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I was flying from STX to MIA. It was the mid-1980s. I got bumped up to first class. A woman sat down with me. We spoke of mothers and self. We shared our hearts in abundance. A sweet love formed between us. Sisters in the Earth's blue atmosphere.

After some hours, we shared names. I am Vicki Marsh; she was Marianne Faithfull. "Wow, wow, wow, wow," I said. We …

I was at Film Forum and had seen Natalie Portman and Gael Garcia Bernal in the crowded lobby before we took our seats. My male friend swooned a little. After the movie, I made my way to the narrow bathrooms and knocked into Portman with my bag while we were negotiating the area around the sink. Apologies were exchanged, and I went off into the night.

I was a young, hungry, and desperate actress, and my legs were aching from another day of fruitless rounds. As I approached the final building, an officious doorman stopped me. I explained that I was simply headed in to drop off my headshots at various agents.

"Well, just between you and me," he confided, eyeballing me up and down, "Bill Murray is in this building, and he's looking for …

I was a young single living the free-spirited life of the '70s in the beautiful ski town of Aspen, Colorado. After leaving a friend's apartment, I was walking down the street, about to head into my favorite local pub. I thought of something very amusing that had just happened earlier at my friend's place. I was smiling largely!

A man and his friend had just stepped out of the …

In 1990, I was in Chicago for my 25-year high school reunion. After the festivities, two friends from Green Bay met me in the city for a wonderful touristy weekend. One of them, Rita, is a real cutup.

We were shopping at the Express on Michigan Ave., looking for something as mundane as socks. As I was poking around in piles of them, Rita walked over and pulled at …

Misty wintry afternoon. My friend Janny and I were—arm in arm—briskly clacking in our highest heels down Fifth Ave. It was 1974, and we were young and stylish, self-satisfied and loving being Manhattan women.

Suddenly we see a skinny woman in a print dress holding on to her wildly wide-brimmed hat and running full force across the avenue toward us, head ducked down to brave the chilly wind. "Where …

Meeting "Brian Molko": was probably the best day of my life. I walked away with my knees shaking.

I was looking at fat-girl clothes at Value City. I looked up and saw "Tammy Faye Bakker": I felt threatened by her spider lashes. These were no normal spider lashes—fucking tarantulas.

I looked at her, said, "Oh, my God," and ran away to tell my mom. I think she was offended. I am pretty sure she is dead now.

I was in Japan studying abroad in 2004, and Frank Valentine, the former Mets manager, was standing behind me on an escalator in a large shopping complex. He looked jacked and straight out of Queens in Tokyo. It was quite the site.

I was taking a summer course at Oxford, and the magazine I wrote for scored an interview for me with P.D. James, my favorite author. I remember wondering on the train down to London how many people she would have around to protect her, as the interview was to take place at her Holland Park townhouse.

The spry octogenarian opened the door herself, no secretary or press people …

Small airport holding area. I walk in and there he is, lines in his lap, phone headset perched on his head.

It was snowing, and the huge plate-glass window behind him backlit his face. I tried to exhale and remain calm, but this was Mandy Patinkin. I felt winded, as if all the air had gone out of me as I tried just to remain standing.

I was …

As a business owner in the '70s, my dad was a Jewish version of Tony Soprano--without all the murders, loan-sharking, and drug dealing. Vendors constantly bestowed gifts upon him: pewter and silver mugs and goblets, fine cut crystal, wristwatches, Cross pen and pencil sets, cases of was a good gig.

Sometimes he'd come home with the swag at night, or it would magically appear at our doorstep like …

I went to a party in L.A. back in the '60s. There, as guests, were Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee. Asked if I wanted to meet them, I said yes.

After I shook Bobby's hand, he said, "Now you'll have something to tell all your friends!"

Yeah, right!

I was working as a guard in the little art gallery at the university I was attending as a grad student in Chicago. They wanted students willing to put in some extra time working at a fund-raising event being held at the gallery. I could use the extra money, so I said I'd be there.

I arrived, and during my shift realized that one of the well-heeled attendees was …

I was working as Court Jester at FAO Schwarz in San Francisco. The Toy Soldier was on lunch break, so I spelled him at the door.

Working the door as Toy Soldier was pure hell, as you had to stand erect under a 12-pound hat with nothing to do for eight hours except opening the door, saluting the customers, and staring at the huge clock across the street, wondering …

On March 18, I was on my excited little way to see a personal yet public hero—Barack Obama! As I was making my way to my seat to hear him speak, I noticed a group of little kids holding soccer balls (for some strange reason), all huddled around a silver-haired man. "Who is it?" I wondered aloud.

As I made my way over for further investigation, I was pleasantly …

Bono (yes, _that_ Bono) pulled me out of quite a funk one evening.

After a long day of skiing in Park City, Utah, where I was living at the time, I had a less than pleasant encounter with one of my many roommates. So I went after hours to the restaurant where another roommate worked, hoping to bum a free glass of wine and fume while he cleaned up. …

Way back in 1988, my brother-in-law Ron and I, on our return trip from the Calgary Olympics, had a layover at LAX. We were just hanging out near our gate when here comes Mr. Eddie Murphy himself and an entourage of some very large men returning to L.A. He was looking straight ahead and angry as they marched past us, not five feet away.

Ron, who is a big …

Leaving Tucson's Desert Museum with my husband, we noticed a golf-cart procession headed for the entrance. Curious, we turned and watched. It was one of those "Is you, my God!" moments. Muhammad Ali was seated in the lead cart.

We tried, unsuccessfully, to hide our interest. Celebrities deserve to visit the cactus in peace, after all. But Ali's driver pulled over, and the great man got out. …

While in college, I worked at a "Malibu Grand Prix": in Austin, Texas. One late afternoon, Jane Seymour walked in the door with her family. They were in town so that her husband could scout a location for a film or TV project. This was before she was Dr. Quinn, but I knew her and had had a _serious_ crush on her!

We were pretty slow at the time, …
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