I've noticed a small uptick in traffic here lately and I'm grateful that you take time out of your busy day to read my --how you say-- words.
But it also makes me a little bit wary. One of the problems with gaining readership is that, before you know it, you're famous. At first blush it sounds enticing... exciting... muy sexio! But think again.
Sure, it might be nice to live in hilltop houses, drivin' fifteen cars. It could be cool to have some of those houses featured on Cribs... to have a staff of people at my beck and call... to get the best tables in restaurants... to have stores open just for me... to have hunky young things throwing themselves at me... to get fancy gowns and fabulous jewels sent to me for special events...
Yeah.
Where was I?
Oh, right. I don't want to be a celebrity.
Because none of it would be worth it if I couldn't exhale on vacation.
If I were truly famous, I'd have to worry about being surreptitiously photographed for the cover of Star or The Enquirer in their "worst beach bodies" segment.
It's one thing for these rags to feature "best beach body" pictures, but when I am standing in the grocery store checkout and see that they've captured beautiful people in the worst possible photos EVER--with close ups of extra flab rolls and cottage cheese tushies, and with captions that read "Oh oh" or "Guess who?", I just feel so sorry for those people.*
It's not that I have such a bad bod. In fact, I'd say I look pretty good for ninety. But I can only deal with Jillian so many days in a row. (By the way, I've advanced to her Level 2 Workout and I'm proud to say I've cut way back on the weeping.)
Regardless, everybody has something about their bodies they're not crazy about** and everybody has at least one bad angle. If they can make tiny Reese Witherspoon look that bad, I shudder to think how I might show up. (I'm guessing with an angle that makes me look like one of those enormous sea lions, except this sea lion would probably have a handful of greasy french fries en route to her open mouth.)
And, it's not like they have to listen when you beg them, "Please! Please! Don't show my face!" So, maybe it's time to invest in a pair of these:
Yeah, that looks cool.
*And then I try to guess who they are.
**Uh, uh, you first.
13 March 2009
"Shoop, Shoop, Shoop Shoo Be Doop Shoop Shoop" --Whitney Houston
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16 comments:
Very good point. I'll never try to be famous. I like to eat too much.
And how old is Rev. Run from Run-DMC? He has to be older than I am. Same for Queen Latifah. It's not fair to put old people on there.
It's not like either of them ever sold themselves as sexy. Brittany, on the other hand, I mean this kind of publicity is what her life is based on, isn't it?
I am willing to bet cash I don't even have that there are no candid shots of me on a beach. I do not allow them. And this is why.
If I were famous ALL of my photos would be horrific. There is really no reason to think that how truly awful they are now would change with a little fame.
I usually feel bad for the celebs when I see the worst beach bodies issue, too. (Even though I also try to guess who's who, in the time it takes me to get through the checkout line.)
Those issues also make me appreciate the wonders of airbrushing.
I'm too ugly to be famous.
That's all.
When you're famous can I run your fan site? It will just be my blog but I won't talk about pedophilia nearly as much.
Thanks for seeing the humor in the best/worst beach bodies tabloids, because I only see the red glare of my deepest rage. What I love is when female celebrities get hit with those, "look who's getting fat!" headlines, followed two months later with, "SCARILY SKINNY!" It's like you just can't win.
If I became famous, I can almost guarantee you that I would never wear a bathing suit again. As it is, I refuse to wear a bikini, so there is no way in hell I'm gonna let the public critique my thighs. I don't think I could take it.
I'll never be famous. So, what about that cheeseburger?
You know the fashion mags airbrush stuff out. Makes you wonder if the tabloids airbrush stuff in.
If I had their money, Id be on the bad bodies list for life.
*Jac*: Oooooo, foooooooooood... (Insert Homer Simpson drool here)
AbbotofUnreason: Not fair at all.
f.B: You are wise beyond your years.
Repliderium.com: Hey, consistency works for Amy Winehouse.
Liebchen: If only they could airbrush me in real life.
Fiona: It's hard to tell because your picture is too small but I know you have a beautiful soul.
Narm: Less pedophilia? That doesn't sound like you.
Shannon: It's true. The press is schizophrenically sadistic.
Kate: See, best to keep a low profile.
Kate: Make mine a Boca Cheeseburger and I'm totally in.
Mike: It wouldn't surprise me. Little does these days.
Rs27: Can I come to your Hollywood parties? I love fancy hors d'oeuvres.
I agree-- it would completely blow if I had to worry about going to the grocery store and being photographed.
Don't even want to think about how i act when I go out at night... I have a feeling my PR people would be sending me to rehab within a week.
Becoming Blog-famous would detract from the intimate relationship I have with my few readers. I would feel compelled to visit all those other Blogs and say nice things to keep them coming back for more and telling their friends to come see me. Now I know why I'm not famous...
Celebrity life would truly be horrible. No privacy to look real in a swimsuit, be sweaty, forget your mascara, floss in traffic, fix your wedgie after a wrestling match, or slouch, EVER. What kind of life is that?
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