Thursday, September 28, 2006

An Open Letter to Hugh Laurie

Dear Hugh:

For the duration of my two week trip through Alaska, I have managed to view the entire first season of “House, M.D.” and despite protests from my co-comedians, insisted upon purchasing Season 2 in the Anchorage airport. Actually, in parts of Alaska, I think the show may be known as “Ciqll'uaq” which would loosely translate to “Dr. Sod Hut”. You and the rest of the cast will entertain me for the non-Xanaxed portions of my 83 hour flight to Guam, via Houston, TX. No I did not make these arrangements myself. I’d hate for your first impression of me to be as someone who doesn’t understand geography. On the contrary…I rule at “Where in the World is Carmen San Diego”.

I have found myself intrigued by your convincing performance as Dr. Greg House. So much so that with every headache or abdominal pain, I’m convinced that I either have a nest of baby spiders in my brain or a prostate growing on my ovaries, respectively. Although a nest of baby prostates probably isn’t out of the question for your team of writers.

Hugh, it’s rare that I use this blog to dote on well-known personalities. There was my brief flirtation with John Fogerty which worked out well. We’re now friends on MySpace. Well, I’m at least friends with whichever of his hourly assistants clicks “approve” for the friend requests that pour in after each performance of “Green River”. But I digress. You’ve eclipsed both Kirk Cameron and Mr. Fogerty. Actually, Kirk Cameron fell out of the running about 15 years ago, when I had a poster of him laying in an unmade bed wearing a leather jacket and an expression that said “You’d let me get to second base and then maybe I’d steal your Kirby Puckett rookie card.” Regardless, my mother always made me take that poster down when my grandparents came to visit. I guess she thought that my Grandmother would either be offended or helpless against Kirk’s advances, showering him with Avon-colored kisses and filling the pockets of his black jeans with Werther’s Originals and coupons for a free Wendy’s Frosty. So, I turned my affections to John Fogerty, who was about 70 years older than Kirk--and married with children--but at least in his photos the only thing he was interested in touching was a guitar. And maybe a bottle of Grecian Formula.

Again, back to you. Let’s be friends, Hugh. We’ve got so much in common. We both have had to work to speak with a convincing American accent. You’re from England and I’m originally from West Virginia, two places where it’s difficult to understand the locals and the dental industry is non-existent. We both performed in our college comedy troupes, you in the prestigious Cambridge Footlights and me in the Lilting Banshees at Wake Forest. Sure, we didn’t have the name-recognition that vaulted our members to post-graduate success, but we did have a variety of long-sleeved t-shirts and I think at one point we had decals for our car windows. Yes, you had your own television program (“programme” - British spelling; “Shit, this ain’t General Hospital”- WV spelling) but I was frequently recognized on campus, sometimes when I was trying to drive away after backing into someone’s Ford Escort, into the cashier from KFC, or into a Little Tykes sandbox. A difference of scale, really.

There’s so much to like about you. And here’s the part where I refrain from using any stupid song parodies like “Hugh Got the Look” or “Hugh Make Me Feel Like Dancin”. If I wanted to write shit like that, I’d work for InStyle. Same for any other phrases like “your aquamarine eyes sparkle like a new bottle of Windex against a streak-free windowpane”. I will also refuse to call you “smoldering” because I don’t think men enjoy being described in terms more frequently used for forest fires. You seem to be pragmatic and witty, and have also refrained from turning your first and last names into a J-Lo-ish hybrid. Just for the record, you may want to tell your costar Omar Epps to avoid that as well… I’m guessing he wouldn’t want to be known as “Oops”. But, if you’re ever involved in a threesome with the Pitt family, don’t be surprised if tags you as “Brangelaurie”. I’m just saying…

You’ve been described as “the thinking woman’s sex symbol”. It’s nice that this crush can be complimentary to both parties—a scenario that wouldn’t occur if I had a thing for, say, Larry the Cable Guy.

So if you think you’d like to hang out, maybe watch “The Outlaw Josie Wales” or light some fireworks on my patio or, I don’t know, carve some scrimshaw onto a whale bone just send me an email. Or a friend request…we could make it OurSpace. Until then, try to resist my grandmother’s advances. And could you send me some painkillers? My prostate is killing me.

1 comment:

The Bird Man said...

I love Hugh...I'm not a fan of House though. I just can't get over that American Accent. I suggest you check out "Black Adder Goes Forth." The Last installment in a brilliant series by Rowan Atkinson. Hugh really steals the stage in this season about WW1. As I am sure you are aware since you are a comedian and all, it doen't get much funnier than WW1. How many WW1 jokes do you have in your act?