Ethan Embry

The first job that I truly enjoyed was when I worked at Coborn's Video Store in Mitchell, South Dakota during my senior year in high school. I was almost always late and could never be found dressed to code. Either my shirt wasn't white or it wasn't a button up or it was untucked or my tie was too loose or I wasn't wearing the stupid little black vest or I'd lost my name tag or I was wearing moccasins instead of dress shoes. You maybe couldn't count on me being on time but you certainly COULD count on me being dressed incorrectly. I was, in fact, sent home on numerous occasions to find my name tag / tie / white shirt upon which I would ask, "Can I at least punch in first?"

One day, during a lull, I found myself returning VHS tapes to their shelves - this was 2002, when all the stores were just beginning puberty, making The Big Change from VHS to DVD. I traveled through the new releases - "Orange County" starring Colin Hanks and Jack Black, "The Mothman Prophecies" starring Richard Gere and Debra Messing and "Kung Pow: Enter the Fist" starring Steve Oedekerk and Tonguey. I worked my way through horror. Some of my favorites; "Jack Frost: Attack of the Killer Snowman", "Head of the Family" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre part 2". I slowly massaged my way through comedy with "What About Bob", "Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie" and "Naked Gun 33 1/3" upon which I finally settled upon a little number entitled "Empire Records", a film starring Renee Zellwegger ("The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation"), Liv Tyler ("Empire Records") and Rory Cochrane ("A Scanner Darkly").

I picked up the box and, staring back at me was a young man, barely older than I was, who happened to bare an uncanny resemblance to myself. He had ear length, shaggy brown hair, thick eyebrows and a broad, charming smile.

A girl entered the store. I remember she was in the class below me until I flunked eleventh grade and then we were destined to graduate together. I can't remember her name, although I can recall that she was quite pretty and ran in circles far above me. In my excitement in finding my true doppleganger, I shouted out her name and signaled her over. Hesitantly, she made her way over to me, crouched down on the floor, probably looking as though I'd just walked out of a forest commune.

I looked up at her, pulled the box off the shelf and slowly handed it to her.

"Look," I said. "It's me."

I pointed at Ethan Embry and smiled, trying to recreate his exact expression. Trying to get his emotion just right. What was he thinking for that photo? What was his insperado? I tried to tap his thoughts and make them my own. We shared one body, we might as well share one mind.

While I pondered these things, the pretty girl just smiled nervously, laughed as though she were a captive in my basement and I were showing her my pinky toe collection and then walked away, probably towards "A Walk to Remember" starring Mandy Moore and Shane West.

I went home that night and told my mom about my strange experience. I pulled a picture of my life twin up on the computer to show her. She said, "Wow," like she really meant it.

A day, maybe months, maybe years later, I came home and found a picture of myself stuck to the fridge via a Jesus magnet. In the photo I sat on a rock, gazing off into the distance, my hair shorter than usual and on my feet I wore black and white plaid shoes. I looked at the photograph and wondered when it was taken. I couldn't make out the surroundings and I couldn't remember ever owning a pair of shoes like that in my life. My eyes wandered back to the face and then to the strange, glossy quality of the paper. It was then that I realized this was no ordinary photograph. This was a picture clipped straight from the pages of US Weekly or People or Tiger Beat. A picture of Ethan Embry (born Ethan Philian Randall). My mother saw the uncanny resemblance and flaunted my gemini to our extended family and friends whenever she could. Years later, on a trip home from college, I found the same photo, framed, sitting on the dining room table.

Fast forward roughly six years. I now live in Van Nuys, California and have spent almost the past decade being asked if I've ever been told that I look like Ethan Embry or rather, "that guy from "Dutch" and "Can't Hardly Wait". "Yes," I reply, "I have heard that before. And as a matter of fact, if you have just a minute, I have a pretty funny story about it............."


My wife and I lived right off of Basset and Woodman in a neighborhood populated mostly by Mexicans. The store signs and billboards all read like La Cucaracha and trailer made burritos were never far away.

Just down the block, resting on the corner of Woodman and Victory was a little restaurant called Harry's Golden Grill, which prided itself as being labeled one of "LA's finest" and for having a variety of ethnic foods and breakfast all day. Truly a jack of all trades. My wife and I would frequent the place, order some hummus and pita bread, play .75 cents worth of Marvel vs. Capcom, make very brief small talk with the owner, "how are you / hot out there, huh? / how are you?" and then we'd eat our food and go.

But one day....one day, the fates had an altogether different idea for us. On this day, Harry's was nearly packed - a rarity. Jade and I walked in, ordered the usual and sat down. Across the restaurant (roughly ten feet - it was quite a small place) sat a table of giddy young girls and a mother hen. As we waited for our food, I began to notice that a few of the girls were continually looking over in our direction and giggling. Eventually, our food came and eventually the girls got up and left. The door slowly swung shut behind them and, as it did, one of them sent a final look in my direction and said something that I could almost make out. I shrugged to myself and continued eating my pita bread, wondering why I had so much bread and so little hummus. My wife leaned over to me and asked if I heard what they'd said. i shook my head and shoved more bread in my mouth, mixed some of Harry's specialty hot sauce in with the hummus. She said that those girls thought I was Ethan Embry. She said that right before the door shut, the last one out said to her friend that I was "that guy from "Sweet Home Alabama" (starring Reese Witherspoon and Ethan Embry).

