I wonder who would portray me in the Netflix version of my story.
My movie is called Me. Actually, it’s the film adaptation of the story of me, based on the novel Me, written by yours truly.
Hollywood or Bollywood. Because my qualities go beyond national and cultural boundaries.
I can think of a lot of good actors who almost proved they could capture what makes me so special. Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood, Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, and John Belushi in Animal House were close, but no one has really done Me justice.
I think they’d need to display that rare combination of heroism, humility, and focus.
Because when I focus, I mean, I focus like you can’t believe. I get so focused that the rest of the world disappears and nothing will distract me.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh, yes, Me.
I would, of course, provide the film’s narration.
I like to imagine the movie Me being shown to a packed audience.
I try so hard to picture what part of my fascinating life is on the screen, but I end up just looking around at the rest of the audience watching me in my seat in the theater.
And then I think to myself how all of them must be wondering what’s on my mind as I watch all of them watching me view the self-narrated Me.
Watching me watch Me.
The whole exercise is so exhausting that I have to take a break from it. So instead I imagine making a video of me watching Me to watch later. But then I get distracted by the thought of everyone watching me watch the video of me watching the self-narrated Me.
But then I wonder what the real people in my life would think of me if they knew that I fantasized about making a videotape of myself watching the self-narrated Me. They’d probably get the wrong impression and accuse me of being self-absorbed.