I just realized I have a large enough collection of “Awkward Celebrity
Encounters” to create a new blog category just for them.
Here’s another one:
In 1984, I was twenty and won tickets to see a Paul Young concert at the Kabuki Theater in San
Francisco. I
wasn’t necessarily a huge fan of Paul Young; I mean, I liked his songs. But mostly I was a huge fan of
winning stuff off the radio. So my friend Dayna and I got all decked out in our
lace tights, studded belts, bangles and big hair and went to the concert.
During the show, we were happy enough lost in the middle of the concert
crowd when two of the theater’s security guards said to Dayna and me, “Hey, follow us. We’ll
get you better spots.” They led us to an area right near the stage.“Cool,” I thought. “We’re close enough to see
Paul sweat.” And we were happy to be there and had no plans to get closer.
Once the show ended, the security guards again said, “Follow us.” We did.And they took us backstage… no, actually,
they pushed us backstage.Once there, I
thought, Now what? I didn’t particularly care to be back there. And Dayna,
always way more cool than I was, cared even less. But once we were back there,
with the security guards no where in sight, we started feeling mischievous. So we
quietly walked down the hallway, covering our mouths as we tried not to laugh
too loudly.
Then we poked our heads into an opened door, and there, all covered in sweat,
stood Paul Young with his band.
Paul didn’t say anything, but his band or crew members started shouting,
“Get out of here, you bitches!”
Yow! Now that wasn’t the reaction I expected, I thought. “We’re not
bitches,” I think I squeaked, just before running behind Dayna in fear.
Dayna and I stumbled out of there and looked at each other. “Well that was
weird,” Dayna said. “Yeah, quite an experience,” I agreed. And that was the end
that - except that every time I’d hear a Paul Young song from then on, I’d get
a little queasy.
Years later, one night in the early to mid 1990s, I went to pick my husband
up at the recording studio he was working at in North Hollywood.When I arrived, he stood on the street
in the dark talking to our songwriter/producer friend John Capek and some
other man.It was too dark to see the other person well.I approached the group.
“Oh, this is my wife, Michele,” my husband said to the mystery man.
As I reached out to shake the guy’s hand, my husband said, “Michele, this is
Paul. Paul Young.”
I wonder if Paul thought it was weird that I laughed as I shook his hand?
Sunday Scribblingswriting prompt this week:Write about a chance encounter you've had with an old friend or flame, or perhaps with a stranger -- or even a celebrity.
1986 – I was twenty-two and had lived in LA less than a year when my friend since childhood, Cindy, came to visit from San Francisco. I was living in a Spanish-style house, which I shared with three other people, on the hillside just above Poquito Mas (a tiny Mexican fastfood place) in Universal City. I worked as a movie extra, so I didn’t have a lot of money. But somehow – due to a crazy fluke of luck – Cindy and I had so many celebrity encounters that weekend, it almost seemed like my life was kind of exciting.
First, I couldn’t have planned Cindy’s arrival any better. She would be landing at LAX (LA Airport) that Friday afternoon. Coincidentally, my agency called to see if I could work on a film called “No Way Out,” which would be filming at LAX that same Friday. So I told Cindy, once her plane lands, to find the film crew and I’d be there.
Early that Friday morning, I reported to the “No Way Out” film set, got my wardrobe and went to the make-up chair where a hair-stylist wrestled my huge ‘80s hair into an elegant French twist. Then the stylist told me to wait in the trailer for a make-up person. While I waited alone – or so I thought - I checked out my wardrobe and my new up-swept do in the mirror, looking at myself from all angles. As time past, I swiveled in the chair and zoned out. Then I heard a male voice in the back of the trailer croak a laidback “Hello,” like maybe he just woke up.
I jumped in my seat, realizing, Uhh…I’m not alone. There - lounging on a couch in the back of the trailer, propped up on one tanned and toned arm, wearing faded Levi jeans and a white T-shirt – was an all-American boy-man with sandy-blonde hair. He'd been there the entire time. Ugh! Did I make any stupid faces in the mirror? And did he see me? My face felt hot. I mumbled, ”Hello,” and stared into my lap. I didn’t know who he was, maybe a crew member – a boom operator or an electrician – taking a break. I only knew he was cute.
About an hour later, I heard “Action!” So I did as directed and began walking in the background beside a taxi cab at the center of the scene. That’s when I saw the cute guy I met in the trailer again. He was dressed in a crisp, blue naval uniform… and he was the actor in this taxi cab scene. He was the star of the film: Kevin Costner! That’s when I noticed his amazingly blue eyes, eyes that seemed all the bluer once I knew he was the film's star. Eh, I’m shallow.
Right after the scene, I saw my friend Cindy waving in the airport crowd. “Cindy, you’re here!!” I yelled, running toward her, still wearing my khaki pencil-skirt and heels, and then proceeded to slide and fall right on my face in front of the film crew. Some welcoming committee, huh?
