Animated Pamela

Don't I have a lot in common with Pamela Anderson? We both carry silicone objects (her breasts, my blue keychain shaped like an ear), adore rockstars (her Tommy Lee, my cries of oy!), and have the capacity to say human words of English. Which is why when I went to an audition this morning for a feature-length animation based on her honeymoon video, it seemed obvious I would get the role. The director asked me in his Deutsch-stuck twang, "Are you willing to do a pornographic scene? There is no moaning, but there is a lot of 'Oh yeah, BABY.'" I said, "I'm an actor: I have no shame."

Shame! Who needs it! I recently got "Ellie Parker" on my Netflix. Naomi Watts plays an L.A. actress ashamed and in the throes of auditions, busted relationships, eating blue ice cream, and therapy. It's billed as a comedy, but if you've ever put yourself through the rigamaroll that is the theater and film world, it is not fucking funny. The movie officially goes on my list of top brilliant artworks that I would be reluctant to ever see again.

Easy to shame yourself into being what you believe other people want you to be, as an actress. Easy to skip meals, sweat until you bleed, bind your feet. Harder to risk forgoing the chance to be seen by there being more of you rather than less. By more, I mean as you are; by less, so much less. It takes a lot of cajones to waltz in as yourself--and a lot more shamelessness to refuse to change. Humping an animated Tommy Lee with my voice is nothing. It's my body and my heart I want to protect from all the casting directors of the world, many who have paused quizzically at my presence, voicing or not that wistful pity of, "People that look like you have to try awfully hard to get cast," and "Not that you're not beautiful, but...is that an ear in your pocket?"