Earlier this week, I saw some web video featuring Tina Fey.  Actually, I lie – I didn’t watch the video itself because I tire of Tina Fey.  OK, maybe not Tina Fey entirely but the whole “30 Rock” thing.  I stopped watching “30 Rock” in its second season because it became an exercise in watching jokes coming a mile away down Fifth Avenue in a cab for 30 minutes.  One day we’re going to look back at “30 Rock” with an overwhelming amount of scorn.  Sort of the same we look at “Friends” today.

But I digress.  The Tiny Fey video.  I didn’t watch it.  But that’s not important.  Because what’s important is a comment I read that was posted at the bottom of this video.  It read, “Tina Fey is everything I hope my daughter becomes…”  I took a minute to consider if I agreed with this sentiment, given my loathing of “30 Rock”, which has become pretty much my only benchmark of Tina Fey these days.  Apparently, a lifetime on SNL and that “Baby Mama” mean nothing anymore.

And you know what – I agree with that comment.

I know I said before that I tire of Tina Fey.  I probably don’t (remember, I’m pinning all of this on the shit that “30 Rock” has become) because she really does seem a like an admirable human being.  She seems totally normal, probably rocks just the right amount of geek to be lovable (I’m looking at you, Zooey Deschanel – it’s time to learn from the queen), seems to have a healthy work ethic (books, movies, TV show, you name it), has an enviable amount of wit.  She really does embody the perfect cocktail of hard work, talent, and luck.  With seemingly little to no ill side effects for it.  I suppose Tina Fey is effectively what we can envision as “a good person”.  I mean, how the fuck can anyone not get on board that train?

Which got me thinking – who’s the male equivalent of Tina Fey?  That’s not to say that Tina Fey as a role model because she’s a girl.  Or that she’s only a role model for girls and isn’t good enough for the male populace.  What I’m doing is reacting to the comment in that video – “Tina Fey is everything I hope my daughter becomes…” – there’s clearly a gender qualification in that sentiment.

I think about that line and I think about my two sons.  Who the hell can they look up to?  Who can I, as their dad, suggest so-and-so is everything I hope my sons become?  I look to the people I admire(d) – Freddie Mercury, Joe Strummer, Eddie Izzard, and Jimmy Page  – not one of them is good enough for my kids.  They’re brilliant, highly influential, but they’re also fairly flawed in their individual ways.  And half those guys are dead.

Is there anyone alive and kicking that can be a role model in the same vein as Tina Fey?  Someone who matches her ability to be smart, creative, accomplished, virtually free of retarded celebrity behavior, and chilled out.  A good person.

The last time I used the phrase “a good person” was in reference to Adam Yauch.  I was relaying to the missus how much gutted I was that he had died.  Poor, dear Adam Yauch.  I don’t know every detail about him, but the bits that I know were enough to make me cry when he died.  Between the Tibet thing, his persistence with the Beasties and other music ventures, his film company, and generally being known as just as pretty chilled out guy, I suppose Adam Yauch was someone to look up to.

I’m quite fond of Jack White.  He’s got this creative drive and some rare talent that allows him to create some amazing shit.  He’s got the music, he’s done films, he’s got this whole thing with his record company and his mission for the revival of vinyl, and most of all, he’s actively shunned most of the trappings of celeb life (you can’t call that eccentric existence in Nashville a trapping, can you).  But could I say about Jack White that he’s “is everything I hope my son becomes”?  Maybe, I dunno.  He does take himself way too fucking seriously, but it’s hard to hold that against him when you look at what he’s stood for.

I know I just wrote what probably seemed like a love letter to Jack White.  But this isn’t about Jack White.  This is about Tina Fey and whether or not she has a worthy penis-bearing counterpart.  Maybe Jack White’s as good as it gets right now.  If it has to be Jack White, it has to be Jack White, I suppose.

[UPDATE, June 5, 2012]  You know what, fuck Jack White.  Tonight, while I was packing for a quick trip to L.A., I fired up my DVR and found a David Gilmour concert – the one he played at the Royal Albert Hall (I believe it’s the one where David Bowie mangled “Comfortably Numb” because he’s David fucking Bowie).  And I remembered how brilliant David Gilmour is.  How brilliant Gilmour’s always been.  From his slightly defiant youth to chart his own course as a kid when his parents decided to move to the U.S. and he decided to remain in the U.K, to his move to London from Cambridge to try new shit, to joining Pink Floyd, to the rest that is well-known history.  Gilmour is brilliant.  He’s a fucking genius, and I fucking love that guy.  I didn’t even realize what a massive influence he’d been on me, despite the fact that I actually painstakingly took several months to recreate his signature black Strat (no, I didn’t buy the off-the-shelf version from Fender for five grand).  That’s the fucking guy.  That’s guy I think I would probably say with little hesitation, “David Gilmour is everything I hope my son(s) become…”