This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2014, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
Despite our differences as human beings, there seems to be one thing that brings us all together, something we inextricably all need.
It is not food, water or oxygen. It's something far more necessary to human emotional health. It's celebrity news. For some reason human beings crave knowing what's up with the sort of people who would immediately move away if we bought the house next to them.
What is it about the lives of celebrities — including those with no discernible talent — that makes us follow their every move? Are we really so unsatisfied with our own lives, or, worse, that shallow? The answer, of course, is "Duh."
It could be any of the glitterati, but most recently it's George Clooney. The media never seemed to tire of referring to him as the world's most eligible bachelor. Really? Most eligible to whom?
The term makes it sound like Clooney was available or interested in walking down the aisle with whichever female came along at the right time. He wasn't. He was perhaps the least available bachelor.
Clooney had long vowed to never marry again after marriage No. 1 to Talia Balsam went south in 1993. And since he only dated fabulously wealthy and beautiful women thereafter, he was really only eligible to less than one percent of women on the planet. Almost certainly including not you.
I wouldn't know anything about Clooney's weekend nuptials to human rights lawyer Amal Alamuddin if the media hadn't forced the news on me. It's the first thing I heard about when the TV came on in the morning, and the last thing before it went off at night.
My only previous connection with Clooney was waiting for the sequel to "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" Since the chances of that happening were about the same as him marrying my sister, I didn't really dwell on it.
But then the media (MSN Wonderwall, in fact) reported that Clooney and I had something very much in common. We are the exact (close enough anyway) same age. We're both 61. Here's the quote:
"The handsome actor, 61, and his British barrister wife, 36, said 'I do' for the second time on Monday, September 29 at Venice's…"
Note: I now know we're not the same age. But at the time I was willing to take MSN at its word. Stupid me. Clooney isn't 61. He was born in 1961.
Still, when I first read the wrong age I couldn't help the sudden comparison of my life to that of the world's most ineligible bachelor. What else did we have in common?
It definitely isn't looks. No media outlet will ever report, "The handsome columnist, 61, and his long-suffering wife, 36, said…"
The same age meant Clooney and I would have graduated from high school the same year. How did he avoid getting his draft notice? Why did I end up as a professional idiot in Utah while he's dating and marrying gorgeous women in Italy?
I could have kept that comparison #$*&@ up until it drove me crazy but then I realized something. My life suited me so much better than George's. I actually feel sorry for him.
Clooney will be on his honeymoon this weekend, eating caviar, lounging on a beach, while trying to hide from the media and mobs of adoring rabble.
Meanwhile, I'll be at Tavaputs Ranch with Sonny and a bunch of other saddle tramps, fixing outhouses, herding cows, eating steak and shooting bowling balls at major appliances.
Right where I belong.
Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.