Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Back to the Question

Of course the question will be asked, and of course the question is, What Makes A Corey? New Betsy has already inquired as to the inclusion of a non-Corey, being a fake Corky and a real Chris Burke. I was all for a Feldman/Haim Special, but then I realized the specialness that is the All-Corey. AnnieD suggest Hart, and Meredith said Corky must be included as well.

"But he's not a Corey," I might have said.

"Dude, shut up. Yes he is. Practically," she probably said back.

And even though I, your humble author, might not be convinced, once the question was let out of the box, I could not put it back in. Is Corky a Corey at heart? What makes a Corey in the first place?

It's more than just being good-looking, obviously. In fact, maybe that's not even part of it. Believe it or not, there are those who are experience Corey for the first time right here on this blog--be it from age (oh, for surely you are babies!) or culture, the Coreys passed them by the first time around. And maybe one of those people looked at the Coreys this afternoon and said, of Feldman, "He's not even good-looking." And while such a response doesn't make sense to you or I, it is certainly a valid opinion, and perhaps more objective than that of someone who has sat through DREAM A LITTLE DREAM more than once.

It's certainly not moral superiority that makes a Corey, either. "You should include a picture of a heroin needle," someone might have said to me. Sure, a Corey has made a few mistakes, but who hasn't? Sure, Feldman is a vegetarian who wears leather shoes, and sure, Hart likes to show off his chest hair, but that's not part of being Corey, that's part of being ALIVE.

Is it talent? Oh. Oh, no. No, not at all.

Originality, perhaps? I'm not so sure. Feldman has been seen, more than once, dressed up as Michael Jackson, after all.

Intelligence? See: talent.

So when someone asks, Why Corey?, what are we, those who KNOW, to tell them? Ahhhh. Well, that's the beauty. All you have to do is put on your shades, open up your jacket . . .

. . . and let it riiiiiiiiide.

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