Mediocrity sucks, normality is overrated and being nice is downright boring. I don't want my obituary to read people described Ashley Spencer as a plain, normal, run-of-the-mill kind of girl. She was an ordinary spirit who was marvelous at being delightfully typical. She leaves two conventional parents and one standard brother behind."" That's not enough - I want greatness, glamour and glitz.
Being famous has always been the goal of my existence. When I saw Lindsay Lohan in the ""Parent Trap,"" I was seething - I could have done that. I had her hair and freckles. OK, so I had summer teeth (some are here, some are there), but the audience would have found that endearing.
I was dying to be in a commercial, so I made my mom take me to a talent agent in fifth grade. I wasn't naive - I knew you had to start small before landing two roles in your own Disney movie.
My actress neighbor, whose hands starred in a McDonald's commercial, referred us to an agent. This, I thought, would change my life forever. I wouldn't go to school, a limo would drive me to basketball practice and I'd go to parties with my posse where the soda didn't stop flowing till six in the morning.
I pictured a certain slick ""Entourage""-esque agent would strut into his office, thinking this would be another day on the job. Then, he'd spot me, tears in his eyes. He'd beg me on his hands and knees to sign. ""I've been looking everywhere for you! Your face has the power to stop time, world wars and the spread of AIDS.""
Instead, he told us to hire a photographer to shoot a portfolio. My parents didn't seem to think the portfolio was a safe investment. It was obvious my ability to recite ""Wizard of Oz"" from start to finish was nothing spectacular.
Instead of giving up on my dreams, I decided to let fame find me - and one day it did.
In high school, my friend Gabby and I were huge Dashboard Confessional fans, a fact that haunts me to this day. We went to every show, and, as a ritual, we'd stand outside the concert venue all day with a handful of angsty losers so we could get a spot in the front row.
Before one show, there was an older, semi-attractive student who claimed he was filming a movie about music for his college class. I was ecstatic and followed him all day. I was hamming it up for him, belting out songs, describing my intense love for Chris Carrabba's scrawny ass and his whiny music.
It turned out the filmmaker wasn't in college but worked for MTV. Later that day, we were surprised with an impromptu DC concert in the parking lot for the short-lived MTV show called ""Jammed.""
Being famous wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Before the show aired, I worried I wouldn't get enough screen time. Imagine my surprise when I tuned in and saw I was on for the whole half hour.
But to my dismay, it was all wrong (except for some beautiful shots). There I was rocking out and I looked way too into it, my eyes closed, my head bobbing. Sick.
Since MTV feels the need to repeat everything at least 78 times, everyone I knew saw the show, including my childhood crush and his girlfriend.
""Were you on MTV?"" she said to me at school.
""Yeah, last week,"" I said.
""On Christmas Eve, Paul and I were cuddling on the couch watching ""Jammed"" on TiVo, we couldn't tell if it was you, so we kept rewinding and using slow motion! We saw you jumping and singing! You're hilarious.""
At that moment, I wanted to die. But the more I thought about it, I realized I'd probably actually kill myself if no one knew I existed. And though my attempts at fame floundered, I figured I'd stick around for a few more years before I make any rash decisions.
Think you and Ashley could dominate Hollywood together? Let her know at aaspencer@wisc.edu.
