Most of my heroes are dead. The rest have restraining orders against me.
MOST OF MY HEROES ARE DEAD … THE REST HAVE RESTRAINING ORDERS AGAINST ME
Raising my children, I told them to not let sport stars or music icons be their heroes. I, myself, have tried to follow this sage advice, up to a point.
I don’t give many shits about movie stars. I don’t watch award shows — no, please, let the beautiful and the rich celebrate themselves — because you can never shower yourself with enough applause, enough accolades, enough anything apparently. Whenever I hear another actor marry yet another actor or musician, I always give them a sporting chance of a year. Except for Millie Bobby Brown and Jake Bongiovi, 20 and 21, respectively. (He proposed under water!) Them, I give 8 months. But, as with everything in life, there are exceptions to my arbitrary rules. Take, for instance, Kenneth Branaugh and Emma Thompson.
I love them. I love them both ardently, but not equally. Please, allow me to explain.
It drove me insane to read Shakespeare in high school. For one thing, I was fairly new in America, and therefore my English was weaker — never mind slogging through ye olde English from 500 years ago. For another thing, Shakespeare didn’t write books! He wrote movies! Hey, you know what I mean — he wrote plays, which are things for…
