The End of My Jonny-Diablo Guilt

Hey, remember when I asked Diablo Cody, “So let’s say $100 million gross, little gold man–does that mean ‘bye, bye Jonny’?” And remember when her husband called the question “the most offensive question anybody’s ever asked her”? And then remember when, like a month later, my stupid question actually turned out to be right on?

Remember that? Well, you would think that I felt like the Amazing Kreskin or something. Or maybe John McCain after the surge. But no, I felt shitty about it.

Really shitty.

No, really.

I mean, when the other two parts of the question came true for Diablo–the $100 million part and the Oscar part–I felt less shitty, of course, at least for her. Because the Q was just an asinine attempt at producing yet another cheap soundbyte in one of my QAs. I had nothing against either Diablo or Jonny. I’ve been a Diablo Cody guy since her original, full-frontal P.Ranch days; and then she actually edited a freelance piece or two of mine when she was at City Pages. And I knew Jonny from the music scene, so I never meant to imply that he was a loser or anything less than a catch–I mean, as a musician, dude is arguably as pretty and/or talented as Dave Grohl. Moreover, he’s possibly a better writer and definitely a better actor than me. It was just a jackassy question actually meant to lance some of the “ha ha, I bet you’re all Hollywood now” Minneapolis backlash bullshit, and I hoped to shock a laugh out of Diablo and maybe provoke a funny comeback on her part. It backfired immediately–I remember having to scramble to get her to feel quasi-comfortable again, but thankfully we got past it and she gave me great stuff the rest of the way. But I worried about it a little afterwards like I do after all my awkward QAs. And then, when Jonny freaked out on his blog, I felt even worse. And when the divorce was announced a month later, I felt I-just-killed-Martha-Dumptruck bad.

But now I feel 1/3 less terrible than ever, because evidently, Jonny Hunt is engaged again!

Well, unless we’re all being Ashton Kutchered here or something. But according to the internets, Jonny’s new(est) betrothed (I understand this will be his fourth) has a handle nearly as exotic as the last one, Miss Trixi B, and of course, a blog.

Jonny’s blog has pictures of the ring, and the Route 66 road trip the couple took to celebrate. He actually popped the question on the same day Diablo won her little gold man, and I guess the timing weirded out some internet messageboard commenters somewhere or something (Sample speculation: did he watch the ceremony live? Did he have to TiVo the ceremony?), because Jonny ran a typically neurotic Jonny-explanation a couple days afterwards.

But whatever. It sounds like everybody’s happy: Diablo, Jonny, and now Miss Trixi B. (I guess they’re all buddies too. Shrugs.)

So I’m taking this as a full pardon. I’m officially off the hook, and I can ask asinine questions again with a clear conscience in future QAs.

That was a close one–nearly had to learn something about myself there.


The Sports Guy on Juno

From Bill Simmons’ column today:

Q: Do you think the Jags are like “The Shawshank Redemption”? They seemed to be a sleeper team of destiny but picked the wrong year to win the Super Bowl (because of the Patriots). “Shawshank” was a sleeper movie destined to win Best Picture and picked the wrong year to do it (because of “Forrest Gump”).
— Pat C., New York

SG: I don’t know. I’d compare the Jags more to “Juno” — a very cute, extremely well-done movie that received a little too much acclaim and couldn’t compete with the big horses during awards season. And by the way, if we’re comparing 2007 movies to 2007 NFL teams, “Margot at the Wedding” would definitely be Kansas City — a promising start followed by everything going straight to hell, to the point that fans/customers were staring at each other in disbelief wondering what was happening. Bonus points here for the fact careers were ruined in the process. Herm Edwards as an NFL coach, Jack Black as a serious actor. I’d like my $10 back, please.