Brushes with Fame

Brushes with Fame http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/ Your stories of an encounter with a celebrity who unexpectedly enters your world. en-us Copyright 2013 Smithmag.net Larry Smith RSS 2.0 generation class http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss <![CDATA[ Yes, another Jesse James spotting in downtown Austin. I realize what you are saying, "Jesse James, big deal, woohooo, Mr. Tattoo'd Attitude and debatably America's most hated male (as a result of his Sandra Bullock issues). There he was in flesh and ink, the modern day outlaw, Jesse James. Pressed dickies, work shirt, hat pulled down on top of his slicked back hair and tattoos for skin. Seems like a nice enough fella to say hello to, so she approached timidly, "Well hello Mister, are you...". Abruptly he responds, accustomed to the question on a daily basis by now, "No ma'am, my name is Rich but I think you may be looking for him", pointing to the 'real' Jesse James as he exits the gym where we both train. You see, Jesse and I could pass for twins and now that he lives in Austin and we live in such close proximity, this is a daily occurrence. She responds with an embarrassed, "Stop playing, I know you're him and I hate to ask but would you mind being my personal mechanic". As Jesse passes and smiles saying, "My brother from another mother", I decide to show mercy and simply take her number and sign an autograph. The lady and I part ways and I walk to Jesse, who is now parked in his gas-guzzling, 4WD, appropriately black truck, I smile and exchange a typical, "Hello, what's been going on". After a brief exchange, discussing his shoulder surgery and my latest encounter, I promise to tweet him a shout-out and our latest pic from "@TKONutrition" (me) to @FreeJesseJames (him) in hopes that he will likely oblige a return gesture and bless me for taking shots as his involuntary stunt-double. All for nothing, as I wonder how celebrities siphon through their fan mail and why mine always goes unreciprocated. I start to walk away as he revs the engine of that beast, which likely just cost him about twenty dollars. As he begins to take off, I immediately remembered I forgot something, "Hey Jesse, stop! I forgot to give you something". As I retrieve from my pocket the latest number of a damsel in distress, I hand him the piece of paper. I briefly explain it's origin in 140 words or less and make my exit. I walk walk away with a silent pride, not because Jesse will return my tweets or acknowledge my existence but I secretly accepted that latest job offer on his behalf. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=414626 Brushes with Fame by TKO-Rich TKO-Rich http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=414626 SMITH <![CDATA[ My boyfriend and I were seeing the Broadway show "The Mystery of Edwin Drood". During intermission, we discovered that my long-time celebrity crush and acting inspiration, Michael Emerson, was in the audience. I was frantic to find him. During curtain call, Jordan and I ran to the lobby to find him, and with amazing luck, we spotted him. When I first approached him, I found myself blabbering on and on about how ecstatic I was to see him. I finally managed to ask him for a picture, and he offered to go outside to take it. We took the picture, and I thanked him profusely. I managed to tell him how he inspired me to continue my acting career. He said that maybe we'd end up working together someday, and I was in complete shock. I thanked him again, and we parted. As soon as we got out of his sight, I tackled Jordan in pure bliss. This was the best day of my life, and thinking about it makes me want to cry tears of joy all over again. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=413054 Brushes with Fame by izzyhindle izzyhindle http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=413054 SMITH <![CDATA[ “Because when you spill it, it doesn't smell like piss when it dries." That's why he's buying expensive imported beer instead of some cheap domestic. He wants to explain. He cracks open two bottles and hands me one. His cat eyes are deep black, with huge round pupils. Who knows what he’s swallowed. His girlfriend massages bleach into the sheared hair on either side of his tall lacquered mohawk. It’s a Mohican, he insists to everyone. Darby’s a stickler for the right word. "Don't burn my scalp, Amber!" he cries. "Relax, Mr. Punk Rock." "It feels like a conflagration." I'm 18, and I live on the uncool suburban side of the crumbling hills. On a wet Saturday afternoon I drive to Hollywood in my parents’ car. I park down Franklin St. and carry my guitar over my shoulder, like I saw Johnny Ramone do in Rock Scene magazine. It's more punk without a case. Amber points me to a pillow on the floor of