I just got done watching scads of old Got To Dance videos on YouTube, and now I’m all wistful. I wish that I too could be famous and adored by audiences everywhere. This is how the daydream goes:
One day, I’d be sitting down at my computer blogging BRILLIANTLY when my phone would ring. I’d wait, cool-person-style, for the machine to pick up, by way of screening the call. Only this time, the phone call wouldn’t be from my dentist or a bill collector. It’d be from FAMOUS PERSON AGENT, and it would be for me, and he would hand me a check for $20,000 RIGHT THROUGH THE PHONE.
Wait a second. This is my daydream and my blog. So, FAMOUS PERSON AGENT would hand me a check for $20,000,000 DIRECTLY INTO MY BANK ACCOUNT.
So, when FAMOUS PERSON AGENT would invite me to do an inspiring monologue about minimalism, I could hardly turn him down, now, could I?
So, I’d craft my monologue. I’d hone it down to the last syllable. We’d present this piece MINIMALIST STYLE of course, on a stripped down stage with one spotlight shining down on my beautiful and fifty-pounds-lighter form. My hair would be adorably coiffed. Thirty seconds before it would be time for me to go on stage, I’d gaze with sudden clarity at my script, and I’d KNOW.
I’d know that it would be all wrong for me, for my audience. So I’d rip the script (the one I so carefully manufactured with sweat, and blood, and SHEER UNADULTERATED BRAINPOWER) into tiny pieces and feed the pieces to runted orphan pigeons, and then I’d step onto the stage.
The hush of anticipation would be magnificent, like me.
And then I’d speak. From the heart, baby.
Would I be lousy? NO! I’d be eloquent and gorgeous and full of sex appeal and wit and poignancy, and the audience would be enraptured and TOTALLY CONVERTED TO MINIMALISM. And at the end?
At the end of such powerful theater events, most world-class speakers get flowers and a standing ovation, but not me.
The audiences would be so ready to begin their thrilling new minimalist lives that they’d hurl bags of their surplus things at me. THEN they’d standing ovate! All of the excess would go to me, to me! Their mentor, their idol, their GODDESS OF MINIMALISM AND EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE VOLUNTARY SIMPLICITY DOMAIN.
And, you know what?
All of it would be a conspiracy, created by garbage men who want to work longer hours.