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Desperation
It happens. All of a sudden you wake up one day and realize that from now on, it’s all downhill. Career? Stagnant at best. Husband life partner? Not any more. Movie star looks? Buh-bye. Suddenly the realizations come cascading down, wave after wave of stark reminders that your time in the spotlight is no more. But this can’t be! I am someone! At least, I was…
Panic sets in. You jump up, scratching cucumber slices from your eyes as you begin typing furiously at the keyboard. You’ll just Google yourself…instant affirmation…here we go…and…oh no. Is this true? You want to laugh it off, to scoff at the absurdity of it, but you know. Everyone knows that the internet never lies. And there it is. The top story. An appearance at an anti-war rally. In 2005. You want to scream. So you do. At Raul, the pool boy. But Raul is gone too, and your shrieking demand for a tart cherry and lentil smoothie echoes hauntingly through the cold halls of your modest mansion in the Hills.
Fear grips your heart, and in desperation you reach out to the one person you know will always be there for you. Because you pay him a lot. Your publicist picks up at the other end, the awkward gulping betraying his constant struggle to reconcile a hyperactive, caffeine-driven intensity with a fondness for chili cheese fries. Quick, you command, get your tail over here, it’s urgent. You tell him. My career is on life support, I have no real principles or convictions that would give my life meaning outside of the self-indulgent social activism circuit, and I need a jumpstart. I need to be noticed again. So be here in five, and I want ideas from you. Click.
He’s there in four and a half, and you’ve managed not to drive your hybrid into the swimming pool in the meantime. He hands over some scribbled notes, and as your eyes race down the list, you start to relax. These are all good ideas, each capable of landing you squarely back in the limelight where you belong. And you only need one. A little shot of adrenaline, that’s all it takes. In no time, you’ll be back in the saddle, between the middle and the top of the A-list, baby.
1. Start a campaign for a Strom Thurmond memorial on the mall in Washington, D.C.
2. Occupy Hollywood Hills.
3. Sell your own line of industrial grade caulk.
4. Give a speech at Harvard on why there aren’t many black quarterbacks in the NFL.
5. Dancing With The Stars.
6. Thelma and Louise 2.
7. Spearhead a movement to invest in energy-saving solar panels.
And there it is, the last one on the list. Of course, why hadn’t you thought of that yourself? So pithy, so controversial, so utterly asinine. So you. A sigh of relief. You dismiss your publicist like the paid slave he is, and decide you need some fresh cucumber slices. Where’s Raul?
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