HELPING CHRIS PINE MOVE A SOFA

HELPNG CHRIS PINE MOVE A SOFA.

What would be like if Chris Pine called you up and was like “Hey, bro, yeah, it’s C-PINE. SO, yeah, I’m moving on Saturday and I need help with the sofa”?  Would you be able to help him?  Could you be all normal and be like “Sup bro, yeah bro, what’s going on, bro, hey howyadoin’? Sure I’ll be there”?  All casual like BROS are with other BROS, just a couple of dudes hanging out and MOVING A SOFA and drinking like ONE CORONA in the sparse living room thereafter and talking about positive things with a Positive guy?  Then roll out for some WAHOO FISH TACOS with a WHEAT TORTILLA while Pine’s insouciant coif flips and flows and his eyes BEAM as he recounts his latest conquests and you struggle to keep up with some comparatively mundane story about, like, getting Achnad at 7-11 to sell you a sixer of Rolling Rock at 1:58am, getting it in JUST under the wire before he locked the booze cage?

Saw THE PINE on Kimmel a few weeks ago, and dude is weird as fuck, did some “funny” song about school closures that hanged in the air like Robert Blake getting lynched at the end of “In Cold Blood,” then our erstwhile Captain Kirk rolls out for his interview proper, and Jimmy Kimmel, who used to slug beers with The Fox and blaze up with Snoop and insult all of womanhood in tandem with his long-left-in-the-dust rolling partner Adam on “The Man Show” back when Durst was telling us ‘Cause This is How We Learn – sorry, I got off on a rant there – But Jimmy’s earlier in the show been doing Some Shtick with two Absolute Fucking Dorks in the crowd, one of whom/whose (who gives a fuck) GOAL IN LIFE is to break into porn acting.  The Porn Dude is this scrawny rentboy-looking cipher, and his cipher-like buddy is, oddly, some Sorta Fat Guy.  This has been discussed earlier in the show, and once movie star Chris Pine is out on stage, Jimmy throws the attention back over to these two harmless bros, and mentions one of them wants to be a porn star.  Pine, sort of squinting, gamely playing along but probably not THAT interested regardless, sizes up THE FAT GUY and WINCES something like “THIS guy?” before he’s course-corrected that it’s the OTHER, skinnier dude, and the bit goes on from there, whatever.  But this QUARTER-SECOND of the star of STAR TREK and, more pressingly, SMOKIN’ACES and UNSTOPPABLE, visibly fucking CRINGING at a LESS-THAN-PERFECT physical specimen, SENT ME INTO A RAGE.

Like, sorry, Chris, we weren’t all born to the SARGE FROM CHIPS and born in SUNNY LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, full well knowing there was a 90% chance we could slide into SAG like a KY’d cock and get automatic auditions and movie parts.  I kinda ate ABSOLUTELY ANY showbiz scion anyway, unless it’s a Hot Chick or Michael Douglas, but while I’m at it, I fucking hate ANYBODY who was lucky enough to grow up in LOS ANGELES – even the biggest Valley loser who came up in that haze-fogged FREE FALLIN’ time and place or anytime thereafter gets to grow up with a certain cognizance of niceties like diversity, forward thinking, Mexican food, and physical fitness that are a fucking CHAMBER MYSTERY to us hilljacks in the other 48.  Growing up in L.A. isn’t just a leg-up on breaking into showbiz, it’s a leg-up on being an acceptable human being in modern enlightened society.

