(written: 7 December 2003)
The classy thing to do would be not to draw attention to it...
I dunno about YOU out there, but me, I'm an obsessed dribbling fan of celebrity. Ok I'm not obsessed so much as interested, but there have been times when I've perhaps tiptoed carelessly along the line and...
well...
*hides multiple shrines to Tom Arnold*
I can't help it. Much like Rob Thomas, yeah, I've got a disease, deep inside me baby.
Anyway, I've always been of the belief that yeah, I'm a pretty cool person. I know that given the right circumstances I'm easy to get along with and um... I have nice perfume, so if I were to say, be given the opportunity to "hang out" with someone such as Eddie Vedder, that he'd probably think I was alright and maybe we'd be LIFE LONG FRIENDS.
Please don't refer back to the opening paragraph. I think I just proved a point I was trying to avoid.
Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnyway, so I'm hanging out with some cool celebrity and I'm being normal and they're appreciating the change from the usual fan who is hyperventilating and making them more than a little nervous. They're thinking "Wow, this person is so unaffected by my celebrity and dare I say, they smell pretty!" and before you know it I'm lunching with Dennis Hopper and riding around NYC on a HOG. No no. A chopper. Heh. Is there a difference? Zed's dead baby. Zed's dead.
But let's face it. In reality, if I were to meet pretty much any celebrity, regardless of how cool or impressed I was by them, chances are I'd be a quivering idiot. And Eddie Vedder would never know that I'm actually relatively normal. And his new best friend if only he'd let me in.
But what really oils my scotsman is that I KNOW I'd be all dribbly and shy and blushy and stammery and giving the impression of total awe if I were to be greeted by a "celebrity" who's work I not only didn't admire, but kinda disliked.
The idea of fawning over Charlotte Dawson kinda makes me feel a little dirty.
I like it best when you see someone in the street and you have this glimmer or recognition. You stare and they see you stare and they smile smuggly and you think "Did... I go to school with them?" when in reality it's some soap opera actor or something. If only they knew how little you really cared when you weren't aware of their bulging... wallet.
It reminds me of the time when we were in Auckland outside a friend of a friend's place. Sitting in the car waiting for people to come out, it had been a long day of travelling and my travel companion had been GASSY. I'm talking about some serious smells here people. Around the same time as our people came out a car pulled up and the door opened enough to turn the overhead light on. We saw it was Michael Galvin who plays Dr. Chris Warner in Shortland Street, NZ's FAVOURITE drama. We knew he lived there with Haldir from Lord of the Rings, and he was with some lady... a lady he clearly liked. Our car door opened and just as Michael leaned in to passionately kiss his lady friend, my friend's "bot bot" fired off a 40 canon salute and our windows were all promptly rolled down, followed by screams.
Michael looked over, clearly under the impression that we were screaming at him kissing a girl. OH MY GOD IT'S MICHAEL GALVIN! OH MY GOD HE'S SO ... ... FAMOUS! AND HIS NIPPLES ARE PINK AND SOFT! OH MY GOD HE'S KISSING SOMEONE AND IT'S NOT HIS ON SCREEN GIRLFRIEND RACHEL! OH MY GOD!
Imagine the blow to your ego, assuming he cared. We weren't screaming at YOU buddy. My friend farted. Yes that's right. We were screaming because something smelled like sulphur.
I'm going to bed now.