But I made up for the sloppy welcome by introducing her to my “new friend” Kevin, between scenes. My eyelids wore out from batting them so furiously - which was especially pathetic because most of his attention seemed to be focused on my gorgeous green-eyed-brunette friend Cindy.
“What’s your name again?” Kevin asked her. “Cindy? Hmmm…” he said as his eyes climbed up her legs.
Little did we know then, Cindy also happens to be the name of the woman he was married to at the time. Funny, he didn't mention that.
After filming, Cindy and I rode an airport elevator down with Kevin, and I said, in a way-too-loud voice, “So, Cindy, where should we go for lunch?” hinting (or shouting) maybe he might want to join us. Cindy elbowed me and whispered, “You are sooo obvious.”
Obvious, yes. But I was twenty-two and knew that if there’s anytime to take chances, to be lamely obvious, to make a fool of myself, it’s a good age to do it. But instead of sharing lunch with Kevin Costner, we watched him – again wearing his Levis and T-shirt - walk off into perfect, golden afternoon. He must’ve felt our eyes burning into him, because he turned around, smiled a dimpled smile and waved good-bye.
Later that night Cindy and I went to the Improv comedy club in Hollywood. Richard Jeni was one of the comedians who performed that evening. Cindy and I sat at a little round table in the front row, just the two of us, until Ray Parker, Jr. – the singer of “Ghostbusters” sat down with us. Again, Cindy elbowed me, but not to tell me how lame I was. Instead, she whispered, “That’s Ray Parker, Jr.” I smiled as nonchalantly as possible, as if I always sit at tables with singers whose catchy songs I can't get out of my head.
After the show, Cindy and I got drinks at the Improv bar and were immediately approached by Richard Jeni. He and Cindy hit it off right away.
“Hey, wanna get something to eat at Canter’s?” He asked her.
I shrugged.
“Yeah, sounds great,” Cindy chirped.
At Canter’s, I picked at my pastrami on rye as Richard and Cindy had one of those immediate-connection conversations - not one pause or bored sigh; everything she or he said was amazing, brilliant, incredibly interesting or adorable! Yick.
Meanwhile, I ate pickles, let out bored sighs and mumbled about how we (meaning just Cindy and I) should head out to go dancing.
“Hey,” Richard said, looking deeply into Cindy’s eyes, completely forgetting I was there. “Why don’t I take you out tonight?”
“Well…” Cindy started to say until I interrupted.
“Eh, eh, eh… Look, Cindy’s here to see me. You can talk to her later,” I told Richard, thinking I was saving Cindy’s butt and she’d thank me later. Now that I look back, that was a lame-brain move on my part. Cindy paid for her own plane ticket and I should’ve shut-up and let her make her own decision. But at the time, I thought I was some sorta hero.
Anyway, Cindy - being the smart, thoughtful and kind friend she was/is - would have said what I said...only with a lot more tact and a less snotty attitude than I used. But I didn't give her a chance to speak.
Before we left Canter’s, Richard ran into Andrew Dice Clay, so we joined him and his mouth at another table. I think Dice talked until breakfast, at least it seemed like that.
Cindy left about a day later. She returned home to San Francisco where she and Richard Jeni had many long-distance phone calls and a year long relationship, making me realize I was no hero at all and more of a lame-brain than I thought.
But, hey, I did show her one heck of a star-studded weekend.
Please note - In Quick Update Part 1, I mention my camera problem. The photos taken below were with my husband's hard-to-use, duct-tape fastened camera.
I have a writing gig where I get to write about L.A. cultural (there is culture in L.A.! I swear.) and entertainment events for L.A. Splash. My first three assignments were to cover some of the events at the Los Angeles Film Festival.
Pee Wee, David Arquette and Pop Secret Oddly, I kept running into Pee Wee Herman. My daughter (who was able to attend some of the events) asked to have her picture taken with Pee Wee and David Arquette, who were standing together. I absent mindedly handed my bag of popcorn, which was in a Pop Secret bag, to David Arquette while I adjusted my cumbersome, duct-tape wrapped camera. To be expected, now that I think of it in hind-sight, David A. looked at me oddly, then looked over to Pee Wee. "Hey! Are you with Pop Secret?" he asked me. It took me a second to realize they thought I was trying to get a photo of them holding the Pop Secret bag - like I was some sort of devious Pop Secret operative. Gawd! I'm a dork. I should have held the Pop Secret bag between my knees.
Broken car, Sleaze-bags and Bird Crap...What a vacation! I planned to spend a few relaxing days in La Jolla, only to have three days of stress. I traveled with my daughter and her friend, since my husband was too busy working to come along.
On the way to La Jolla, our car broke down on the Five freeway in San Clemente... on a Sunday! Which meant only one car rental place was open, and about to close if a tow truck didn't get me there quickly enough. Fortunately, the rental car man went out of his way to wait, thus saving our vacation!
