It could be said that I have a familiar face, which is helpful if I'm trying to get into a club, but very unhelpful if I ever find myself a suspect in an episode of CSI. Although in my writings I frequently refer to myself as having the appearance of Fabio, in reality that's only really a half-truth. The reality of the matter is that I look like a disturbed child between Andy Dick and Josh Groban.
Although I'm not Jewish, I'm fairly certain my nose is. It's rather large and defined. So when my co-workers at the now defunct Biola Scholarship Fund referred to me as "Josh Groban," I took it as an immense compliment. Perhaps too much of a compliment. Once I began doing renditions of "You Raise Me Up" between phone calls, the comparisons quickly ceased and the barrage of insults from the call recipients began to take full flight. That was until several months later when I was approached during a magazine awards dinner for celebrities and was briefly mistaken by another member of the press. "Josh Groban?" She asked me, before fully seeing me in the light and gasping in shock. "Oh, nevermind, I seem to have made a mistake, a huge mistake" she clarified, not stopping to dab the water she spit out in shock from my face.
I thought it was a coincidence, until a few weeks later when on a flight a stewardess withheld my soda and blue chips before asking, "Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Josh Groban?"
"Why yes, yes they have," I said before breaking out in a solo of "You're Still You."
After the emergency landing it was agreed between myself and the TSA that my impersonations quickly stop. Unfortunately, it's hard to capitalize on having the similarities to a singer-songwriter without having any of the vocal or musical attributes that a singer-songwriter has. For years this similarity went on without any monetary return. Months went by, and with the ability to grow patches of unruly facial hair the comparisons between myself and the big JG (as I like to call him) have ceased.
Then something different happened. As I was buying a sweater similar to the one Cosby wore at my local Savers store, the woman at the checkout stopped her barcode scanning to mention, "you know who you look like?"
"Josh Groban?!" I quickly answered.
"No," she said. "That weird funny guy. What's his name? Oh yeah, Andy Dick!"
Although being compared to the popular 90’s comedian from the short-lived sitcom News Radio was in a way flattering, it was on the other hand a step below the flowing locks of Groban. “Excuse me,” I politely noted, “but I believe you are very confused. I think you mistakenly said Andy Dick when you meant Josh Groban or Fabio.”
“Hey!” Yelled the checkout woman to the Mexican shopper behind me in line. “Doesn’t this kid look like Andy Dick?”
The Mexican shopper laughed and clapped her hands, “Si! Si!”
I understood. Hanging my head limply I wandered the streets, briefly looking into a storefront window to see my reflection. I didn’t even know who I looked like anymore. Was it Groban, Andy, maybe a young Woody Allen with a little bit of Richard Gere thrown in?
It didn’t matter. I realized that there was only one person I needed to look like in this world, and that person went by the name of Master Zachary Donald Newcott the First. Straightening my sweater I marched on my way, confident in how I looked, and man did I look great.