I was born in the south. I live in the south and will die in the south. This is only a small part of the memories I share.
Welcome to my Introduction--a Real
catchy-place where you can learn what my piece is about just by reading "this" paragraph. Now, let me ask you, is there anywhere or anyone else in this entire United States that would be as easy to serve you than me? I would think not. Anyway. What is my subject about? "Why I Have Never Been Able to Walk With The Female A-Listers."
So Mr. and Ms. America
let's talk. I get very lonely here at 1:45 am, March 2, CST. But I have my black coffee and keyboard to keep me company, so I shouldn't be having urges to sing the blues. And if I were to sing the blues, it would be the raw, nasty, uncultured Blues that built Memphis, Beale Street and the towns of Meridian, Miss., as well as the South Side of Chicago--there the Masters of Blues sat, stood or leaned on something stationary while their instruments yelled out pain and depression songs that are now considered priceless.
Although the Masters of Blues, Lightning Hopkins; Howlin' Wolf and Blind Arthur Blake to name a few, why haven't some segment of entertainment allowed survivors of the Masters of Blues walk the Red Carpet? I sure wish that these guys and gals (Masters of Blues) were given the tribute that they richly deserve.
I know without a shadow of a doubt that I may write emails, letters sent via post office and maybe call the Powers-that-be about those who walk the Red Carpet that "I" will not, in any way, get to walk the prestigious Red Carpet in any time-frame now or ever. And I guess I have no choice but to be fine with that cold, heartless feeling--it's the only way that I can feel.
I can testify to you about "if" someone of power and talent (directors, producers, scriptwriters) were to see this or another piece on HubPages and then upon contacting me to be in Hollywood on a certain day, get familiar with the criteria, Jennifer Lawrence, the multi-talented actor, would see to it in a culvert fashion to sabotage me participating with her and the A Listers. Jealousy is all that I can think of her doing this callus tactic. But why? She has enough celebrity status to cover the entire Mid-West, so Jennifer, ease up. I am only a struggling writer. You are the one people love to see in films and be the star on talk shows, not yours truly. And a passing thought, Jenn, I thought that "Hunger Games" had set you up for life. Or was I mistaken?
Do you Recall the Time
when Paris Hilton always came to whatever world premiere of some major film while she stood on the Red Carpet holding her dog "Tiny," a tea cup chihuahua--while she took full-advantage of the hundreds of photographers snapping away at her various arrogant poses. I cannot be in her league by anyone's thinking. I might be able to rent some good ol' boy's pet opossum, "Peter" and let him sit in my hands while I stop and yell at the photographers about my name, my hub-writing, and how much ground beef that "Peter" likes to eat.
Everyone knows that when you work hard as possible, keep vigilant, and never give up, it will not be a surprise when you have "made it." So an invitation from the powers-that-be who manage the Red Carpet inviting me to walk the carpet on some future date--but there is one major obstacle: my clothing. Have you seen the clothing that some of Hollywood's finest wears? Hardly anything. But my momma taught me to never go anywhere almost naked. So I will have to splurge and buy myself a pair of Levi jeans to go with a shirt that I have in my closet and this way at least I will "look" successful when everyone knows that all I do is write hubs.
Dental work cannot be forgotten if I am to walk with Jessica Alba on the Red Carpet and stand still a few minutes and wave at fans. I will have to get some work on my top dental plate and let some highly-trained dentist adjust it so I won't be chowing down at an After Party (at the Oscars) and my top plate comes flying out and bringing some unsuspecting fans a lot of embarrassment.
My rural accent, although it's very cute and manly, might be graded against me thus preventing me from being asked to walk the Red Carpet. I am safe in this statement: There are NO celebrities who ever walked the Red Carpet throwing out ya'll's and aint's.
The fact that my hair is gone from my head is referred to Sitting on a Fence. No, a bald head is not against the law. But yes, my bald head is nowhere near the bald head of Bruce Willis.
And I would stake $50-bucks on this wager: the main reason why "I" haven't been invited to rub elbows with Will Smith, Matt Damon and Anne Hathaway is very obvious. When and if some of the Red Carpet promoters get to introducing me to these high-end actors worth their weight in fame, when Hathaway says, "nice to uhhh, meet you,"and looks down in the most-humble way, I will reply, "nice to meet you, Anne. Thanks for coming by,"and by that one, solitaire remark, although humble as it can be, Smith, Hathaway, and Damon as well as the rest of the "stars" who will "walk the aisle," will be shocked and probably ask the Oscar producers, "where did you find this rube?" I won't argue. No sense in it. So why do it?
And to drive this deal home, I do not sing, dance, do Hollywood's famous impressions, or belong to an activist group that is out to save some freckled Sun Lizard in Yuma, AZ. So I shall remain to live, work, and thrive with my wonderful Followers here on HubPages.
___________________March 2, 2018
© 2018 Kenneth Avery