Be a Star

Unseasonably warm out in the burbs today. We’re a bit rainsoaked, but Senor Sol is determined to burn it all away. Sunglasses are holstered for my walk from Union Square to the East Village.

These are giddy days for the Church of Scientology. Tom/Kat will wed and will likely reproduce many more L. Ron Hubbard worshippers. Gotta love dudes that abbreviate their first name. Waddya think? Lawrence? Lothar? Lenny? Whatever it was, Ronny didn’t want to run with it.

I used to live near a Scientologist sect. The Clearwater, Florida HQ. On my way to the beach, I’d see their faithful scurrying around downtown with their baby blue button downs and navy work pants (how come Tom and Katie don’t have to wear them?). Not sure what the Sci-Fies were doing in downtown Clearwater which consisted of a beat up department store, a wig outfit and hat boutique. Apparently, Clearwater was big on the headwear and religion.

Well I’m sure the Sci-Fies are a lovely bunch. And Tom and Katie are a lovely couple, even though she’s a solid 4 inches taller.

Who was Katie Holmes before she hooked up with the Cruiser? And why would the Cruiser ever split with Nicole Kidman? She is the epitome of Hollywood glamor—with a sweet accent to boot. And is Cruise really his last name? C’mon. I’m sure it’s Wojohowitz or something.

Hollywood is a funny place, man. The epicenter for inauthenticity. They pay you gobs of money not to be yourself. Bad name, fix it. Bad nose, fix it. Bad hair, fix it. There’s a Director of Glamor out there somewhere making big decisions. Publicists, creative teams, marketing gurus all brainstorming how you should be.

Your dreams are in Hollywood. Sure you wanna chase em? All you need is a face and a pulse and someone out there willing to sculpt and tweeze you into the next star.

I’ll look for your name in the credits.