Wednesday, October 14, 2009
reflections on fame and infamy
When I was younger (i.e. roughly six months ago), I used to really want to be an actress. Not that I had an experience, mind you, apart from being a lead munchkin in our kindergarten production of “The Wizard of Oz” and acting out scenes from “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” by myself in my bedroom when I was sixteen (I was a fierce Maggie, if I do say so myself). I was consumed by ideas of superstardom, imagining my handprints outside of Grauman’s and winning Oscars for my earth-shatteringly real performances as various wounded women. But I slowly realized that outside of memorizing all of Audrey’s or Marilyn’s lines in their films, I didn’t actually enjoy the idea of acting. Sure, being a fabulous call-girl or a fabulous gold-digger would be a sensational role in a movie that I would never turn down, but I realized that I would never want to put myself out there and do that whole audition process. I’m way too shy/self-conscious/scared shitless to ever do that to myself. The whole reason I actually wanted to be an actress was just so that I could be famous. I have an odd obsession with fame and infamy. I used to conduct interviews in my head when I was younger and still clouded with thoughts of superstardom, thinking up witty things to say to Dave and practicing my goofy jokes with Conan. I would be a delight onscreen, I really would. I would say profound things in interviews about how acting doesn’t save lives, but its all I know how to do (yadda, yadda, yadda), and would nerd out to Nylon and Interview about my obsessions over Pattie Boyd, Marianne Faithfull, my man Macca, the Manhattan Project, and early Russian silent films that are all really just Lenin-propaganda. I would insist that movies be called “pictures” and would opine about how the beauty of Hollywood and celebrity has all but disappeared. I would have a torrid love affair with a famous athlete/playwright/president (a la Marilyn) or a famous director who I would first have to break out of a Zurich prison. Really, all I wanted was an excuse to talk about myself and have people actually care enough to listen. So I guess that’s the reason why I even have Dolly Rocker Girl – I am incredibly self-consumed and addicted to what I have to say, no matter how trivial it is. If we’re speaking honestly, I think I am one of the coolest people I have ever met in my life. I’m sad that everyone out there who reads this blog hasn’t met me because you are a super-fantastic person as well and I think that we could become besties. We could take over the world with our intensely aware, pop culture-laden ways and become Gilmore Girls times a thousand (and minus one of us being the spawn of the other).