the bare living room. Darby nods, stretches out on the couch with his leather jacket draped over him, staring at the ceiling. “Go,” she snaps. I plug into my tiny Pignose amp and play "Ritchie Dagger's Crime.” It sounds feeble, echoing off the walls. She smacks Darby on the leg. “Well?” "He’s got blue eyes like Billy Zoom." He stands and yawns. "Let's go get some beer." Twenty minutes later we’re carrying those Heinekens back. Now Amber’s off in the bedroom. Darby and I watch Hell’s Angels on Wheels on a black-and-white TV and drink the fancy beer. Cars hiss by the windows, like Jim Morrison said. Hollywood smells like wet wool socks and diesel fumes. There's an ad for some truck-driver school. “What do you do for a job?” he asks. “I’m in college. But I'm gonna drop out, ya know, whatever.” He rolls his empty bottle into the corner and fishes around in the paper bag. “Why would you do that?” "Well - um. I dunno.” He cracks two more beers and hands me one, watching the TV impassively. His gnarly buck teeth push his lips out and his eyes are gentle and unfocused. "Trucker school would be cool." The movie comes back on and he murmurs, "Jack Nicholson. Look how young he is.” Jack sidles up to a car and strikes a pose. He looks exactly like Darby waiting for change in the liquor store. “Wild. He’s the wild card. In every movie. He's the one-eyed Jack.” He drains his bottle and rolls it away. “Or, the suicide King.”. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=379241 Brushes with Fame by Sporifix Sporifix http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=379241 SMITH <![CDATA[ I was walking down a local Mall, and walking in the opposite direction was a man with a pram. I thought that I recognized his face...then it clicked he was Richard Marchenko, the former Navy Seal and author of many novels. I whipped around and approached him, asking if he was Marchenko. "That's what they tell me." He drolly replied. I told him of my Magazine articles, and asked how much work he had to put into his fiction work. He replied, " Each chapter is about as much work as one of those magazine articles you write. 20 chapters, about 20 times the work of a magazine article." I thanked him for the time and information. At work later that week I told a co-worker of the encounter. She said, " Oh, he lives in my neighborhood, he babysits children during the week, and he's good with children, but they come away with realy colorful vocabularies. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=376966 Brushes with Fame by tcrog1020 tcrog1020 http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=376966 SMITH <![CDATA[ I was on the 7 PM American Airlines flight from JFK to LAX on Valentine's Day 1996. I was in the front aisle row of Business Class and had a clear view of First Class where Alec Baldwin was traveling with his wife Kim Basinger, their nanny and 3 1/2 month old baby Ireland. Kim seemed to be exhausted - she was curled up with a long fur coat. Alec had on a v neck navy blue sweater and brown tortoise shell glasses. From a few minutes after take off, baby Ireland started fussing. Alec jumped up (I think even before the seatbelt sign went off) and started swaddling and walking with her up and down the aisle, with her over his shoulder, patting her, comforting her. He would coo to her, cradle her, give her a bottle, calm her down. He'd sit for a moment and then she'd start up again. He patiently went through the routine again. My children were already 9 and 7, but I so related to what these new parents were going through and how patient and sweet Alec was with Ireland. We exchanged a few comments about babies, and I totally got a mad crush on Alec that night. Kim awoke a couple of times and smiled back at him (and me) but she could tell they were in their own world. I am in the jewelry business, so I sent up a pair of heart shaped earrings to Kim with a little note for Valentine's Day with a flight attendant. She mailed me a sweet thank you and said I should have come up and talked with her. I sent a message to Ireland about this little moment in time a few years ago and she told me it made her (and her mom) really smile. I have met/ run into many celebrities in my many years of travel and being in a politically connected family, but this was the absolute sweetest and most memorable. To this day I have that Alec Baldwin crush. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=375783 Brushes with Fame by silver07 silver07 http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=375783 SMITH <![CDATA[ As I entered my favorite little country store, I could tell that something unusual was going on. Two men in suits were standing on either side of the door and a classy luxury car was parked out front. The owner of the store looked at me and pointed down the center aisle. Phil was smiling, so I let my curiosity lead me in the direction he was pointing. There was a woman digging through the ice cream freezer with one hand and holding a Coke with the other. I drifted in a little closer. She straightened up with her choice-a Nutty Buddy. When she turned toward me, I recognized her and couldn't help but beam a big smile at her and say hello. