A while back here on my comedy website thing, which is highly regarded by my mom, I invited Emma Stone to enter the “Win a Date with RobbieRobTown” contest. She did not enter then, nor has she submitted an entry since I reopened the contest earlier this summer. To be fair, Emma Stone hasn’t the foggiest idea who I am, or if I am charming, homicidal, or both. So, to preface this letter without any further speculation, I am not writing this to tell you to keep your mitts offa my lady, as such a statement would be untrue, sexist, and incalculably fucktarded.
I am addressing this letter to you because we are fellow Canadians and fellow entertainers. The interwebs are all aflutter about your intent. Were you being sincere, yet creepy? Were you exploring an unusual marketing strategy? Did you two have some kind of secret tryst which you could no longer bear to disguise? Irrelevant, all. Jim, I am writing you this letter because of the genius of what you have done. Please hear me out.
Every joe-average nerdy person has had a crush on a celebrity. Mine are rare, but I have had a few (Emma, looking at you). On a much more personal and revealing note, I think celebrities should know how confused and sweetly unrequited these celebrity crushes can be. In the depths of my nerdiest despair, I have sometimes watched and re-watched a movie (yeah, okay, Zombieland) and searched online in vain to see if somehow I could come up with a way of actually meeting this celebrity. I think these fantasies, while obviously immature and implausible, are kind of cute. The imaginary journey never ends well for me. Usually, I meet some celebrity (yes, yes, I meet Emma Stone specifically) at a ComiCon party because I have a connection with one of the big corporate sponsors there, and we chat, and she’s really nice, and we live such different lives that she sensibly ends the conversation and goes about her business. Everyone who has ever been a fan of a performer knows the weird mixture of feelings that accompanies the simultaneous sense of knowing someone well through their work, and yet rationally understanding that they are total strangers. The closer I actually get to a chance to meet a celebrity, the more heightened (and therefore more hilarious and tragic) my celebrity crush can become!
I have a mutual friend of Malin Akerman, did you know that, Jim? True story! I’m a performer-comedy type guy, so I know people who know people, but a friend of mine is an acquaintance of hers and she was willing to pass on a message to THE Malin Akerman from me at one point. The Watchmen was big in the theatres, and I was lonely (Surprising news, right? When am I not lonely? God, and I have a whole website to whine about it on) and this friend said “Yeah, I know Malin, you really want to meet her?”. Of course my answer was “Yes!”, but then I was completely paralysed.
What would I say?
“Oh, hi, successful famous artist. I am an unsuccessful, unfamous artist. Are you one of the 297 fans of my music on Facebook? Perhaps you are a fan of my improv comedy work- I’m on local cable access right now, you know, 5 nights a week! How much did I get paid for that, you ask? Oh, nothing. What is that you asked? Yes, the only TV in my 602 square foot condo IS a Samsung, thank you for noticing!”
That’s where the fantasy ends for us normal folks. What could we say to impress someone who impresses us so much already? What makes me seem special, other than my boyish good looks (Yes, yes, SPCMike, other than my scarred, hideous face and lice problem). There is a kind of begrudging hopelessness about celebrity crushes.
Anywhozle, Jim, what you have done is give a much needed boost of confidence to every human everywhere who has ever loved an artist. If even you, JIM MOTHERFUCKING CARREY can be smitten by a star, and be forced to make your feelings public through the only avenue that you have, then that means something both sad and wonderful: Even famous celebrities have sweet unrequited loves that they have no means of , uh, requiting. Sure, I’m sad about being outcompeted by a famous person, but you are very funny and very successful, and a rather good actor, I think. Even still, JIM MOTHERFUCKING CARREY had to send a sad, sweet message into the ether to try to heal his heart.
With the proviso that your message to Emma was intended as sincere, it rings painfully true for a lot of us- Not because it is directed at Emma Stone (who is awfully charming) , but because you have hit a raw nerve that most of the normal folks out here have. I need to speak to you now as a fellow comedian. A lot of great comedy comes from truthful things, however, Jim, if this all turns out to be a clever ploy to do some Hollywoood weirdness I can’t comprehend, then I must insist you do us all a favour: Tell no one that you didn’t mean it. It is such a nice boost to the ego to think that someone as popular and famous as you could be smitten, and forlorn, and a bit sadly desperate. I would be most displeased to find out that you were pulling a fast one on us. If this was a piece of slick guerrilla theatre, or bizarre performance art, don’t tell a soul. Let the rest of us mere mortals go on believing that love is tough, even for you. We’d be heartbroken to discover that you replicated the sad, and I suppose vaguely funny emotions that nobodies like me honestly feel, and then exploited them as a joke.
Anyway, I hope it’s all real, I really do. I hope That Emma Stone sees it as complimentary, and I hope she enters my contest (but not really, because I’m funnier when I have a lot to complain about).
Oh, and if this does all turn out to be totally real, I wish you a speedy recovery from your sadness. I personally hope that I will one day feel the same way about Emma Stone as I currently feel about The Refreshments. Do you remember that first Refreshments album? Wasn’t it awesome? Where are those guys now?
Thank you for sharing that with us Jim, and don’t betray us little folk by making a joke at the expense of our vulnerabilities.
P.S. Emma, I know this is terrible timing, but the contest is still open. The rules, as a reminder, are that you must submit your ideas for a dream date with me, via email, or in comment form below. The disqualified entrants in past lived outside of the Americas, or suggested illegal activities. I’ll be here, waiting I guess, and listening to “Fizzy, Fuzzy, Big and Buzzy”.