I'd like to acknowledge all that I'm grateful for during my road mishap: my cell phone, AAA, Bruce at San Clemente Rent-For-Less car rental (who waited for me before closing), the amazing Oscar Ortiz, owner of Auto Medic (who eventually repaired my car at minimal cost), all the nice Marines from Camp Pendelton who stopped to see if we needed help and the surfers who told us, as they walked toward the beach, where the hell we were so a tow truck could find us. I thank all of you!
Now, I'd like to say what I do not appreciate -
Sea World... Yikes! What a rip off... I forgot to check out the prices before we went, so, too late, I discovered they charge Disney prices, but offer much less - and then keep charging for things inside the park.
(On left, beautiful La Jolla Cove)
After paying $150.00 for three people, I was not to pleased to realize I'd need to pay $3.00 more for a straw to drink my soda, or pay another $4.00 for some fish to pet the dolphin, or $3.00 per person for the sky tower for a view of the park... and of the two rides they have - one of them, the Atlantis coaster, was out of commission all morning. In only two hours, we'd seen and done everything. And... to top it off, literally, a seagull crapped on my head and the Sea World cartoon "artist" mocked my daughter in a valley girl voice. When she asked where the dolphins were, he said, "They're, like, totally over there!" We're like, totally, never returning to Sea World - even if the bat rays are the coolest. Have you ever pet a bat ray? Just like slippery little puppy dogs.
The next day we sunbathed and surfed; less expensive and less stressful.
On our last night, my daughter asked a La Jolla police officer where we could find a good Italian restaurant. He not only told us about La Taverna, but drove us right to the front door in his police car. Now that's serving the public!
Anyway, I just wanted to thank the helpful, and note the not so helpful. In one way or another, you're all etched into my brain.
(Left, Belmont Park's coaster is 80 years old)
One last mention: I'd definitely recommend Hotel La Jolla At The Shores; The bright colorful decor was pure California, the staff was helpful, the rooms were clean, the pool and jacuzzi were nice and the prices were reasonable. (photo below, the view from our hotel room.)
I will get to my Demi-Ashton experience, but some details first...
A few weeks back, my daughter and I decided to escape the Valley for a few hours in the dark at the ArcLight Theater in Hollywood; unfortunately, we left ourselves little time for the jammed 101 freeway, Friday night Hollywood Bowl traffic and other Los Angeles time consumers - such as the egomaniacs who drive on the wrong side of Cahuenga, by-passing us plebians patiently waiting in traffic, to be let in by a "nice" accommodating motorist up ahead. Watching an I'm-more-important-than-everyone-else Porche-driver allowed into the traffic caused me to rant about how sometimes courtesies are inappropriately given to the wrong people...such as this Porche-driver...leaving those of us who played by the rules to get pushed back.
What does this have to do with Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher? Well, when we arrived ten minutes late for our movie (which we already purchased tickets for online) at the ArcLight parking structure and dashed to the 6th level parking lot elevator, Demi, Ashton and her three kids were waiting. It was one of those awkward Hollywood moments. Demi's oldest daughter looked at us with a guarded "How are these people going to react?" expression, and then as my daughter and I piled into the elevator with the Demi-Ashton clan - they stood on one-side and us on the other, I looked at Ashton, then at Demi, and they back at me with those "Yep, it's us" acknowledgement grins. My daughter leaned back against the elevator wall trying to act so nonchalant I thought she might yawn. Just as Demi (looking beautiful by the way, even without any makeup and buried under a baseball cap) pushed the elevator button, a guy and girl in their twenties ran in before the doors could close. That's when it got uncomfortable.
The guy began referring to some incident on Ashton's show "Punk'd" and whooping it up with "Whoo hooo"s and "Don't know how you did that one!" and Ashton smiled and laughed - even did a little sparring, boxer type dance with the guy (probably in reference to something on "Punk'd). Meanwhile, the guy's girlfriend just stared and giggled.
When the elevator opened, my daughter and I planned on running toward the theater, since we were now about fifteen minutes late - but we couldn't. The couple, wearing their "We're in the presence of stars" glazed expressions, blocked our exit. The guy, about six feet tall and wide, gallantly opened his arms so that Ashton, Demi and her kids could get out first, leaving my daughter and me unable to flee. I pleaded "Excuse me!" as loud as possible, and tried to get around the big guy's arm span, but it was no use; we were practically pinned to the wall so that Demi and Ashton could leave the elevator in safety...without worry of mixing with riff-raff such as us.
As soon as we could, my daughter and I made our escape. I ran past the guy and girl, glanced back at their silly, smiling Demi-Ashton haze glazed expressions and yelled, "Thanks! Thanks for being so nice to the celebrities and treating us like crap!" Then I ran past the Demi-Ashton clan in a blur, with my daughter yelling to me "Your pants are falling down!"
The evening caused me to reflect on this thought: It's wonderful to be kind to people, but crappy when it's at the expense of others.