So here’s fucking Captain Showbiz Kid snarking on these two losers, and I got somehow terrified.  I’m terrified of actors.  A lot of absolutely morons, mouth-breathers, and no-charisma fatbodies I read online seem to have this ABSOLUTELY MYSTIFYING LACK OF SELF-AWARENESS by which they think they have ANY BASIC HUMAN WORTHINESS to talk to celebrities, but they’re deluding themselves.  Like Clint in Torino says, these guys don’t wanna have anything to do with you and I DON’T BLAME THEM.  How do you talk to a celebrity? Like how how how how how, also how?  What do you say to CHRIS PINE or CHRIS EVANS or CHRIS HEMSWORTH or CHRIS FUCKING ISAAC?  You’re a douche, they’re normal, and they’re famous.  Is there any point deluding oneself into thinking they even REMOTELY value you as even a basic human being?  They probably do not.  Like fucking Hemsworth.  Like this dude rolling in like a fucking Norse God with that physique, if he was in line at fucking Vons with a HEAPING SHOPPING CART of PROTEIN POWDER AND RUBBERS that would take six fucking hours to ring up, and I hate a sixer and some CHIPS AHOY and was actively in FRONT OF HIM, I’d let him cut AND genuflect out of sheer inferiority.

And taking it back wider (TM LAUER), the root of this is something that’s plagued me my whole life:  How do I, you, us, we, whatever, as a REGULAR GUY, a sadsack, a schmo, a chump, a bitch, a fatty, a loser, a nothing, INTERACT with POSITIVE, GOOD-LOOKING DUDES?  HOW?  I was never a huge sports guy, never played sports, wasn’t in the service, so that EASY-BRO INTERACTION is more mystifying to me than the fucking Virtual Insanity video.  As TERRIFYING as a hot chick is, I at least know my place there (leave her the fuck alone and go get drunk and depressed and pathetic by yourself), but the COMRADERIE OF BROS has MYSTIFIED ME my entire life.  Like when you’re at the shitty Chandler Post Office in North Hollywood and some black dude with a shaved head, Right Guard working, and camo pants gets a ring from one of his CREW, he’s all “YEAH. YEAH MAN, SO WE’RE GONNA GET THIS DONE, IT’S GONNA BE GOOD, “ all straight and narrow, NO IRONY, like a JOCK POSTGAME INTERVIEW from David Justice, ABSOLUTELY COCKSURE he’s gonna go out that night, hit a club (whatever the fuck that is) and meet chicks and hang with his BROS have UTMOST CONFIDENCE, SERIOUSNESS, and NO SENSE OF SELF-DEPRECATION.  Like how do you talk to men like THAT?  What incredibly mundane bit of self-hatred can I offer up in the face of “YEAH MAN IT’S GONNA BE A GOOD TIME” which is what ever Positive Guy always seems to be saying.  “It should be fun, it should be a good time, it’ll be cool.”

In my experience, NOTHING is EVER cool, there’s no good time to be had, I’m a drag to be around because I have manboobs and a bald spot and I’m wearing FRUIT OF THE LOOMS where the Tide on the 1.25 apartment simple cycle  couldn’t entirely get rid of the ass-skid.  That’s my lot in life, and when Regular Guys get together and talk about their travails and conquests and the Super Bowl in that soul-deadening Jock Voice, it’s an absolute mystery to me.  These are the guys who could move Chris Pine’s couch and be effortlessly easygoing, no fear and no intimidation amongst men – no fear that, hey. CHRIS MIGHT CALL and ask to move the sofa on the day TRIPLE 9 comes out.  Real dudes don’t care about this.  They get the call, they go and be positive and NORMAL together.  You can’t tell a dude like fucking Chris Pine that “Hey, Chris, love to help you out, but today’s KNIGHT OF CUPS day and I gotta see it at 11:40 at the Arclight or otherwise if I go to a later show I might have some fat guy choosing a seat within 10 rows of me and it’ll RUIN THE ENTIRE MOVIE.”  Pine would give you that DEAD-EYED look of  “What the fuck, man?” earnestness.  Normal guys don’t understand self-loathing and anxiety and insecurity and basically just WANTING TO BE LEFT ALONE until the PRECISE MOMENT they can help you with something (ie, hand-deliver a paid-for, STD-free escort under perfect circumstances) at which point they roll the fuck out and leave you alone.

The easy camaraderie of men.  Confounding.