Well, it’s time for this week’s Blogger Idol. Let’s see what’s on the menu this time around.
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Week Nine: ‘Letter to a Celebrity’
All right, I’m not gonna waste any time. Here’s the letter I’d write:
I know you’re out there. I can feel you now. And I know what you must be thinking:
‘Hey, I could do that! Whoa, dude!‘
Well, I’m here to say: ‘Whoa, dude, indeed‘. Don’t go there, my friend.
Oh, sure, it looks easy. Make a few silly movies, mug for the cameras, never take yourself too seriously. You know you’ll never be a truly respected actor — if you ever hear ‘Reeves’ mentioned among the pantheon of greats like ‘Bogart‘ or ‘Pacino‘, or even ‘Connery‘, then you can be pretty damned sure someone’s throwing poor Chris Reeves a bone, not talking about you.
(Dude, Johnny Mnemonic? Sure, you’re allowed one stinker — Tommy Hanks recovered from Joe Versus the Volcano, and Costner even got over Waterworld… kind of — but you used up your ‘do-over’ with Bogus Journey. People don’t forget so easily.)
Still, that’s water under the bridge. You found your vehicle in The Matrix; you don’t really have to act, per se, and all the action and effects confuse us into thinking that you’re the king of it all. And that’s what frightens me, see? You’ve played your cards just right, said all the right things (with no inflection or anything, but still, the right things), and you’ve managed to pull off a double-whammy:
You’ve become wildly popular with a certain percentage of people — a sort of cult hero, even — while still appealing to the general public with your ‘aw, shucks‘ willingness to recognize and embrace your own caricature. You’re at the top of your game, with little left to prove; you’re still dashing and charming (with a broad enough definition of ‘charming’, I suppose), and the world is suddenly interested in what you have to say.
Remind you of anyone, Keanu? Because it reminds me of lots of people, and now I’m hiding underneath my covers trying not to pee myself in terror.
(So far, it’s working; I just — oh. No. Never mind. Ick.)
Anyway, I find it hard to believe that you’d have followed along this far, what with all the big words and all, so I’ll spell it out for you. Think about who’s been in your situation, more or less, in the past twenty years or so — entertainers with a goofy, ‘salt-of-the-earth’ side who’ve managed to gain popularity and respect while still laughing at themselves, along with the rest of the world.
Sonny Bono come to mind, perhaps? How about that Ronnie Reagan fellow — you know, the one who made that movie with the monkey way back when. Or that wrestler-turned-actor guy; Ventura, I think his name was. Ooh, and the big tall guy from Twins, and that sappy Kindergarten Cop flick. What was his name again? Sputzenflinger? Schwartzenhumper? Something like that; I forget. And don’t even get me started on that Gopher guy from the Love Boat. I don’t know how he weaseled his way in there.
Anyway, do you see a trend there? No? Think hard, Keanu — this is important, dude. All of these people have something in common. No, no, besides the fact that you can’t figure out what they have in common. Pay attention, dammit!
Look, all of these people — harmless boobs and jesters at one time in their life — all went into politics. And you know what that means, right? No. No, you don’t. *sigh*
(Maybe I should have sent this to Reagan’s monkey friend. He’d have an easier time following along. Jeez.)
What it means is that these people are now, or were, in charge of making decisions on behalf of thousands — sometimes millions — of other people. And that makes them outrageously dangerous boobs and jesters. And I don’t want to see you go down that road, Keanu. Honestly, I think you should only be responsible for as many people as you can count. So you can go up to twenty, dude — that’s a nice little harem, or a commune, maybe — but I don’t think you go any higher. Well, okay — maybe twenty-one, if it’s a harem. But that’s kind of gross. Let’s move on.
Anyway, the point is this — forget everything I’ve just told you. I’m assuming that won’t be a problem for you, but please, for the love of all that is left that is holy in the world, do not — repeat, do NOT — get the wild idea in your head that you should run for office. Of any kind. I’m not sure you could handle treasurer of your own fan club, man. Seriously, just take a load off and relax.
Because if you do ever throw your hat in the ring — or drop your hat, for that matter, or step on it, or eat it, or just about anything — then people are going to vote for you. In droves. And I for one think that this country would be just a bit better off without a candidate in the ‘Whoa!‘ party, running with the ‘Kill the Machines‘ platform. Really, I just think it’s best.
I hope I’ve impressed upon you the importance of… well, of not doing much of anything, really. Hell, you’re a good-looking, rich Hollywood type — go buy a couple of mansions, and get that harem started already. I could so live through you vicariously doing that, rather than debating the merits of your ‘excellent!’ fiscal plan with a ‘bogus!’ dude from the opposition.
Please — I’m begging you. I don’t sleep well as it is. Please don’t subject me, and all who I hold dear, to a speech where the economy, or some war, or the drive to educate children, is described as a bus. Picking up speed. That we can’t let dip under fifty miles an hour. Oh god, please. Look, I’m crying, just thinking about it. Have mercy, Keanu!
P.S. While we’re at it, could I ask another favor, dude? I’m out of stamps, but would you mind terribly forwarding a version of this letter to… lessee, Jim Belushi, Billy Crystal, David Duchovny, Harland Williams, ‘The Rock’, Drew Carey, Jim Carrey, Vin Diesel, Robin Williams, and just about everybody who was in those Lord of the Rings movies.
Oh, and maybe ping those guys Jimmy Kimmel and Adam Carolla, too, while you’re at it. Those guys are great on TV, but I wouldn’t exactly trust them with national secrets if some Eastern European floozy was to try to bang some information out of ’em; you know what I’m saying, comrade? Whoaski!
So there you have it, folks. My desperate plea to a celebrity, on behalf of… well, everybody, more or less. I don’t really want to think about what things might be like with one of those guys at the helm.
On the other hand… how much worse would it be, really? President Keanu would probably do away with all that nasty reading comprehension testing in schools that gives the kids so much trouble. And those ‘State of the Union’ addresses would be a hoot with Robin Williams or Jim Carrey in the big cushy chair. And Carrot Top or Harland Williams could… well, um, they could… er… well, shit. I guess it could get worse, after all.
Fear the trend, boys and girls. Fear it!Permalink | 6 Comments