The David Duchovny look-alike seems to play pool with deadly precision and a magic touch. Or maybe I'm just distracted and playing terribly because, out of the corner of my eye I can see those luscious lips and brooding eyes. I'm distracted, thinking of the usual David Duchovny fantasy, where I take him in the fruits and vegetables section of the local supermarket, on a giant bed of Santa Barbara salad. And then Martin opens his mouth. I expect to hear David's smooth, deep, monotone voice say something really profound about the appearance of supernatural beings in the American canon of literature. Instead I get Martin's rather high-pitched, whiny voice telling me that I am the second person of the evening to compare him to Mr. Duchovny. If he could just keep his mouth shut and let the fantasy play out... but I must stay focused on the task at hand. I couldn't get the real David to interview for a second-rate on-line zine whose previous interviewees have all been fictional, so I've gotten the next best thing. I ask Martin how often he gets this comment, and surprisingly, he says that it doesn't happen all that often. I guess David Duchovny isn't as big of a star as he thinks he is, because Martin is a dead ringer. Only shorter. And younger. With a little bit more girth. I ask him if he watches "The X-Files", and he says that he catches it occasionally. "That girl that plays Scully is pretty hot," he says with a grin. I quickly give my petite red-headed girlfriend the thumb-jerk, the international sign for "Beat it!" She takes the hint and saunters over to the bar for another drink. Focusing my attention back on Martin, I ask him what he does for a living. Apparently he has a highly specialized job within the bio-tech industry. Biologist by day, pool shark and object of sexual fantasy by night. I ask him if he's ever been to an X-Files convention. He replies that he has not. Is he aware that throngs of obsessed if slightly geeky but yet still marginally attractive women would throw themselves at his feet were he to attend one of these functions? After he pries my prostrate body off of his feet and sits me back on the barstool, he appears to be showing little interest in attending next year's convention. I ask if he is planning to take advantage of his fortunate bone structure, lips and hair, in the form of David Duchovny look-alike contests or perhaps impersonating David Duchovny in order to get on to the set of supposed wife Tea Leoni's highly forgettable sit-com (not bitter, just telling it like it is). Frankly, Martin is stumped by my line of questioning. He doesn't understand this insistence upon asking him Duchovny-pointed questions. As if I'd be even remotely interested in his mundane life. And it is at this point that I realize what a stupid premise this is for an interview, the fact that some random young biologist in San Diego happens to look mildly like David Duchovny, a mildly famous man who just happens to have a small but obsessive female fan base. But it's too late now. The deadline for submission is fast upon me, and I have no prospects for interview except possibly a man who claims to be the long lost twin brother of Christian Slater separated at birth. Huh. How weird is that.
Copyright 1998 Jennifer Chung
All moral and legal rights
imitated and semi-reserved.