Watch This Space!

I am sick and tired. But the real sick and tired that involves mugs of med-lemon and stinking of Vicks, not the figurative mantra of the negative masses. Actually, with regards to outlook, I am in quite a good space, (when I’m not coughing.) I have been contemplating the lyrics of a James Morrison song in which he claims that he is “not lost, just undiscovered.” I relate to this sentiment.
Like thousands of other magnificent people, I do not have anyone wrapping their arms around me at night telling me how sexy, and wonderful I am. But even without this verification I believe these things to be true. I am not starring opposite Nicole Kidman in a blockbuster and buying mansions in Mumbai but, I still believe I am a talented actor that will go places and do great things. This is my job to believe this. If I don’t do it nobody else can. Apparently the universe abhors a vacuum. (Wonder what the people at Electrolux think of that.) So if we create a vacuum in terms of self-perception and worth then the Universe will most likely fill that gap with a whole lot of crap that may not fit so nicely into our lives. I. E. If we don’t determine our worth then we will use fashion magazines, and celebrity obsessed media as a means to measure ourselves. (I am being so Mariah Carrey right now.) Best to not go around in a vacuous state then, (sorry Britney). We can’t let other people dictate the story of who we are. I believe we get to make our stories up as we go along using the props and characters that life throws at us. My story is a romantic comedy.
There’s this zany yet attractive actor trying to make the big time and find Love along the way. Yet he keeps getting cast as a drag queen or asked to take his clothes off. Despite his charm and devastating good looks he seems to be out every time Love wishes to make a delivery. He is disillusioned and is thinking about giving up. (That tedious part I’ve already been through, but now for the good part.) He begins to write a blog that really takes off and soon there are people from all over the world and all different walks of life logging on to his blog. Inspired, he then rewrites some of his blog entries as a one man show entitled “The Naked Drag Queen”. He is terrified and faces all his demons in the process of putting his thoughts on to stage and even contemplates abandoning the project a few times. (There must always be a dramatic bit.) He finally gets to his opening night and at first it seems as though his worst fears will be realised. The audience doesn’t seem to like the show. But then! Dahm! Dahm! Dahm! (Dramatic music for effect.) They begin to react and as the show progresses it becomes clear that they Love it! Soon he is on the road, performing his show about the elusiveness of Love all around the world. He is successful. He has everything he ever wanted, except Love and he is no longer finding his material all that funny. Then, one day whilst in the middle of a show he notices a set of eyes on him different from the others. He continues to share his witticisms on life and close encounters (yet never close enough) with Love to the audience, as he feels these eyes like spotlights upon him. As the show progresses he sees these eyes develop, at first, the unmistakeable sheen of deep fondness, followed by the illuminated orbs of a heart freshly lit. (He wants me.) After the show they talk for hours and wonder how either ever managed a winter without the other before that night. Suddenly, our hero has a whole new theme for a one man show (Now that we found Love, what are we gonna do with it?) and can finally leave the last one (Looking for Love) alone because it has served its purpose.
This is how I would like the story to go but I am open to a few variations. I am also open to any suggestions but, be warned. It’s my story at the end of the day, and I call the shots! (I don’t even own a vacuum!) I am such a sucker for a happy ending! I am also, on flu medicine that contains pseudo ephedrine, which I am told is a basic ingredient for “Tik” so do consider this when judging my flight of fancy to harshly. THE END (For now.)

Media Slut.

I am a media slut. That is because I have been interviewed by journalists no less than three times over the last two weeks for the show I am currently working on called “Let’s Mixit.” I love being interviewed because it forces me to think about my life in a sensational and entertaining way so as to provide the journalist with stuff that will make stimulating reading. Luckily my life has been quite strange so far so I haven’t had to fabricate anything just yet. I don’t know many other people who make a living performing as other genders, races and now, religions. (I am currently playing a middle-aged Muslim woman.) Being interviewed makes me feel less ordinary and cellophane-like. It is my ambition to eventually be so famous, and have had so many interviews, that I eventually find them tedious. Not a very original ambition I guess. Not as original as the man in Seapoint who has spent his life, trying to look exactly like, Rod Stewart. He must enjoy the attention he gets when people mistake him for the vintage rock star as he walks on the promenade. He is an original by making himself into a replica and I admire his dedication and attention to detail. I mean, he could have chosen Brad Pitt or even Warren Beatty but chose Rod instead.
I like the idea of thousands of copies of my name and face being printed out and distributed world-wide. I imagine the ink from the picture of my face smudging the hands of hundreds of strange people that I will probably never meet. Maybe my face will become a fish and chips parcel or a contributing aspect to a ten-year-olds’ paper mache’ bowl. Sweet!
Maybe someone will see my picture and read about me and fall madly in love and know that I am the person they are to spend the rest of their life with. Hopefully this person will be gorgeous, wealthy and not mentally unstable. I would hate to have to get a restraining order as I doubt how effective they are in South Africa. (I imagine the police are so busy fighting the hectic crime that they wouldn’t find the time to help me keep a freak at bay.)
Maybe this is the start of my spectacular career and all these interviews will act as a catalyst to catapult my reputation onwards and upwards. Then I will finally pay off all my debt and eventually start getting in the property market and buying fabulous fashionable and faddish things.
Then some time after ten years from now I will drive past the promenade and see a complete stranger and say to my chauffeur: “Strange, that man looks just like me.”