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Hefners Monologue
Jul. 2nd, 2005 03:52 pmSo according to the link posted by the lovely and bouncy ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
disc_sophist, Johnny Depp is set to play the man himself, my cousin Hugh Hefner, in a film biopic. I'm really not sure how I feel about this. Maybe I just feel so much in the shadow of the man as it is. I'm not unhappy there, mind you, and I rather like the added attention it gets me (not to mention how the name recognition alone may possibly further my careers). And I'm really happy for the fact that I've managed to make the name Hefner evoke me, not my cousin, for most of my friends. In fact, I've heard instances where someone heard the name Hefner and their first thought was not Hugh or Playboy but me. That's nice.
But now it seems he may be played by the embodiment of female lust himself, the definition of "hot" in the world of fame. As if we young men (or maybe just me) didn't feel intimidated enough of the prospect of living up to the mangod that is Johnny Depp. Maybe what's bothering me is that now the shadow I'm under suddenly feels that much darker. Or maybe I'm just jealous because I know I should be playing that role. Damn it.
I'm actually amazed that I never went as the old man for Halloween. I mean, you'd think it'd be a bloody obvious choice. Misty had a total lust going on for ol' Hef, and one of my plans (ah, plans, yes, one of my great downfalls) was to get the full outfit, hair, pipe, smoking jacket and all. It would have been fucking hot. Ah well, there are plenty more bunnies in the sea. Drowned.
But now I think I have finally come up with a cover/poster idea for the HEFNER MONOLOGUES, in whatever form they may be, be they comic or one-man-show. It'd involve me standing in front of the Playboy Mansion, right in front of the gates, locked out. I think that's a good base image to start from. Maybe throw in some extra stuff like Green Lantern, a bottle of gin, rose petals, cats and/or crying.
The old man may not want to keep in touch with me, and I do want to make my way on my own talents (HA!), but for this show, oh yeah, I'm gonna ride that name like a rabid Natasha Lyonne. Which is probably one of the only things that poor girl's not infected with at this point.
disc_sophist, Johnny Depp is set to play the man himself, my cousin Hugh Hefner, in a film biopic. I'm really not sure how I feel about this. Maybe I just feel so much in the shadow of the man as it is. I'm not unhappy there, mind you, and I rather like the added attention it gets me (not to mention how the name recognition alone may possibly further my careers). And I'm really happy for the fact that I've managed to make the name Hefner evoke me, not my cousin, for most of my friends. In fact, I've heard instances where someone heard the name Hefner and their first thought was not Hugh or Playboy but me. That's nice. But now it seems he may be played by the embodiment of female lust himself, the definition of "hot" in the world of fame. As if we young men (or maybe just me) didn't feel intimidated enough of the prospect of living up to the mangod that is Johnny Depp. Maybe what's bothering me is that now the shadow I'm under suddenly feels that much darker. Or maybe I'm just jealous because I know I should be playing that role. Damn it.
I'm actually amazed that I never went as the old man for Halloween. I mean, you'd think it'd be a bloody obvious choice. Misty had a total lust going on for ol' Hef, and one of my plans (ah, plans, yes, one of my great downfalls) was to get the full outfit, hair, pipe, smoking jacket and all. It would have been fucking hot. Ah well, there are plenty more bunnies in the sea. Drowned.
But now I think I have finally come up with a cover/poster idea for the HEFNER MONOLOGUES, in whatever form they may be, be they comic or one-man-show. It'd involve me standing in front of the Playboy Mansion, right in front of the gates, locked out. I think that's a good base image to start from. Maybe throw in some extra stuff like Green Lantern, a bottle of gin, rose petals, cats and/or crying.
The old man may not want to keep in touch with me, and I do want to make my way on my own talents (HA!), but for this show, oh yeah, I'm gonna ride that name like a rabid Natasha Lyonne. Which is probably one of the only things that poor girl's not infected with at this point.
