Doing coke with Jeremy Piven

During TIFF, there are a variety of happenings which lend themselves to write stories, almost all by themselves. Watching premieres, going to events, and hob-nobbing with celebrities are fodder for the sublime.

So, it should come to my surprise when someone finds my story about how I introduced myself to Gerard Butler and posts it on a very popular entertainment site. At first, I was flattered because someone thought about me. Then, things got ugly. Fast.

The comments started flying through the air, like fireworks on a holiday: I was rude. I was an idiot. I was full of myself. I was a poor sap, puffing up my chest. I was an embarrassment. And, on and on.

Sadly, I don't think anyone read the same story I wrote. In fact, I don't think they ever read anything I wrote about before. This was a snippet in time. Lucky for me, there were a couple of people who made jokes about rice - they have a sense of humour. I never said anything negative about anyone. Gerard Butler was a nice guy. His two companions were nice people. The food was only passable.

Take my writing with a grain of salt, because it just tastes better.

And, I never wrote about what happened afterwards; that's between me and Mr. Butler.

And if I was a rude and food-crazy monster, I would've been fired by my boss a long time ago, since it is my job to work with the rich and famous on a regular basis.

For God's sake, it's not like I wrote about doing coke with Jeremy Piven. I didn't even mention the fact that all these skanky women were throwing themselves at him and he didn't stop them (which is sad because he is so talented and can do so much better). No, I didn't do any of that because I'm a classy kinda guy.

I guess for next time, I'll have to keep the stories to myself.

Even the ones that involve Madonna.