Reality Matters_ 19 Writers Come Clean About the Shows We Can't Stop Watching - Anna David [36]
Sure, let Fedora in. Meanwhile, someone like me, who’s actually smart and not dressed like a total idiot, has to stand behind a metal gate and twiddle his thumbs with little else to do but ponder the reasons he’s not good enough to get in. Am I too hunched over? I’ve been trying to work on my posture. Is it my outfit? Not trendy enough? Maybe I’m not as cool as I thought I was. Now I’m feeling awkward, and it’s probably showing all over my face. What should I do with my hands? Do I put them in my pockets? Or do I let them hang by my side? Maybe one in and one out. Or maybe I should cross my arms. No, that makes me look confrontational. But I’ve already committed, and if I take my hands down now, I’ll just look fidgety. I just need to look cool. Oh gosh, I’m going down in flames.
Of course, with practice, I’m sure I could develop a better velvet rope persona. Then I wouldn’t look so silly. If I really tried hard enough, perhaps I could get into a club or two, maybe make some connections, and then wind up with a few more entrées into some more places. But would it really be worth all that cold, callous rejection along the way? Do I really need to submit myself to such harsh judgment all the time?
No. I do not. That’s why it’s easier for me to stay home and spend my nights with the Big Brother cast. They won’t reject me. When I’m watching them, I’m the one passing judgment, and that’s the way I like it. These people are in my nightclub. They’re my social life. They’re the ones I engage with.
Oh God, I think. Who am I becoming? A sad person with no life, desperate for attention but too afraid to seek it through normal social avenues?
Am I becoming a Shelly?
Sitting in the audience that day, watching Julie Chen field a thousand dumb questions from the masses, it occurred to me that there was one thing—aside from some fashion know-how—that separated me from the real Shelly: at least I had self-awareness. Shelly was completely oblivious to her behavior and actions. And in some ways, I envied her that. It empowered her to do things I secretly wished I could do—strike up a conversation with Julie Chen, yap away to total strangers, tell a dumb joke and not feel like bursting into tears. She just didn’t seem to care what people thought of her, which was—dare I say it—admirable. Yet it also left her looking like an idiot. And I can safely say that I’d rather deprive myself of admiration forever than take a page out of Shelly’s book.
But could I hold strong in the face of utter temptation? There I was, facing an opportunity I had sought out for so long: a chance to converse with Julie Chen. All I had to do was raise my hand and ask one simple question. It could be anything. In my mind, I knew what it should’ve been: “How do you like being called the Chenbot?” Surely this would lead to polite laughter, which would then be the perfect opportunity for me to drop a mention of my blog and my role in popularizing the terms “Chenbot” and “But first.” This, of course, would wow not just Julie, but the audience; then something would click in the brain of the CBS publicist on set, who would think, “Hey, wouldn’t this be a great segment for The Early Show? Let’s have Julie interview the guy who popularized her catchphrase!” Next thing you know, I’d be waking up at four a.m. to chat with Julie live in the morning, and the interview would go so well that she would invite me out to dinner with her and her husband, Les Moonves, who just happens to be the head of CBS. Then maybe, just maybe, he’d take a shine to me and give me a writing project, which I’d knock out of the ballpark…and, well, should I start clearing