I don't get it.

I love Beyonce so don’t get me wrong when I say this.

I find it overly insulting to the intelligence the reviews and praise of “Single Ladies”, the song Beyonce Knowles. If you have been living under a rock, or you are deaf, and do not know the infectious melody, all you need to know is that it’s all about girl power, getting back at your man for dumping you and asserting that women do not need men. As much as we know that artists sing songs that aren’t about them specifically, we all know that Beyonce is a very happily married woman to rapper Jay Z. The most brilliant performances are from those that make the audience believe that you aren’t you, that you are totally this whole other person. However the belief of performances are now questioned by the audience as we know everything about the celebrity; we no longer believe Beyonce is a happy single lady independent of men, we can no longer consider her as one of the independent women of the world so we cannot justify why she is singing to us like she is one. I cannot reconcile the meaning of song with who is singing; it is confusing that a married woman can preach independence of such a large scale. I felt even more confused when I discovered one of the foxy single women in her video clip is actually a man. It is the choreographer; apparently no other girl was good enough to do the dance so he dressed up and did the clip himself. To further add insult is the fact that one out of the four writers of this song is actually female, that being Beyonce. I would love to be a fly on the wall and listen to three guys and a married woman sit around and talk about what it is like to be a “Single Lady“ and then justifiably write a song about it. The song is fantastic and well composed, and I love dancing to it, however the process of its performance is hypocritical and confusing.

What's a girl to do?

So what does an aspiring performer need to do to get themselves them out there? For the sake of class and being recognized for the RIGHT reasons, I have decided to compile a list of the what NOT to do. I figure that will be easier to decifer than what to do. (No particular order - it is hard to say which one is worse than the other)

Now don't get me wrong; there is much to love about certain events/people. I am just saying it would not me my method of getting recognized!

Entourage

Do I need to get an “entourage” behind me? You never really see it in the glossy trash mags but every time a celeb walks down the red carpet, or frequents a popular eatery, they are surrounded by a mob of important people. The reason they are photo-shopped out of most pictures is because, let’s face it, who wants to see the simple folk, it’s all about the celebrity! (And yes, I plan to rant at some stage the genius of Warhol’s theory of celebrity) So why would you want to be a part of the entourage? I can imagine, depending on the boss, the work would be tiresome, less than glamorously promised by said employer, no doubt there would be a strong requirement to clean up the mess of dim witted actors and models, and, all in all, would be draining on the soul. I do not doubt the necessity of having an entourage; when in Vegas, my boyfriend spotted Justin Timberlake at a restaurant, dinning with friends at a private table not far from his. Timberlake at one stage stood to go to the bathroom; with him came two seven foot security guards who easily weighed 150kg each, who escorted him to the bathroom and back to the table. I joked, when the BF told me he had spotted Timberlake, asking why he didn’t get his number for me. BF’s frank yet true response was: “There was no way I could get anywhere near him to even exchange looks with him, let alone get his number.” If I were Justin, I would never go anywhere without my entourage.
I have written a list of potentials that could fill the role as my entourage. I guess I will need the following people:

Security – I am going with the big Shaq on that one. No one said I couldn’t have something hot to look at whilst feeling a sense of protection? There would need to be one other; probably my favourite wrestler, Randy Orton. So dreamy, so muscley. Perfect if he happens to get snapped with me by the paparazzi. I shall ask them not to edit him out. Having said that, if he is meant to protect me, I hate the thought of losing him to a bullet in the chest whilst in the line of duty. Better audition someone less valuable. Note to self: find ugly people.

Manager – I have a really gorgeous savvy friend of mine who will do this for me. She is amazing; a killer smile and body, however she has the unrelenting personality and intelligence that, if meeting her in an argument, you are sure to lose. Let’s pretend, for fun’s sake, that she isn’t able to get Monday’s off work so I have to hire someone else to come to Hollywood with me. I need someone business smart, ruthless and willing to defend my every stupid decision and every sordid affair, real or made up by the money hungry slappers of the world. I need someone better than CC Babcock, the worst manager/advisor/assistant ever. Poor Mr Sheffield, of the Nanny, was persuaded not to produce a show that “was about a bunch of pussy cats singing in a garbage can” by CC, at the time, the most important person of his life. Good old Andrew Lloyd Webber saw something in Cats; I need me a Drew. I need a Dre, the doctor variety, to bring me out of the wood work to stardom. Speculation on this particular role is tough; let’s hold auditions.

Wanted: one manager willing to sell sole for my fame. Glory: minimal.
Casting Agent: Ari Gold. Enough said.

As I sit here, writing this on a lonely Saturday night, I am watching a marathon of HBO’s Entourage. Currently Turtle is sharing a spliff with Jamie Lynn in a massive hot tub, surrounded in bubbles and champagne. Drama is getting a massage in his trailer between takes on his TV show and Eric is having a drink with Sloan. The scene ends with Vince arriving home to an empty house; the shot fades out on the dark house as he calls out “Hello?” inquisitively to a desolate hallway. I just don’t believe, in the life of a mega movie star, you are ever coming home to an empty house. Surely there would be maids or a cleaner or a freeloader just getting around the place. There seemed to be a constant stream of people getting through the Osborne home in their MTV series. There were always miscellaneous faces that, as a viewer, you could never place their importance or role in the daily life of these celebrities. So how real is Entourage? Does a typical movie star live with several of his buddies the whole time and fucks everything that moves, occasionally working and appearing on talk shows? Does he come home to an empty house at night? Or is life as chaotic, and full of a claustrophobic amount of people like the Osborne’s seem to live with? I have no way of knowing until I am living the life myself. Then I’ll let you know.

I also find it rather amusing that the cast of Entourage were a total fluke. The producers had no intentions of keeping the original cast but kind of got stuck with them. The luckiest thing that ever happened to those guys.

And yes, I am that jealous.