BY Advocate Contributors
November 14 2009 10:00 AM ET
To be blunt, Hudson's domestic help didn't like Christian much. In Hudson's deathbed autobiography, James Wright, Hudson's butler, reported that Christian would "comedown to the kitchen, make his stupid bloody energy drink, and leave his garbage all over the place." This report of sloppiness has yet to be addressed at the trial.
The moral? Stick to highly processed, easily disposable foods and beverages, and eat out whenever possible.
REVIVING THE EX
You've been around long enough to know how this goes. You date someone, the relationship gets serious, and one night at dinner, your beloved tells the story of how he met his ex. It's a touching story, more touching, of course, than the story of how you met your ex. It is, in fact, so saccharine and innocent that it makes you want to throw up, and your jealousy destroys all your enthusiasm for the relationship.
Let's get the story of Christian and his ex out of the way so there will be no surprises if you and he become an item. Here's the story, told under oath: Christian was working as a bartender at a fund-raiser for novelist Gore Vidal, who was running for the U.S. Senate. (You probably should have realized that this trial would have a lot of potential for namedropping.) Christian heard a voice from behind him say, "Where the hell's the booze?" It was, of course, the always drinking Hudson.
After dating 80 times or so, the two staned having sex when, according to Christian, Hudson "told me he was beginning to develop very strong feelings for me and that he was falling in love with me. He told me had only been in love one other time, when he was [in high school]."
There now. That story wasn't so cute, was it? In the future, don't be so quick to assume that everyone's tales of old romances are sweeter than yours.
Christian describes himself as a musicologist. You would like a lawyer to ask him what that is and what job prospects there are for musicologists. Are jobs in this field lucrative? Of course, if the jury awards Christian the money, it won't really matter.
But things might not be so bad even if Christian doesn't get the money. Christian tells the jury on several different occasions that he did not—contrary to the gossip around town— file his lawsuit to make a name for himself in Hollywood and become an actor or screenwriter. In fact, he tells the jury that filing the lawsuit has made him a pariah.
You do not believe this. Hollywood, more than any other place on earth, will forgive anything so long as it makes a person noteworthy. Movie director John Landis can get away with inviting members of the jury that acquitted him of charges in the deaths of actors on his movie set to the glittering premiere of his next film. Christina Ferrare can ride a wave of publicity that starts at the trial of her car-maker ex-husband, John DeLorean, who was accused and acquitted of selling cocaine, and eventually become the city's leading bubbleheaded morning-talk-show goddess. And Tracy Lords, who, as a teenager, lied about her age so she could act-well, OK, be—in adult films, is now a fixture in the Los Angeles Herald. Examiner, on the society pages, no less. In a similar fashion, no matter whether he wants or deserves to be grouped with those people, Christian is now noteworthy.
So, the night after you attend his trial, you don't lose too much sleep over Marc Christian's future. Even if he is not the man for you, you suspect that you will be hearing from him again. When it comes to being news, Christian has the knack.
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