Last night I accidentally overindulged a bit when one of those "well, we were just going to meet friends at a bar for a couple of cold ones, but now there is this party in the offing, want to come?" sorts of situations developed. A couple of signs: 1) Not so much an inability to, as a disinterest in, sitting entirely upright on the subway. 2) Waking up on the couch at 5am in a heap with the equally unconscious Josh, and realizing that I had no memory of even sitting down, let alone "falling asleep."
This morning, while toasting my Redemption Bagel, I remembered something disturbing. During the three hours that I slept in an actual bed, I dreamed that I was at a party and desperately searching for witty conversation to keep things rocking along, and I made up a story about how I had babysat for Steve Guttenberg's kids.
I beg your pardon, Subconscious, but...Steve Guttenberg? That's the best you could do? Let me tell you this: if I am going to have to make up lies about celebrity contact just to make friends, I am going to pick someone a little better than a darling of Disney, a man whose last major studio release was freaking Three Men and a Little Lady, a guy whose signature style is a sort of perplexed tweeness with a dash of overdetermined "Hey, I'm just a Regular Guy, what what!" thrown in. No offense to the Gutster, but heaven help my social life if it needs to ride on his C-list coattails. I mean, really.
Now, if you actually did babysit for Steve's kids, that's a whole different kettle of fish. That's a story you can tell at a party, especially if you got any good dirt on the family, like the kids were really bratty or there was a suspicious quantity of prescription drugs in the house or something. But to make up a story like that? It's so?underachieving. It signals that not only do you have to make up stories to be interesting, but deep down inside, you're convinced that nothing cool will ever happen to you, and that everyone else knows it, so this is the best thing you can get away with. Very sad.
I'm afraid that the only lesson learned from this dream is a sneaking distrust of my psyche. I think it may be trying to scare me straight or something. Well, good luck to it, I say. With those $5 buckets* of Hoegaarden just a bus ride away, it doesn't stand a chance.
*And I do mean bucket. You've got to lift those suckers with both hands. Envy me!
Posted by hilatron at May 31, 2003 09:08 AMoh my god that is so funny, i was momentarily not nauseous from my food poisoning. thanks.
Posted by: EV at May 31, 2003 10:41 AMThat's kind of unfair to pick on someone you do not know (refering to Steve).
The bottome line, is that he has probably seen and done more (in addition to making major $$$) than you ever will in your entire life. So, how pathetic does that make you on this todem pole?
My goodness, I think I've offended a Guttenberg fan. However, jim k, after reviewing the entry I believe that I've been more than fair to Steverino. I could have been so much crueler. I mean, is he not a bit twee?
The only sin, as far as I can see, was to refer to him as C-list. Upon reflection, I must admit that he is probably more of a B-list, sinking towards obscurity/Sunday-night movies on ABC.
I'd just like to note that if my entire life is defined by not having made any money from starring in movies such as Three Men and a Baby, The Big Green, or Casper: A Spirited Beginning, I'll die a happy woman.
Additionally: "bottom," "totem."
Posted by: Hilatron at July 5, 2003 06:24 PM