Thought I would throw this in the mix. It's a column I wrote for Buzzine Magazine three years ago during pilot season, also entitled "I Ate Enough To Stop The Heart Of A Donkey". (Are there any original ideas left in Hollywood anymore?) It might give a little insight into my fondness for donkeys.
Hope you enjoy...
Hi Kids. It's an honour and a thrill to be writing for Buzzine Magazine. By way of introduction, I thought I would take the first piece in this column to natter on about my own damn self.
My name is Enid-Raye Adams and I'm an actor with roots in the deep prairies of Canada. I am geographically predisposed to eating my cereal from a plastic bowl and I can locate an $8 Ukrainian buffet within seconds of waking. I remember every significant event in my life by what I was fed. I can pinpoint any cornerstone moment of my youth by the cake that was served and the filler in the hot dogs.
Case in point/random factoids:
I was born in 1973 in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, the strawberry capital of Canada. Since then no one has ever pronounced my name correctly. Kids in school called me "Igor" or "Enid the Penid". (Kids in school are rotten little f*#% ers.) For the first twelve years of my life, my front teeth were way too big for my face. They literally preceded me everywhere I went by about three solid feet. There was really nothing I could do other than eat with them. Once when I conducted the band in an elementary school concert, I dented Charlie Norton's xylophone in the third row with my aforementioned front chompers. After that, all the kids snorted and laughed in the halls as they walked by me, covering their faces with their hands so I wouldn't accidentally run into them with my teeth (which were usually encrusted with chunks of chocolate flavored Wagon Wheels).
In grade eight, after two perms in a row, I bore a striking resemblance to Napoleon Dynamite. To disguise this obvious fact from curious onlookers, I dyed my hair black, looked like I had a burnt Brillo pad on my head, then shaved my hair off altogether, thus bearing a striking resemblance to Telly Savalas. Accompanying snack of choice: peanut butter and ketchup chip sandwiches with a candy cigarette chaser.
For my first day as a freshman in high school, I chose a much more elegant coif. Sausage bangs with a shelf of hair teased high enough off the top of my head to break the nine-inch barrier. I also had the great good wisdom to wear a foxy little ensemble I like to call the "How Can I Get More People To Call Me Igor Pant Suit". This was a two-piece garment constructed from left over fabric that my Mom used to make our autumn table clothe that year. Picture my *pure liquid hotness now: A boxy blazer equipped with shoulder pads the size of garbage can lids and matching parachute pants, both covered in a print of earth tone rutabagas. Thank God I had the foresight to wear a cumber bun that covered my entire rib cage. That and the massive hair really allowed for the focus to settle squarely on my over bite.
I didn't develop eyebrows until my early twenties. (When I ran for Cafeteria Rep in university, my ‘More Meatloaf' mandate was sullied when people graffitied my posters to read "Vote For Edna-Raye No Eyebrows Adams".) I didn't develop breasts until my early forties. (I'm 31 - fingers crossed.) I have way too many cats, an inexplicable crush on Grizzly Adams, and a can of Spam in my cupboard the size of a Lincoln Town Car.
What do all these things have in common? Not too much really. But jotting them down just now has made me feel a bit peckish. Which brings us back to where we started - FOOD. I dig it. Hardcore. I friggon love the stuff. Cookies, lard, butter, toast, perogies, processed cheese, pickled onions, relish…
Every geek infested moment I've ever had was accompanied by a snack that somehow saved my ass from further embarrassment. Sure half the neighbourhood referred to my ‘88 Chevy Chevette as the "Dork N Squaremobile" but I was too busy hosting macaroni parties in my specially built buffet pants to care.
Besides, for every negative moment there is a positive, even pivotal one and its perfect food partner. For me, that life altering moment and snack came one day while watching the "The Flintstones Hit Hollyrock". At a time when after-school television was saturated by Smurfette and that "la la la la la la" song, it was a refreshing change to get back to basics with Fred and Dino and their zany prehistoric ways.
In the show, the whole gang travels to Hollyrock. Dino falls in love with a starlet dinodogette. She's beautiful. She's charming. She's a freakin' hag when she takes off her make-up. When Dino secretly watches her tear off her false eyelashes only to behold a decrepit ghastly version of the beauty he once loved, I remember thinking, "Where's the raisin bread?"
Hey, it was the 70's. I was a chubby kid and I enjoyed a snack. As I polished off a loaf, I watched Dino pick up the pieces of his broken heart and I contemplated a career in Hollywood.
Now here I am, upon the very threshold of Shakespeare and Sorkin. (Note definition of threshold: sitting on sofa scratching belly while watching Sorkin on TV.) A can of pork-n-beans is never far from my grasp. I've finally grown into my teeth! I have a bag of gravy in my back pocket for every audition and I don't care who knows it. Art and Eat are my favorite three-letter words. They belong together. So kids, join me as I fulfill my destiny. Put down the low carb silliness and pick up a can of ham and a sleeve of crackers. Together we can perform monologues from "Moo" by Sally Clark and this pilot season, as we focus on our craft, maybe we can all eat enough to stop the heart of a donkey.
* ("Pure liquid hotness" is a favorite phrase borrowed from comedian Sean Cullen, possibly the funniest man on legs.)