So it’s officially been 7 months since I’ve graduated from
my alma mater (the prestigious NYU Tisch School of the Arts, BFA in Drama, 3.8
GPA, with honors - of course) and as we roll into 2012 with gusto, I can’t help
but take a look back and recount the year that was. Sure, 2011 dealt me a
handful of ups, a smattering of downs, and a plethora of situations I really
couldn’t give a shit about – but there was certainly one constant that stuck
with me throughout the year, and continues to haunt me furthermore:
I am still not a celebrity.
Yes, it’s true. As I approach my 23rd year on
this planet, I still have not achieved the global domination I so desperately
need. And I have absolutely no clue how this happened! Surely I have the acting
prowess of a young Lawrence Olivier… John Barrymore… Keanu Reaves. Clearly I’m
good looking enough to be a muse for any fashion photograher (let alone a
certain Gil Ben-Simone. Where the fuck is my Covergirl cosmetics campaign and
my contract with Elite Model Management? WHERE?!) So, as I sit here tonight, in
my underwear, picking peanut butter puffins ever so delicately out of my golden
forest of chest hair, I’ve come up with six reasons explaining how someone as majestic as I could still be among the plebeians. I give you:
6 reasons why I’m still not a celebrity:
1) I’m far too good looking.
Nowadays, people are intimidated by overt displays of beauty
and sensuality (both of which I have in droves.) I can’t tell you how many
times I’ve walked into a casting session only to find the casting director
cowering on the floor in awe of my good looks.
“Please! It’s too much!” he or she will scream, shielding
his or her loins. “Come back when you’ve walked into a fence!”
Yes, it’s true. My physical excellency is a challenge for
some. I mean, have you actually taken the time to look at me recently? It’s
like staring into the fucking sun. Your face will melt off. I’m serious. I dare
you. Your face. Will melt. The fuck. Off. It’s too much for people to handle, particularly
my scene partners. Unless I’m doing The Miracle Worker, I can’t imagine that any of my costars would be able
to stare at my face for too long without literally dying.
But the real problem is, I’m so good looking at this point
that people aren’t taking my work seriously. I’m not here merely to be a
beefcake, I’m here to become a beefcake with an Academy Award. My only hope is
that someday soon a director will be smart enough to realize that with the
appropriate prosthetics I can be just as normal and homely as the rest of the
actors on the big screen.
...
2) I’m way too thin.
Since I was born, pop culture has ingrained in me that “thin
is in” and so I followed suit. How else would I become a celebrity? I have
worked incredibly hard on my eating disorder – I read Portia de Rossi’s book, I
know the deal. Chew some gum, run a staircase, chew some gum, run a staircase.
And now I’m told that Americans want to see magazine covers with “normal”
looking people on them? Fashion spreads are making room for “curvy” models?
What the hell kind of marketing gimmick is this? Is the world spinning backwards? Can
some please tell me what is so sexy
about luminous hair and functioning reproductive organs?
I’m sick of opening up a magazine and seeing people that
look like everyone else staring back at me. How are you supposed to feel bad
about yourself if beautiful people like me don’t do it for you? What is this
bullshit? If you want to see someone “just like you” go to a Blimpie’s or a
Jiffy Lube, don’t open a fashion magazine.
The fact of the matter is – people with eating disorders are
people too… people who can pull off shapeless chiffon. But there is no need to
hate us, or discriminate against us, or take away our jobs! Because try as you
might, your efforts are futile. We thin people will rise again to the top, we just need to
eat a few more tic tacs so we don’t get dizzy when we stand up. Look, I’d love fame, I really would,
but if you think I’m going to pick up a Salteen to have it, you’re out of your
fucking mind.
...
3) I might be a little too talented.
2012 is no place for artistes. Nowadays our culture is so saturated with superficiality and
materialism that we can no longer handle when an actor dares to hold the mirror
up to nature. It’s why Lee Norris hasn’t worked in years! But my quest to
present the harsh realities of our day and age in an unflinching manner cannot
and will not be dumbed down. If you doubt my phenomenal acting abilities, I
need only refer you to my plethora of critical praise:
“Also featuring,”
raves Backstage.com, on my tour-de-force performance as an 80 year old Jewish
man.
“Pictured on left,”
hails The New York Times, for my portrayal of a braggart yet intricately
nuanced swine.
“Best Smile,” boasts
my 2006 Lowell High School Spindles Show Choir trophy.
I assure you gentle readers, mine is a talent that dare not
speak, but by god, it shall never be quenched.
...
4) My penis is bigger than Michael Fassbender’s in Shame
We measured. It was. Unfortunately the film’s director
insisted that my gigantic manhood would distract viewers from the meaning of the
film. And while I can’t blame him, this really fucked with my plan of receiving
a Best Supporting Actor nod; my penis, of course, bringing home the Lifetime
Achievement Award.
...
5) I raped and slaughtered a bunch of underage boys in the late 1970s.
Ugggh, this follows me everywhere. I get it - my b - but it was the ‘70s. And who
hasn’t done some weird shit when they were in a K hole? Sorry (not sorry.)
...
And finally, the real reason why I’m still not a celebrity...
6) I actually look like this without makeup:
