I am not in the habit of documenting the erosion of my mental state over the course of the pandemic, because if I were to do so in earnest, I would need to take my sickbed for a year and change. It’s not that I’m stupid—quite the opposite—but a year of inside time and limited social contact has made certain parts of my mind go dormant. This is why I found myself lying awake one recent evening, zooted to the heavens, trying in vain to remember the name of the woman you see above.
I don’t know why my brain chose this particular puzzle. Perhaps I’d seen a photo of Rebel Wilson on the internet at some point during the workday and that had stuck in my mind’s craw. Maybe it was the news item about the class ring Bridsesmaids director Paul Feig sent her on occasion of the film’s tenth aniversary. Maybe I was thinking about Isn’t It Romantic, a movie that I watched for about 20 minutes before turning off. At this juncture, it is a fruitless endeavor to figure out why my mind is doing anything, but the meat of this particularly confusing pie is that I could not for the life of me think of Rebel Wilson’s name.
Some of the other names my decaying brain came up for Ms. Wilson, including a photo of her dressed as a cat, are below.
- Busy Anderson
- Busy Phillips
- Rita Wilson
- That Cat
- Outlaw Thomas
- Wilson Phillips
None of these are the right name, but neither is the name that I finally settled on before drifting off to slumber. “Renegade Philips,” I thought to myself, a smile flitting across my face. “That’s the gal from the movies. Renegade Phillips.”