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "I really shouldn't be eating both of these." We both laughed and I suggested that she trade her Coke in for a diet soda. "This way," I continued, "you'll eat only half the calories." Nodding and laughing, she agreed that trading her drink would be a smart choice and then she added, "I don't imagine there's such a thing as a diet Nutty Buddy?" Knowing that she loved horses, I asked her if she knew about the Point to Point Race that was being held at a nearby estate that weekend. She smiled and said she hoped she had time to go to it. I told her that I was planning on going with my six-year-old son and some friends. I watched her leave and waved to her when she looked out her window from the back seat of her car. The two gentlemen were with her-one was the driver and the other was probably her body guard. She waved back and gestured a toast to me with her soda. Phil was surprised that we chatted for as long as we did. He wanted to know what we were talking about. I answered, "Ice cream and horses." The races are held in March when it is still cold and windy. Lots of hats and scarves dotted the hillside on that sunny day. I was looking around to see who I knew when I spotted her behind me further up the hill. When she looked my way, I lowered my sunglasses and raised my drink in a mock toast to her. She smiled and pointed toward my son who was standing next to me. I nodded and patted the top of his head. She placed her hand over her heart. My friends saw me toasting her and asked who she was. "Oh," I answered..."it's just someone I met at Locke's Store. Her friends call her Jackie O.". ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=366878 Brushes with Fame by kateaustin kateaustin http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=366878 SMITH <![CDATA[ Eddie Vedder's own leg, only fake. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=366161 Brushes with Fame by annawa8 annawa8 http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=366161 SMITH <![CDATA[ My teen-aged daughter and I were spending a few days in NYC some years ago. One very cool, very rainy afternoon we braved the conditions and went walking in midtown armed with umbrellas and tightly fastened coats. There were few pedestrians on the sidewalks, but in the block ahead I noticed a woman walking toward us. She was tall and slender. She had no umbrella and, as she got closer, I could see that she had no need for one. She was wearing a waterproof jacket that came down to just above her knees - a car coat, I'd guess you'd call it. What struck me as amazing and ingenious was the hood and collar of the coat designed in such as way as to almost totally encapsulate her from the knees up protecting her from the elements and enabling maximum flexibility and range of motion. The closer she got, the more I was able to study the details of this garment. I was thinking "that is a great coat! Perfect for this weather: no umbrella to hold and operate against the wet gusts of wind or to impede visibility; and hands free to keep cuddled in pockets or to hail a cab." The hood was close fitting so the wind couldn't easily dislodge it from her head. The collar stood straight up and ended near her nose and was secured in that position by a sturdy zipper. I waited until after we had passed the woman before exclaiming how amazingly perfect the coat was. But before I could begin my praise for the perfect rainy weather garment, my daughter excitedly turned to me - she also had waited until we had passed the woman before speaking, and said, "Do you know who that was? You DO know who that was, right?" "No, who was it?" "That was Julia Roberts! We just walked past Julia Roberts!" At this point my observation seemed a lame retort at best, "I wasn't looking at her face. I was looking at her coat. Hey, that was a great coat for this weather, don't you think?" "Mom, Julia Roberts!" I think that meant, "I win this round.". ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=363889 Brushes with Fame by Kitt Kitt http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=363889 SMITH <![CDATA[ In 1973 on a ferry from Vancouver to Victoria, sat beside the Beach Boys in the dining room. Two fifteen year old girls - stoned. We were talking about the Beach Boys concert we were on our way to see - and the fact that we didn't have tickets yet. They started flirting with us, teasing us about the concert and we didn't recognize them. To be fair, I only knew them from their clean cut album covers with matching striped shirts. These were big, dirty, extremely hairy men. Who knew? Turns out they were doing some promos for the local radio station on the ferry, which included GIVING AWAY TICKETS. Oh well. We bought tickets from scalpers and actually didn't realize who they were until they walked out on stage. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=357107 Brushes with Fame by Baca Baca http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=357107 SMITH <![CDATA[ I was about 23, living in LA, when my best friend came to visit. We were eating in Westwood, when we see a black SUV pull up right in front of the restaurant. Jack Black emerges, along with that blond guy who is in his band (and has been in movies with him). They both looked exactly the same as they do on-screen, rockin' their little beer bellies... My best friend said, "Oh my god! It's Jack Black!" pretty loudly, and I suddenly got so nervous. It was really weird. I think my nervousness came from a fear that my best friend's comment or slight fawning over him would embarass Mr. Black (and me). I said "Shut up Jamie!" and then she proceeded to make fun of me for getting so nervous in his presence. It really is weird how a famous person can have that effect on a person. Some teenage boys saw him too and told us that they were going to go talk to him. They came back a few minutes later and said, "Yup, it was him! We talked to him!" Maybe I'm too shy, or maybe overly respectful that I don't want to bother a celebrity when they're out trying to do normal civilian type of things. BUT many celebrities each that shit up and that's the reason they became famous. Whatever the case may be, my first "brush with fame" or shall we say "brush with beer belly" is a funny and cute memory from my youth. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=354521 Brushes with Fame by Some1special Some1special http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=354521 SMITH <![CDATA[ My fandom for Bill Murray goes deep. Unabashedly deep. So, you can imagine my surreal thrill when, working a catering gig at a house with a backyard that looks onto the tee box of number 14 at Pebble Beach, I saw D.A. Points and Bill Murray’s party approaching. I’d just delivered a vodka cran to George Lopez on 14’s fairway, and Lopez had kissed me, told me I was beautiful and that he loved me (in that Hollywood way), then fist bumped me and blew me up. So, I was feeling a little like anything was possible when one of the patrons at the house we were catering for suggested that if I “get a cold beer out here, Murray will come up and get it.” I put a bottle on my serving tray and headed out to the lawn. Murray hit a fine shot off the tee to much fanfare and as he headed up toward the fairway in his oversized Elmer Fudd hat, folks from the party around me hollered: "this one's for you." He acknowledged us (and the beer) and turned up the rise toward the golf cart path. I held the bottle with one hand on my tray so as not to spill it on my way down the landscaped embankment, and then I was in front of Bill Murray and a full camera crew with a boom mic guy, a key grip, two cameras, and the caddy. An entourage. And suddenly, I felt like I was in a reality tv show. Wham. Like that. I managed to pull my gaze up from the strange sheep-skin cover on the hovering boom mic and make eye contact with Bill Murray. I remember the pores in his face. And his eyes. Kind eyes. He shook my hand. He took the beer. “God bless you for this,” is all he said. Then he took a hit of the beer. Tipped it all the way back. “Ah, Mr. Murray.” I stammered. “Mr. Murray, I just wanted to say…I just want to say you’re my all time favorite. Really. I just think you’re the best.” Bill Murray looked at me and gave me a half a nod. But with kind eyes, you know, like, ‘don’t go gettin’ all respectful on me now, kid, we’re at a golf tournament.’ At the end of the day Murray was asked about the beer he was given on 14 and he said, "The beer was good." Bill Murray and D.A. Points won the AT&T;Pebble Beach Pro-Am that week. A photo of Murray holding his beer and me standing next to him with my arm around him ran on Golf.com the next day, then in Sports Illustrated and finally the San Jose Mercury over the next week. I got a lot of mileage out of that. I gave him another beer at this year's event when he was wearing his camouflage outfit. We're a tradition now. