To anyone who takes these quizzes, who posts these quizzes to their Myspace, who retakes these quizzes because they didn’t get the fictional character they think they identify with, who guages their own minidramas and idiosyncracies by the dramatic successes of their favorite pop cultural nuggets, who reads People/Us Weekly/Feel Fat Bimonthly/Lohan-A-Gogo Quarterly for any reason whatsoever, who plays out their life like their own show, who plays the main character in that show, who measures their life out in thirty-minute incriments, cheap laughs, gag reels, close-ups, four cameras, who thinks they want someone else’s bright lights:
You aren’t Marcia, Jan, Cindy, Carrie, Red-Head, Brunette, or Old Chick With Crazed Libido, Grey, Blue, Mork, or Mindy, Rachel, Monica, Phoebe, Kelly, Jessi, or Lisa Turtle, the L-Words, the Spice Girls, Beyonce, Britney, Xtina, Christina, Lindsey, Paris, London, Nikki, Nicole, Desperate, a Housewife, or a Desperate Housewife. There is no 1500-foot rent-controlled apartment in Manhattan that is affordable on a writer’s wage. There is no laugh track, no blocking assigment. There is no rose ceremony in this life.
You be you. Nobody else. That’s more than enough.
The last star in the sky,
P.S. If one of you REALLY has to be someone else, though, try for Kelly Kapowski first.