April 1999 posedown by Joe Procopio |
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
A lot of information can be gleaned from a high school
yearbook. This is the forum where, traditionally, we will make our
first mark on society. We've completed twelve years as a
political prisoner of the state. They're going to snap our picture
and paste it onto a somewhat glossy page with a few hundred
others. So we spew forth wisdom that seems so individualistic, so
golden, so diamond in the rough, that it makes our folks shell
out thirty or forty dollars just to see it in print.
Raise your hand if you can review your own yearbook
entry and not shudder, grimace, or internally debate the merits of
therapy.
I didn't think so.
For any of us who have taken that first step toward
the edge of the carousel, there have been more than a few nights
interrupted by hideous dreams and cold sweats relating to said
yearbook issue. For the marginally to ridiculously famous, the fact
that a spotty and unimpressive past may someday sneak up on us
is fear number one. And it's hard. Your family doesn't understand,
they're part of the problem. Your lover doesn't understand,
they've been just as snowed as the public (unless, of course, you've
managed to cling to that sweetheart who "stood by you" in
the beginning, in which case, you have other, more pressing
problems). Your therapist doesn't understand, what with a night
degree from some State U and a caseload of mostly
Mom's-a-nag-and-I-hear-voices tripe.
But I'm with you. I suffer just as you suffer, perhaps
more. Proof? Well, I can't just open up my past to you on this
worldwide podium with its myriad intelligent and sexy
readership. That would instantly unravel years of hard work burying,
modifying, erasing, and bribing ($75K alone for what's become
known as "The Great Haircut Cover Up"). Look up my CV for
yourself, if you need verification, and what you may find is
that there's nothing to uncover. No shred of evidence of any
former life before the spotlight found me. And that is in fact the
thrust of the point I'll drive home today.
I can tell you this. I've been
whence you walk. I've dreamt complex schemes of countering prior
unfortunate words and actions with well-placed and overtly
clever explanations (evil twin, frame-up,
"was-sick-that-day", etc). I've watched the process done
poorly by the preceding generation, and examined the gnarled
outcome of each excuse, from the tired claim of child-abuse
(especially the wretched,
"my-parents-neglected-my-artsy-fartsy-side" scenario) to
the paper-thin, "Yes, I used to be a big loser, but that just
makes me a more HONEST, DOWN-TO-EARTH, celebrity today."
My conclusion: An excuse only buys you so much cred.
And, let's face it, no one cares. The Inquirer
has not built its subscriber base on stories touting how far
Dr. Laura has come in the glitzy, go-go talk-radio world. The ironic
part is, nobody actually wants to see her
naked.
If you're on the way up and you haven't blemished the
record already, my advice to you is to keep your mouth shut and your
pants on until it matters. Then, if it comes down to the
latter, remember this: Pamela Lee made a choice when she posed, and
she currently feels her new show on the USA Network is quite
artistically rewarding.
If you're swinging the scene on words, then choose
those words carefully. First and foremost, don't speak your mind.
Ever.
Look, we all have ideals and I'm sure every single one
of us is convinced that those ideals, if only uncovered and
analyzed, will be the inertial force for changing the entire
world for the better. But let me assure you, one of every three of
your ideals is repulsive to a large number of people. Even if
those people happen to be the Klan or the Third Eye Blind fan club,
you have to consider how what you say affects your career. I
mean, do you want to be famous or not?
Let me put it another way and use an extremely
simplified analogy. Have you ever noticed that famous Republicans
become strangely mute when a subject outside of their careers
is broached? This is a constant with few notable exceptions. But
those exceptions, Shannon Doherty and Ted Nugent for example,
crystallize my point.
Potatoe.
If you've already scaled the peak of celebrity (and,
rule of thumb here, but if you have to ask then you haven't) and
remain unscathed, it's the side hobbies that will eventually
claw you down. The remnants of your personal life (back when it was
de rigueur to have a personal life) that
you can't let die. Sure. Go ahead. Trash hotel rooms and punch
photographers to your heart's content. But awaken some ancient
fetish and give one ride to one transvestite hooker, and it's
a heyday for the lifestyle-mongers. Furthermore, it's a downward
spiral. Like a blotch on a credit report, it takes what
amounts to a circus of reconstruction to wipe said quote/deed from
the memory of the masses.
Also, and I realize that I say this quite a bit, don't
spit into the wind. If you've managed to turn a series of lemons
into a Big-Gulp-sized lemonade, then don't go complaining
about Marilyn Manson's drug use on tour.
I'll leave you with some action items. Review your
history and hunt down the rocky patches (and try to do a better job
than Clinton's campaign team). Then, using all means at your
disposal, bury, burn, and spin the regrettable. Finally, keep in
step in front of the lens. We all make mistakes, but only if
we make them in public do we actually have to atone for
them.
in the junk drawer:
|
|
·feature·
·net worth·
·ac/dc·
·smoking jacket·
·ear candy·
·feed hollywood·
·target audience·
·back issues·
·compulsion·
·posedown·
·the biswick files·
·mystery date·
·and such and such·
·blab·
·kissing booth·
·contents·
·freakshow·
·fan club·
·archive·
copyright © 1996 - 1999 fearless media