Some time ago my friends and I were passing time discussing that oh-so-12-year-old-girl question of which celebrities one would like to kiss (and do other things to…) – all in good fun, etc. This game is especially good when there is a reasonable variety of the players’ sexual orientations, and copious amounts of alcohol are consumed. As I’ve just seen the last “Pirates of the
- Johnny Depp
- Zemfira (this required explanation – a Russian rock star)
- Kate Moennig (an actress, for those not familiar with The L Word)
- Gael Garcia Bernal
- I can’t post it here. It’s too embarrassing. It proves that I am indeed 12 years old.
Now, something has been bothering me about this list since its inception. I couldn’t quite figure out what, so I thought about it for a while, and then I watched The Science of Sleep (which is, by the way, a phenomenal and sad film.) And then I got rather creeped out, because I realized what was bothering me. Gael Garcia Bernal reminded me of my father. A lot. Like they could be brothers. Born 25 or so years apart in two different ethnic groups on two different continents, but that’s just details. I invite you to compare for yourselves:
I know it's not exactly twin city here, and my dad is, like, 12 years old (well, not really, I have good genetics, yo) but eerie, no?
I thought back to
So now I guess I have Oedipal complex by proxy – I don’t know if such a thing exists, but it makes me uncomfortable.