Cause When You're a Celebrity, It's Adios Reality

Stinky with some of her friends when she was in grade school. This was the same year Sally Field's granddaughter went there.

Okay. I'm going to try again to get some sleep tonight. I'm posting something from my old blog again. This one is from November, 2005, and it's one where I do some name dropping. Wheee! Also, I messed around with the color of the text and it won't let me turn it black. Sorry. Here it is:

Since my last blog post, I got on this celebrity kick and so I'll be wearing it all the way out. Because that's what I do. The other day, the girls were watching Mrs. Doubtfire and while I stood there and watched with them for a second on my way to clean the kitchen, I realized that I had met both of the stars of the movie. Now, when I say met them, what I really mean is that I was in the same room with them and if they didn't speak directly to me, they at least spoke in my general direction or to someone else I knew. Close enough.

It's amusing to make connections between myself and people I see on TV. I love the idea of famous people. They never seem real. Which is why it is so much fun to talk about them. I like to make sweeping generalizations about them - really, about everyone and everything. I like to say things like, celebrities are just like us but they're shallower (my dictionary tells me this is more correct than saying, "more shallow" even though it looks awkward). Or, famous people are just like us but they're Scientologists. There is so much shit you can talk about celebrities. I don't even think celebrities think of themselves as real people and that's why they do such stupid things. That could be one of the reasons it is so weird to see a famous person in the flesh. They become real and it's not as easy to make sweeping generalizations about them. They also look different without all that make-up and kind lighting.

I met Robin Williams when I waited on him at the Courtyard Cafe on 24th St in San Francisco in 1986. He only had one son then and he was with 2 women. I think one was his ex-wife (his current wife at the time) and the other one could have been his nanny who turned into his next wife. She may have been someone totally different than that, but it's more fun to speculate and create fun fiction that you pass off as reality whenever you can. It could have been true. You never know.

All the other waiters kept asking me if I said anything funny to him. What did they expect me to do? Go up and say, "Hey, a funny thing happened to me on the way to the table...", or reprise my lame-ass Mork impersonation from junior high? Honestly, I think the last thing he would want is for some bonehead to come over and try their shtick on him while he ate in order to get discovered. So, I kept it low key and did my job and he was the perfect customer. He was pleasant, kind and he tipped well. I judged everyone back then by what kind of a customer they were, so to me, he was also a good person.

I met Sally Field two years ago at International night at my daughters' grade school. Her son Peter had been in the workshop in the early 90's and like many workshop alum, he moved away and then came back. His daughter was in kindergartern at Horace Mann and Sally was visiting during the event. She was very gracious and everyone was talking about it, but very few people came over and bothered her. At one point, my daughter and her friend were walking toward her and being all squirrelly about her being there but too shy to say anything directly to her and Sally (we're on a first name basis now) laughed and said, "Hello girls," and I think they both actually squealed. At this point in my life, I judge people by how nice they are to my girls and that's why I think Sally Field is a good person.

The thing about celebrities, is that they are like us but smaller. Both Sally Field and Robin Williams were about 4 feet tall close up. Sally was so tiny, I could have scooped her up in my arms and cradled her like a baby if I had wanted to. Obviously, I didn't want to. Even I'm not that fucked up.

Now, I think that may be just enough name dropping for one post. Come back tomorrow when I'm sure I'll drop some more. Because celebrities are just like us, only more interesting.

I Don't Need Permission, Make My Own Decisions

Zadar Cow from Hell crew. If you watched MTV back in 1988, you might recognize Randy of the Redwoods way to the right of this pic.

I like movies that tell you what happens to the characters at the end. You know, like so-and-so caught a flesh-eating bacteria and died in extreme pain ten years later or, that one guy married a scary hag and sang "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" to himself every night just to get to sleep for the rest of his life. Well, at the end of one of the movies I watched, they said one of the guys got out of prison around 20 years later. I wondered if he would go try to see his wife, then I thought, she'd be pretty old. Then I figured, she'd probably be younger than I am and I don't feel like I'm "pretty old". (whatever that means) So, then I started thinking about what I was doing 20 years ago and if someone came up to me then and showed me a movie of what I'd be like at 43, would I be happy or sad at the outcome?

