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Next Caller,
Please?
Comedian
Denis Leary puts forth a great scenario for radio-shrinks: "Hi,
this is Dr. Leary, how can I help you?" "Doc, my life sucks, I
can't stop drinking..." "SHUT THE $%$#!-UP! Thank you, next caller,
please?"
A plea for
empathy from a stranger never mattered less than at judgement
time. By the time that some dubious instant celebrity has seen
their fifteen minutes, they're no more attractive than the average
mookie Judge Judy plaintiff. When you become famous for marrying
a millionaire on TV for fame and fortune you can't complain that
people aren't seeing the real you. As Judy would caustically assess,
"Don't piss on my shoes and tell me it's raining!"
Darva Conger's
plaintive cries of humility in the earliest days of her "Millionaire"
marriage fiasco turned into verbal turnips as she appeared at
Oscar parties and stripped for Playboy. Before losing her job
at a Tarzana, CA, hospital, Conger made it known that 'she wouldn't
mind hosting a health-oriented television-show...if offered Kathy
Lee Gifford's job she would certainly consider it...' Now she's
forever captured a legacy that'll stick; high-glossed-'o'-shaped
lips, her giant nose airbrushed, and her fatless bod stretching
wide for mankind and critics alike.
To hear
Darva's 'Dear Abby' rationalization, you'd think she was biting
the bullet. On "NBC's Dateline" (broadcast in conjunction with
her Playboy cover, which hit magazine stands in July of 2000)
she thought she was taking control of the situation by saying,
"Since when
did 'opportunist' become a bad word?"
According
to any dictionary, it always was a bad word: (op ·por ·tun ·ists)
noun; unprincipled resourceful person: somebody who takes advantage
of something, especially somebody who does so in a devious, unscrupulous,
or unprincipled way.
This is
why people were prosecuted after WWII for profiteering, why Publisher's
Clearinghouse was taken to court for shaking down old folks, and
why Michael Milken was federally incarcerated. I guess Darva's
talking about those 'good opportunists', like: Princess Di, who
exposed the centipedes under the Royal Family's rock, so her bulimic,
shop-a-holic, philandering, Hollywood, ways would seem like the
actions of a crucified angel.
Maybe Darva
is thinking of John Wayne Bobbitt (who was left with a funky looking
penis after surgery broke what his abused wife 'corrected'), who
had no choice but to launch a career in stand-up comedy and porn.
Perhaps the newly nude nurse is confusing herself with Linda Tripp,
a miserable older woman who knew how to manipulate a twenty-something
girl from a dysfunctional family and the worldliness of a 14-year
old.
So Darva
plays her sob-story to the electronic hilt--I had no choice, I
lost my job, there was a mortgage and my mother to care for...I
made a good business deal...I'm okay with artful nudity; my dad
was an artist...I had total control...I will always be okay with
this decision...my old life was gone anyway and I had to take
the situation and make the best of it.
Many women
in such a critical position have used said type of 'opportunity'
to: write books, pose on magazine covers fully clothed, sell their
movie rights to the highest bidder and biggest star, open a business,
move out of the limelight and start over with a different name
in a field where their word is as good as their work. Darva Conger
is working backwards. Posing for Playboy is the domain of anonymous
babes who want to translate their fuzzy love-box images into co-starring
roles on "Baywatch: Hawaii". Last time we all checked Darva Conger
was never a famous actress in need of a career boost either.
Darva's
nearest contemporary is Jessica Hahn, a slob from Long Island,
N.Y. who preached God and blew her corrupt megalomaniac Minister.
She cried abuse then found the only way she could pick up the
pieces was by doing a Playboy expose (not to mention screwing
Sam Kineson, then appearing virtually nude in a mail order only
Howard Stern video).
Conger and
Hahn can't say that they represent what women should be when pushed-up
against the wall. Water-coolers everywhere are clearly anti-Darva
territory because most average women who had behaved manipulatively,
done the easiest thing, or made excuses, have paid dearly for
their mistakes. Embittered women all over the world can't stop
saying, "You had the power of celebrity, why use your ass?"
It doesn't
seem much of a leap to watch Darva, Hahn, or even a Kato Kaelin
rip at any available teat, not having faith or ability to latch
on again via true accomplishments. No one's disappointed or disgusted
when Divine Brown exploited getting busted while blowing a movie
star; she's got nothing to look forward to except HIV-tests, porno
flicks, and more street-walking. Even on a basic scandal-scale,
Conger 'gave it-up' for something that won't stick around with
her when she finds herself old, alone, and with her conscience--the
public.
Rick Rockwell
didn't have that option. He's milking his fifteen metric minutes
for every road gig he can get. The average American buying a ticket
to his "Divorce Tour" can't tell the difference between his improved
recollections of what he calls 'The First Big Event of The New
Millennium" and the more calculated and passable jokes written
by journeyman joke-writers. It's possible he could get a MOW made,
starring himself for 'road-kill' value. But no one would pay him
to write his book, a screenplay, or pose nude. That's not to say
he wouldn't wax every curly twine on his back if Playgirl asked.
There's
no way ABC/Disney Mega Corp is going to sit her pastel-ass in
a chair next to Regis Philbin for the morning crowd. Conger blew
it. A respectable medical cabler couldn't command informational
authority with a Playboy centerfold hosting any program. E! Entertainment
would hire her (they are the folks who pay professional party-dude
A.J. Benza to act like a grizzled correspondent and produce "Search
Party", a soft-core beach party game show). She could get her
story made into a MOV and she could still write her book. But
she can't leap-frog much higher unless she wants to compete with
Tawny Kittaen or Shannon Tweed.
The ex-Mrs.
Rockwell should know better of the trappings of whoredom. Her
own mom, Susan Harrison, co-starred in the 1957 potboiler, "The
Sweet Smell of Success". Almost the final word on Darva's very
situation, the film features a disgusted J.J. Hunsecker (played
by a snarling Burt Lancaster) spitting at slimy Sidney Falco (to
a desperate Tony Curtis), ``You're dead, son, get yourself buried.''
Copyright
© 2000 Viki Reed. All Rights Reserved
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