Charles, in the sequel.