Word: dad
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...just as calculating about his career choices. "He was offered a stupendous amount of money to continue to do Roseanne," the sitcom he was on for 11 episodes, says his dad Nick Clooney. "I was thinking he could build a little nest egg and maybe acting would pay off after all. He said, 'No, I'll be in a cul-de-sac. I'll be that guy, and that's all I'll be.'" He pitched sitcom pilots and dramas and eventually won an Oscar nomination for co-writing the original screenplay for Good Night, and Good Luck. He makes...
...didn't care about the Arabs being killed by Saddam Hussein. Clooney got interested in Darfur in 2005 after the campaign for Oscar votes for Syriana and Good Night, and Good Luck made him feel dirty. "You're campaigning for yourself. To compete for art," he says. His dad was also dejected and angry after losing an election for Congress, and Clooney had been reading about the lack of attention being given to Darfur, so the two went on a trip to Africa to shoot footage. Clooney wasn't able to get into Darfur until late January, when...
...feels his advocacy is not even accomplishing as much as his family did during the embarrassing Christmas day trips his dad would arrange every year, when they would show up with gifts for a family who wrote to his dad's TV station, asking for help. Now he wonders if it is better to give money and get out of the way, as he does when he gets off Highway 101 at Laurel Canyon Blvd., where there's always a person begging for money. "You think, This is a $20 light. So you hope to catch the light. And then...
...father looking on a little disdainfully and a little lovingly. When I was in elementary school, before my parents discovered exactly what the cafeteria was serving us, I would eat pizza for lunch every day. Except it wasn’t the slim, New York style pizza my dad had brought me up on (he hails from Brooklyn). And it wasn’t the deep-dish kind that Chicago-folks swear by. No—it was what I would describe as reconstituted space pizza, in a personal-sized tin trays. But it was pizza...
When I was thirteen, my dad and my brother Jay went on a road-trip with Jay’s all-star little-league baseball team. My mom doesn’t know how to cook (there was the particularly memorable night when she tried to make “three-cheese” pasta, which ended up congealed at the bottom of the pot and licked by our cat who had a penchant for cheddar), so instead she ordered a large pizza with artichoke hearts from Pizza-A-Go-Go. I hadn’t seen Shakespeare in Love...