We live in America, where anyone with plenty of determination and talent can become rich and famous. Why they would want to do so is beyond me. I have enough problems as it is without having to worry about the quality of my caviar.
It seems to me that the trouble caused by richness and fame is not worth the effort. Yes, I would at first find it flattering to be recognized while out and about, but eventually I think I would tire of the paparazzi trying to find out my underwear size.
And I would have trouble seeing my face on tabloids in not the most agreeable of circumstances. I heard once that the paparazzi jump out in front of celebrities, surprising them before snapping a photo, in hopes that the surprised look on their faces may make it seem like they were caught in some naughty activity that is found mostly in tabloids.
Since hearing that, I’ve noticed it a lot. “George Godolphin caught cheating!” the headline will proclaim, and George will be walking down some stairs holding clothing, with sunglasses on, looking down in shame. In reality though, he was headed to the dry cleaners, wearing sunglasses because it’s sunny outside and looking down because you have to when you’re walking down stairs with your arms full.
But this is the lifestyle many of us aspire to. And it’s not limited to adults. Whenever you hear about child actors, you hear that they were chosen out of some ridiculous number, like 90,000 applicants. How do you even start processing 90,000 applications? And we all know how well young female stars who work for Disney turn out. Who would want that for their children?
I guess we all imagine that being famous involves lying at the side of our personal pool next to our personal mansion while our personal servant spoon feeds us fruit. But then we watch the extras on DVDs, and find out that many famous people wake up at four in the morning so they can get their make-up and hair done before the big shoot, where they wait in unmerciful heat for 15 hours, all for a few minutes of performing. Yikes! I’m pulling for the forty-hours a week thing.
And then when you have lots of money it’s hard to know who your friends are. Sure, you don’t have to worry about making a house payment and fixing your next meal, but I’d rather put up with those things than have someone sell me the Brooklyn Bridge every five feet.
Just the thought of being rich and famous makes me want to go take a nap. I think I’ll leave it to those among us who are more hard working, ambitious and gullible.
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