I used to have a very egocentric roommate. I moved into his room when he peaced out. He left spotches of putty on the walls, boxes of wire coathangers that just get in the way, and dark sticky marks from his bong on what im sure used to be a nice wooden floor. All is forgiven though when his Details Magazine arrives every month. Full of poised sexy young men. I oogle page after page, rarely reading the articles. Except for last months article titled something like, "Are you turning your son into a dueche bag?" Don't quote me on that.
Let me pause for a moment and just tell you that my office is FUCKING COLD! My fingers are going to fall off.
This months issue arrived with Zac Efron on the cover. Even though I have never seen an episode of High School Musical, or really even know anything about it. Being online all day and aware of pop culture, it's hard not to know who this kid is. Starring me down with those baby blues, and looking like a tortured and deep souled rockstar, my friend commented that she can't help but find Zac attractive. That is not what came to my mind. Instead I saw someone younger than I am, probably richer than I will every be, and appears to be certain in his path and direction in life. This feeling I had can be boiled down simply, to jealousy. Jealous that "I can do that" or, "I could have done that". Act that is. But of course I didn't and I never really wanted to. The only reason I would have wanted to be an actor is so that I could have done all the cool things 'regular' people rarely get the chance to or can afford to do. Such as soaring through the air on wires, or flying a fighter jet. Maybe I should have just become a stuntman.
It was 7am on a Saturday morning and I was bored. Not tired, because Ive always been an morning person, but bored. I could have opened one of the four books Ive been trying to finish for what seems like ever now. Whenever I'm at a quaint little book store I for whatever reason feel obligated to buy one. Obligated by my own interests, curiosity, and desire to expand my mind, rather than obligation to the store. But instead of taking one off of my shelf and finding the dog ear, I picked up Mr. Efron.
The article was surprisingly short for how many pages was dedicated the the guy. Those were filled with pictures of him on a tattered sofa, junk food spread about. Somehow making the couch potato look doable and sexy. The author wrote about a guy trying to understand and coming to terms with his fame, while still just wanting to do what he's always wanted to do; perform. It was a nice little article about what seems like a very nice guy. Dance on Zac, dance on.