Monday, October 14, 2002
I don’t know why it never occurred to me before, but it’s high time I did some inventing—re-inventing! That’s right, I’m inventing what’s previously been invented already. In short, myself. You will soon meet the new Clarissa Coleman, and I hope we can all get along.
It’s the obvious thing to do at this point. When at first you don’t succeed, vastly re-define the world’s perception of you and try again, with more attitude. If Madonna can keep the world’s attention, even moderately, as she hits the downhill side of 40 and shits out two kids, then a young potentially-hot property like myself should be able to come up with a new way to trick people in being interested in me again.
True, the commune thing hasn’t worked out at all, at least in gaining people’s respect. And writing book is a long job so I doubt I’m going the Carrie Fisher path of book-writing personality, whatever they call those. If I could get one of those ghost writers to write the book for me, but I think they usually work on biographies instead of fake books. And this might sound dumb to anybody who reads, which is practically nobody, but they aren’t really ghosts, are they? That’s some creepy Hellraiser shit to sell your soul just to get a book out there. They’re probably not. But if they were, I would get that Homer guy who wrote “Space Odyssey” to ghost write mine. He’s already real popular so he must be good, and hey, it doesn’t hurt he has only one name, like Madonna. You gotta respect that.
My first instinct, like a lot of former child actors, is to do more “adult” roles—you know, snuff films. Or soft-core at least. But Dana Plato proved that’s a no-go. I don’t have anything personal against nudity or nothing, I’m not up on a moral high horse about it, or a horse that’s high, and I would certainly do nudity if it were tasteful like that American Pie movie stuff. Soft-core movies just won’t re-invent you, though, it always starts out with the promise that fans will see all of you, especially your butt, in a new light and ends in the cliché of the contested accidental death by alcohol and pills in a camper in some trashy suburban neighborhood. Maybe after I fail every other way of re-invention I’ll try it, but not yet.
The music thing is a wash-out, so don’t expect me to be releasing an album anytime soon. I’m still waiting for them to put out that Clarissa Coleman Gone Reggae album I recorded a few years ago, the one where the producer tried to set fire to the master tape, but they said it was going to ruin my career if I put it out, and possibly reggae music as well. I suppose I’ll come back to music when I’ve failed at everything else, which should take a few weeks more at the very least.
I think it would be great if I can put together a one-woman show, but I don’t know any women who could do it. I’d need the story of my life written up in a real funny way with some funky little tidbits of sadness and stuff, which can be made up, I’m sure, to make it more than just me doing stand-up comedy, but not much more. I’m not real funny, so maybe I’d get someone else to star in it and just sort of serve as an acting consultant on it or something. Put Katie Holmes or somebody in the lead role and it would be like a story about me that everyone would like and I’d get a reputation as one of these Hollywood behind-the-scenes powerhouses who touch something and turn it gold. Then touch someone and turn them to gold like Goldfinger and everyone would fear me, which is even better than respect.
These are just possibilities right now. I guess part of the mission of this column is to share this struggle for re-invention with the middling classes out there who don’t know what it’s like—the pressure to always perform, to receive love through whatever endeavor you can do, preferably the least difficult endeavor you can find. We all fight the good fight to re-invent ourselves everyday, and if you don’t believe that, at least shut up and nod along ‘cause it sounds like one of those great funky tidbits of sadness those one-woman show fans love.
No Credit Card for Clarissa
I would say it’s racism, but I’m pretty sure all the credit card companies are mostly run by white people. And I basically pass for a white person, nobody really cares about if my granddad is Puerto Rican and my step-mom is Navajo.
I've Been Scammed,
Pulp Fiction-Style
Scholars of the Coleman Dynasty may know that my favorite movie is Pulp Fiction, I’ve mentioned as much in a recent article in Hollywood Refugee magazine. “But Clarissa,” you say, “isn’t your favorite movie Cannonball Run 2?” Not since I saw Pulp Fiction last month, pal.
I've Just Done My First DVD Commentary
The DVD production staff got all six of us kid stars back for the commentary—me, Tim T. Toolkitty, Jeffy Smurtz, Franz Golgannis, Pockets O’Shannon, and Dina Frazell, who played the tough girl back then because you couldn’t have lesbians in movies.
The Child Star Collector's Guide
Birth control pills become collectible when they’re not taken and result in pregnancy—obviously birth control pills that are taken cannot be collected, at least not without grotesque invasive procedures.