Dear Paul Montgomery Shore,
Your behaviors and the words that come out of your mouth brought laughter to my life. I still remember the first time I saw you in the 1992 movie Encino Man. Your comical views and corky behaviors brought a new meaning of “funny” to my life. You were the legendary “weasel” of Hollywood when you faked your own death in “Pauly Shore is dead.” How genius. But that night, you gave support to the stereotype that illustrious people are haughty, and you left everyone disappointed.
As you were crawling your way up the food chain, cracking jokes and initiating laughs, I was just a college student working long hour shifts at the local coffee shop, Scooters. I know, I define the word pity. I had been there for two and half years and it was the same routine every day. Except for that one night, the door opened and it was just like a movie in itself. Customers froze in their place, but not me, the coffee making process never stops. No one could move or breathe until you had made your entrance. As you took your first step, the glow around you darkened and everyone exhaled. Not one person spoke to you whether it was because they were in awe or only anxious. But I knew, I knew from the moment you stepped through those glass doors.
“I need a double espresso with milk.”
I stood there, staring, covered in chai tea syrup and vitamin D milk as if I had no idea what two shots of coffee with a touch of milk was. I still am not sure how long it took for me to process what you said but I do remember the look on your face and the feeling in my stomach. Even after you gave me that, “are you stupid” look, I still did not judge you. However, it only took a few s words to change my mind. Judging by your attitude on screen, you seemed care-free, friendly, and very approachable. I imagined telling jokes with you and laughing until my abdomen hurt and my eyes watered, but you surprised me.
Someone else recognized you and was not going to let you walk out of that coffee shop without confirmation that you were in fact “The Pauly Shore.”
“Pauly Shore? Are you Pauly Shore?”
“Um…no, no I am not.”
At first I smiled, because you are notorious for your humor and I was sure it was a joke. But then you abruptly took your coffee and faded into the dust.
I was flabbergasted. You were not different from any one of us, other than the fact that your wittiness took you somewhere beyond the local comedy venue. Your fans support you and your career. Don’t you at least owe us a hello, “Hey Buuuuudy,” anything?
I was disheartened, astonished, and most of all embarrassed. You did not reflect your on-screen characters even slightly. How does a person act as another, yet in reality become so different?
The disappointment lingered in the store after you left and then…you were forgotten. I attended your comedy show that next night, but it was not the same. You were just another arrogant luminary with hordes of green paper.
I hope as you read this you will consider my plea. Acknowledge those who look up to you, even if it means slapping on a phony smile and only saying “hello.” Don’t give evidence to the stereotype that those who are prominent are also arrogant.
Let yourself be known for your humorous competence, not your discourteous attitude.
Sincerely,
Your Faded Fan
Your behaviors and the words that come out of your mouth brought laughter to my life. I still remember the first time I saw you in the 1992 movie Encino Man. Your comical views and corky behaviors brought a new meaning of “funny” to my life. You were the legendary “weasel” of Hollywood when you faked your own death in “Pauly Shore is dead.” How genius. But that night, you gave support to the stereotype that illustrious people are haughty, and you left everyone disappointed.
As you were crawling your way up the food chain, cracking jokes and initiating laughs, I was just a college student working long hour shifts at the local coffee shop, Scooters. I know, I define the word pity. I had been there for two and half years and it was the same routine every day. Except for that one night, the door opened and it was just like a movie in itself. Customers froze in their place, but not me, the coffee making process never stops. No one could move or breathe until you had made your entrance. As you took your first step, the glow around you darkened and everyone exhaled. Not one person spoke to you whether it was because they were in awe or only anxious. But I knew, I knew from the moment you stepped through those glass doors.
“I need a double espresso with milk.”
I stood there, staring, covered in chai tea syrup and vitamin D milk as if I had no idea what two shots of coffee with a touch of milk was. I still am not sure how long it took for me to process what you said but I do remember the look on your face and the feeling in my stomach. Even after you gave me that, “are you stupid” look, I still did not judge you. However, it only took a few s words to change my mind. Judging by your attitude on screen, you seemed care-free, friendly, and very approachable. I imagined telling jokes with you and laughing until my abdomen hurt and my eyes watered, but you surprised me.
Someone else recognized you and was not going to let you walk out of that coffee shop without confirmation that you were in fact “The Pauly Shore.”
“Pauly Shore? Are you Pauly Shore?”
“Um…no, no I am not.”
At first I smiled, because you are notorious for your humor and I was sure it was a joke. But then you abruptly took your coffee and faded into the dust.
I was flabbergasted. You were not different from any one of us, other than the fact that your wittiness took you somewhere beyond the local comedy venue. Your fans support you and your career. Don’t you at least owe us a hello, “Hey Buuuuudy,” anything?
I was disheartened, astonished, and most of all embarrassed. You did not reflect your on-screen characters even slightly. How does a person act as another, yet in reality become so different?
The disappointment lingered in the store after you left and then…you were forgotten. I attended your comedy show that next night, but it was not the same. You were just another arrogant luminary with hordes of green paper.
I hope as you read this you will consider my plea. Acknowledge those who look up to you, even if it means slapping on a phony smile and only saying “hello.” Don’t give evidence to the stereotype that those who are prominent are also arrogant.
Let yourself be known for your humorous competence, not your discourteous attitude.
Sincerely,
Your Faded Fan
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