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=352355 Brushes with Fame by RBLove RBLove http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=352355 SMITH <![CDATA[ I was working a banquet as a server. The event was a fundraiser for a human rights organization. I wanted to listen but was shooed out by our manager. No workers were to stay in the banquet hall during the speeches. I snuck in the back service door and crouched down behind a buffet table covered in the standard table linens. For a while I listened, empowered by the speeches and thought about how many of my co-workers lives were touched by the topics being discussed. Just then a tug on my arm and my manager once again pulled me out of the room and into the service hallway. She walked one way, I walked another. Bummed out that I couldn't listen. As I walked the long service hallway I spotted Jon Voight coming towards me. He motioned to me with his finger. "Come with me," he said. "It's important we listen." Then he led me back into the banquet hall where he stood by me for the rest of the speeches. My manager saw me standing there with Jon Voight, as visible as I could possibly be! She didn't have the nerve to pull me out now. At the end I shook his hand, said thanks and went back to work clearning tables. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=342442 Brushes with Fame by Berna Berna http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=342442 SMITH <![CDATA[ I found Joyce McKinney in Washington Square Park with one of her famous cloned Rottweilers. She sat in an electric wheelchair and was dressed in a fringed neon pink suit jacket with a matching skirt that hung loose over her knees. Her hair was bright yellow and damaged. It was eleven at night, a Tuesday in October. I am a huge Errol Morris fan. Three of my friends and I had just gotten out of the New York premiere of Morris’s latest film, Tabloid, which was showing at DocFest. Tabloid told the true story of Joyce McKinney, the quirky tabloid star of the 1970s, through interviews and archival footage. When Joyce made a surprise appearance from the back of the theater at the end of the screening, it was surreal enough. But then Joyce took the stage. She spewed negative comments about the media and Morris. The audience looked on, aghast. My friends and I had to get burgers afterward to decompress. We couldn’t believe what had just happened. Afterwards, on our walk to the subway, my friends and I saw Joyce again. She was sitting alone, watching her dog run in Washington Square Park. We couldn’t resist approaching her and starting up a conversation. We asked her about her life and what she had thought of the movie. In reality, we found Joyce to be just as the film had portrayed her: paranoid, eccentric, and endearing. Joyce chatted with us in the park for an hour before we suggested escorting her back to her hotel. Mostly, Joyce was so sweet that when she rambled on about conspiracy theories it was hard not to want to believe her. That night Joyce had carried disorganized stacks of her old glamour shots in her briefcase. She showed them to us in the lobby of Washington Square Hotel. Joyce is old now, but the pictures showed the Joyce of yesteryear, the Joyce my friends and I are all too young to remember: the former Miss Wyoming World, the obsessed lover, the accused kidnapper, and the mixed-up tabloid queen. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=332912 Brushes with Fame by AdrianaW AdrianaW http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=332912 SMITH <![CDATA[ When I was a teenager back in the 1960's, I would take the bus east to Beverly Hills so that I could study at the public library there. I found more resources at this more affluent library than the one closer to my home. One Saturday, when I had finished studying, I was walking back to the bus stop for my trip home. Rather than my usual route, I chose to walk down one of the side streets in downtown Beverly Hills. Being a bit "off the beaten track" from the more touristic Rodeo Drive, there were few people on the street that Saturday afternoon. As I walked along, I passed the storefront of a fencing studio. I had only seen people fence on television or in the movies. I quickly found myself glued to the window staring in with surprisingly unselfconscious adolescent fascination. This was certainly the most interesting thing I had ever seen up close and personal! It finally dawned on me that I recognized one of the two people in the studio. It was none other than the famous movie star, Tony Curtis, getting a lesson from his fencing instructor! I could not believe my eyes at this bit of serendipity! I continued to press my nose to the window. After a few minutes, Mr. Curtis stopped and took a break from his lesson. Before I could blink, he walked out the door and ask me if I would like to come in, sit down, and watch him finish his lesson! Oh my God, I thought, was this really happening to ugly-duckling ME?! Without thinking twice, I marched into the studio