Dear Mr. Bell:
I’ve been alerted to your new blog, “I’m Not Emilio Estevez,” by an acquaintance of mine and must express my outrage. While I will agree with you that, yes, you’re not Emilio Estevez, since that’s me, I’m disappointed in the implied tone of your title, as if, yeah, you’re so glad to not be me.
I know full well that, in recent years, I’ve not acted in many feature films, and there have been some obvious missteps in my acting career, such as Maximum Overdive, Another Stakeout, and agreeing to a third Mighty Ducks film. Look, I’ll say it—they suck. But you got to give props for films like St. Elmo’s Fire, The Breakfast Club, and Young Guns. I know you wore out those videocassettes a long time ago even if you won’t cop to it. And you’d have to have your head buried in the sand to not acknowledge the cult status of Repo Man.
But all that Brat Pack stuff is ancient history. I’ve moved on, compadre. Do you know that I’m writing, directing, and producing films and tv shows now? Yeah, I didn’t think so. I’ll state in words you might understand: you see me as you want to see me . . . in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions.
You might not be Emilio Estevez, but neither is anybody else but me, and none of those people are out there making a point about who they’re not. I should probably read some of your blog postings to see what else you’re saying about me, but I got things to do. I shouldn’t even be writing this letter.
Man, I know you’re messing with my brother Charlie too, which I’m not even going to respond to because he can take care of himself fine, no matter what you may have read in the tabloids.