I think that I'd be okay with most of it. At 23, I'd be surprised that I actually had kids now, (as would many of my friends) and I think I'd be disappointed that I was still single in my advanced age. I'm sure I'd be totally shocked that I actually had health, dental and life insurance, almost like a real grown-up. Now, when I look back as a 43 year old, how do I judge my 23 year old self?

Here is a photo of me and an actress who was in Zadar Cow from Hell with my ex-husband. If you recognize her, that means you probably saw Howard the Duck. She was in that. It's okay, I won't tell anyone. We were in the bathroom at the old College Street Club. It's now The Union bar. Oh, and check out my scrawny little arms.

In 1988, I broke-up with my first real boyfriend and started dating my future ex-husband. I lived in a house full of MFA actors. That Summer, they were shooting two films in the area. One was called Field of Dreams. One of my roommates was Kevin Costner's stand-in and another did a lot of work on the set for the film. I still like to watch the movie and see what items I can find that ended up in our house after the shoot. I know it's super annoying, because I'm basically playing I Spy. "Hey, there's our old VCR and that scale in the Dr's office? That's the one my old roommate used to weigh all his weed on."

The other movie was called Zadar Cow from Hell. Never heard of it? Yeah, well no one else really has either. It was supposed to be a vehicle for a comedy troop called Duck's Breath Mystery Theater - which spawned such characters as Dr. Science and Randy of the Redwoods. My future ex-husband actually had a speaking role in it. It totally bombed and my future ex-husband blew me off a lot during the filming and all the partying surrounding it. Of course, I put up with all of that and moved to L.A. with him at the end of the Summer when he was going to try to get discovered...Again.

L.A. was horrible. We couch surfed the whole time we were there and I worked at the junior's department of a department store called The Broadway at The Glendale Galleria. I sold clothes to Punky Brewster and to the cast of a brilliant film (cough, cough) by the name of Pink Cadillac with Clint Eastwood and Bernadette Peters. They also pumped in Debbie Gibson and Bobby Brown on about a thirty minute loop of the popular songs of that Fall. Can you imagine a more ridiculous, and uncomfortable environment for me to subject myself to? No? Me either.

Of course, all my future ex-husband's acting leads fell through and we ended up hitching a ride back to Iowa with my sister who was moving back from Arizona about that same time.

So, as a 43 year old, I would tell the 23 year old me to run and not look back. I guess I had to make those mistakes to learn everything the hard way - apparently, the only way I learned back then. On the other hand, if I had run away from my future ex-husband, I wouldn't have my two Stinky girls right now, and as far as I'm concerned, they're worth any ridiculous situation and however many years of bullshit I subjected myself to. Have I dated an actor since then? Um, hell no.

Lookin' for Food in All the Wrong Places

I found out at the last minute that I would have the girls for most of the day today. I was happy about it, but I didn't have anything planned for dinner and almost no food in my house. I've been letting it run out because the girls are leaving tomorrow until saturday, and I'm also broke.

The problem, of course, is that hardly anything is open on Christmas in my town. I drove around and found a couple of convenience stores and for some reason, Walgreens was open. With those two choices, I imagined our menu options to be either Slim Jims and Little Debbie snack cakes washed down with a 32 ounce Big Gulp, or cough drops and laxatives washed down with some Nyquil. I was thinking the latter might be more fun, but either way, we probably wouldn't feel very good about halfway through dinner.

So, I did what I always do when I need some good suggestions, or if I ever want to read a post where a man talks to his penis - I perused Neil's blog. Once there, my issue was instantly solved. In his post he wrote, "If you want me today, you can find me with the other Jews at your local Chinese restaurant, playing Mah Jongg with the restaurant staff." That was it. I called around to see if any Chinese restaurants were open, and luckily, our favorite one was serving like it was just another day. I cannot tell you how much I appreciated non-Christians today.

Then I got to wondering if I had ever had to work on Christmas day. There was at least one. In 1986, I was cooking at a ski resort in Big Bear Lake, California. I had to work a double shift on Christmas because everyone else except one other guy was at home ill. We were both sick too, but neither of us could afford to see a doctor, so we weren't able to procure a note excusing us. I'm sure we infected more than one B movie actor that day. I still have visions of Jan Michael Vincent, Cheech Marin, or Pam Dawber struck down with my particular strain of virus.