I shrugged again and laughed a little. What's new? I wonder if he ever got the "You look like John Brookbank" comment. I told my wife that I wished they would have come over and asked. I would've said that I was. She says, "Yeah, right" and calls my bluff just as the girl and the mother hen walk back into the restaurant. The young one's eyes are locked onto mine and I could sense the butterflies in her stomach and smell the sweat breaking out all over her body. She took tiny steps and ended up standing directly in front of me, hands held awkwardly at her sides, her mom smiling behind her with squinty little eyes.

She speaks.

"Hi - hey. Are you - I'm sorry - my friend and I thought you were - are you that guy from - have you seen - that movie with Reese Witherspoon?"

She plays dumb and I like it. I look over at my wife and smile before saying, "Sweet Home Alabama. Yeah, that's me. Ethan Embry." I shake her hand. I shake her mom's hand. I don't stand up. The girl turns to mush and begins fanning herself with her hands. She continues, "Oh my - Oh my gosh! I knew it! I knew it! My friend and I were talking and I knew it! Can I - could I have your autograph?" I pat my t-shirt even though there are no pockets on it and I say, "Yeah, sure - I mean - I don't have any paper or pen or anything, though".

She takes three leaps and lands in front of the counter, where Harry himself is cooking a kosher pizza. The girl, at the top of her lungs, shouts at him. "Hey - hey, mister! Can I have a piece of paper, oh my gosh - ANYTHING just to write on? Do you have a pencil? A pen? A PENNNN?"

Harry. "Uh......I've just got this sticky note.......why?"

"Yeah, yeah - that works - gimmie two and a PEN"

Harry. "Why?"

The girl turns and point at me. "Do you see that guy right THERE? Have you seen "Sweet Home Alabama"? He plays Bobby Ray!"

The restaurant turns and looks at me. Certainly, none of them know who Bobby Ray is and probably nearly as many have seen "Sweet Home Alabama" but the wolves are interested in rich blood. I blush and smile. I take another bite of pita bread. My hummus is gone. I just dip it in hot sauce.

She's back.

I take the little purple sticky note and the pen and ask her name. It's Amanda. I ask her how to spell it and she tells me. I figure real celebrities always write a little note to go along with their signature but I can't think of anything clever so I just write "Amanda. Awesome. Ethan Embry". She takes it from me, pinching it by the corner, probably not wanting to stain the tiny sheet with her sweat and looks at it as though I've just handed her the paper equivalent of the holy grail.

With shaky hands she holds out the second sticky note. "Could you sign one for my best friend?" "Sure. What's her name?" "Nina". "How do you spell it?"

In my most legible scribble I write, "Nina, COOOOOOOOOOOOL!!! Ethan Embry".

While I'm writing the girl looks at my wife, who's sitting right next to me at a four person table and asks, "Are you his wife?" and my wife says, "No. I'm just a friend".

The girl says, "Oh," and ignores her.

I hand her the paper and she thanks me so very very much. You can sort of tell that she wants a hug but I don't bother standing up. Instead she just says, "Thank you so much. You were really good in that movie - "Sweet Home Alabama". i watch it almost every day. It's one of my favorites". I tell her it was a great experience and that Reese Witherspoon was great to work with.

She shakes my hand again and so does her mom and they turn and leave. I feel good because I've lied and made this girl's day / month / year. Probably that little sticky note is framed somewhere in Los Angeles, sitting in her pink and purple room and that makes me feel all fuzzy. I feel weird though because the restaurant is still watching me so I decide it's time to leave. I go to the counter to ask for a box - way too much Pita bread to just throw away. I've got hungry dogs at home. Henry is suddenly more interested in talking to me. He no longer cares for "How are you? It's hot out, huh?" Today he says to me, "Hey...you live just down the street, right? Down on Basset?"

I nod. "Yeah - just around the corner. Nice neighborhood".

He smiles. "Me too. I see you outside sometimes. I live down the block. We're neighbors".

"Cool".

I'd say more to him, try to make his day as well, but I'm a familiar face to him. He knows where I live. I'm suddenly at risk of being caught, my cover blown, my identity revealed. I grab the box, shove the pita inside and bolt, never to return. See, I don't ever carry cash so I always pay with my card and my card, most definitely does not say Ethan Embry. It says John Brookbank, pressed into my plastic money like a row of scarlet letters.

Walking back home, we laugh about it. "Let's just say I was Ethan Embry," I say to my wife, "do you suppose I would be living in Van Nuys?"