For what it’s worth, I can faintly sympathize with Nikki Finke‘s reportedly extreme discomfort with having a present-day photo of her circulated by Rupert Murdoch‘s The Daily. Last week I sat down with Gold Derby‘s Tom O’Neil and Paul Sheehan for an Oscar race discussion. When I saw the first portion of the video yesterday I almost fell out of my chair.
All I can think when I watch it is how I really have to (a) start up with 24 Hour Fitness again when I get back to West Hollywood and (b) drive down to Mexico for some affordable plastic surgery to fix those godawful bags under my eyes and and for my appalling turkey neck. It just sends me into a tailspin of depression. That bloated fuck in the video is not the guy I see in the bathroom mirror. Why can’t I age like Cary Grant did? Why can’t I at least look more like Todd McCarthy? I’m starting to resemble Albert Finney, for God’s sake.
I shared my sense of horror with O’Neil, and he told me to knock it off and that I look fine and that I’m paranoid, and that he should have told me sit up straight because my slumping created the illusion of a turkey neck I really don’t have, etc. It was nice of him to try and cheer me up.