and sat down with my schoolbooks in my lap. I frankly don't remember the rest of the lesson. I was in such a daze, so awestruck at what was happening at that moment! Tony was a really big movie star at the time! I guess he was practicing for his next "Prisoner of Zena" (swashbuckling) movie epic. At the end of his lesson, Tony took a few minutes to sit and chat with me. Hollywood is so full of stars with big egos that it was a surprise that he would spend a few minutes of his time with me. Remember that there were only Tony, his instructor, and myself in the room during that session. I did have one card up my sleeve though. I knew that Tony Curtis's real name was Bernie Schwartz and my last name is also the same. I shared that information with him. We both smiled at our common link, the two of us were from the same "tribe" (so to speak). After that, I stood up, we shook hands and I went off to catch my bus home. Decades later, he was interviewed on a local radio station, and I was able to call in and share this memory with him. I have never, ever forgotten this kind & gracious man. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=318157 Brushes with Fame by aardapple aardapple http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=318157 SMITH <![CDATA[ We went to see Break of Noon at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, starring David Duchovny. We lived nearby and, as avid Californication fans, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Duchovny on stage. Afterwards, we filed outside into the brisk evening air where Duchovny fans hovered nearby with cameras, excitedly awaiting his exit. The temptation to join them flickered through my mind before I dismissed it. “I don’t want to be one of those fans,” I said to my friend. “But I’d like to catch another glimpse of him. Why don’t we have a drink over there?” On the other side of the street, directly facing the theater, was a low key Peruvian restaurant. Most importantly, it had an empty table by the window that would afford us the perfect view of Duchovny’s exit. The restaurant owner was a friendly elderly man. His restaurant was bustling with people, save for that one table we had in mind. “Can we sit here for a drink?” We asked. “We watched the play and would love to see him come out.” He was good natured and nodded happily. “This table’s reserved, so you’ll have to leave once the group arrives, but meanwhile you can sit here.” When he returned with our wine he leaned forward and let us in on a secret. “You know, he’s been in here a few times. He’s a very nice man.” Duchovny appeared and we watched, fascinated, as the energy on Christopher Street electrified. A crowd formed around him and I was struck by how gracious Duchovny was. He spent considerable time with fans, standing in photos and signing autographs. “He always does this,” the owner said, joining us to watch. “Spends time with fans.” A black car with shaded windows was waiting for him on the other side of the street. He edged towards it with his entourage, but then walked past it. We watched incredulous, as he – surely not! -- walked towards us. The door opened. Duchovny appeared in the doorway and looked directly at us. “Looks like we’ve got more people around this table tonight,” he said humorously. The owner came forward and explained we would move, adding that we had wanted to watch him exit the theater, which made me cringe. “We’re not stalkers,” my friend said. “We just saw your play and it was great,” I added, hoping to salvage our embarrassment. He nodded at the words he must have heard so many times already that evening and smiled, before glancing down at the floor, almost shyly. It was clear he didn’t want fuss or commotion, just something to eat. We stood up and gave him back his table. “I can’t believe we spoke to him!” my friend said later. I’m not sure our three line exchange counts as a complete conversation. But, we dined off the story for weeks afterwards, naturally. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=307752 Brushes with Fame by HannahSloane HannahSloane http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=307752 SMITH <![CDATA[ Last summer, I saw a special presentation of The Wizard of Oz. It was at the Music Box Theatre in Chicago, hosted by John Waters. He was the perfect host for this movie. After it was over, he was greeting fans and signing books. I waited in line for about 40 minutes to meet him. This was a bucket list item for me and I wasn’t going to miss this chance. I knew what I wanted to tell him. I got up to the head of the line and said, “I love your work. It makes me feel normal.” He replied, with great attitude, “You are normal. Tonight, we’re all normal.” A blessing from the Pope would not have made me feel better. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=295441 Brushes with Fame by JHaus52 JHaus52 http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=295441 SMITH <![CDATA[ I saw him at the grocery store. It was the day after President Obama's inauguration and spirits were high and hopeful in the progressive little college town where he and I live. Though the day meant a lot to many people, for him, I imagine it carried a more bitter than sweet significance. He was coiffed - his hair was touseled, his jeans were pressed. He looked good, maybe too good to ever be president. No one seemed to notice him; this was his hometown after all. But his picture had been all over the magazines for sale in the same check-out line where he now stood, buying normal everyday groceries. "Who is that man?" my young daughter asked in a whisper, struck by his style, his sparkle. "He's just a man who once believed he'd be in Washington becoming president this week." I told her as John Edwards grabbed his milk and left the store. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=291350 Brushes with Fame by betsyjo betsyjo http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=291350 SMITH <![CDATA[ As a video producer at Syracuse University, I’ve had the fortune of meeting some famous people. These figures include actor Dennis Quaid, Shaquille O’Neal and author Joyce Carol Oates. However, of all the public figures I have met, no one has captured my attention like former House Majority Leader Dick Armey. First off, I must give full disclosure. I am no Reagan Republican; in fact I am not even a registered voter. And what captivated me most about Dick Armey was not his party affiliation or political beliefs, but his warm and easygoing personality. One could imagine sitting at a sports bar with him and splitting a pitcher of draft beer and an order of chicken wings while watching college football. Armey came to our university studio on a Wednesday night in October of 2009 for a satellite uplink with CNBC. He was in the central New York area to endorse Conservative Party candidate Doug Hoffman in the 23rd Congressional District race, which was later won by Democrat Bill Owens. First off, Armey’s physical presence impressed me. He appeared tall and broad with a swarthy complexion, and he wore a dark pinstriped suit with a mint green shirt and a striped tie. He also had on black cowboy boots and a white hat, and the contrast between his dark clothes and boots and the cream-colored hat made me think he was a middle-of-the-road cowboy, undecided if he should lean toward being a sheriff or an outlaw. Armey seemed to take an interest in me as a person, and we bantered about country music while I helped to “mic” him, attach his IFB and get his audio level. Armey had to sit through three segments before his slot came up on CNBC. When the time finally came for him to appear on The Kudlow Report, he exhibited energy and his voice boomed in the small studio as he discussed supply-side economics and the value of the dollar. Then after the interview, after his brief time on air ended, he took off his mic and IFB, stood up, grabbed his hat and started walking out of the studio with his press secretary. But he paused on his way out, almost as if he forgot something, and made a point to say to me, “Thanks partner.” His body was at an angle as he exited the studio, but he extended his hand back and quickly shook my hand. I powered down the camera and turned off the studio lights. I then locked up the office and headed home, relieved that I hadn’t screwed up anything on the air. I also thought getting a chance to meet Dick Armey almost made up for having to work overtime. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=256516 Brushes with Fame by FrancisDiClemente FrancisDiClemente http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=256516 SMITH <![CDATA[ To this day, I can’t see George Clooney on the big screen without thinking of the boy I crushed on in the sixth grade and the nice thing he did, many years later, for a very sick girl. I grew up in the '70s with the Clooneys in Mason, Ohio. In fact, both our families belonged to this tiny Catholic church, St. Susanna. George's dad worked the bingo every year at the church carnival with my mom. In sixth-grade, during our confirmation classes and rehearsals, we were placed in alphabetical order, which is how I happened to sit next to George’s sister Ada Clooney. Ada and I struck up a friendship, and I met her brother on our "Day of Reconciliation." I thought George was adorable then, and the years have done nothing but improve his good looks. Several years ago, I was corresponding with a teenage girl in Michigan who had cancer. I wanted to do something nice for her. I knew she liked George Clooney. I wasn’t sure how to get in touch with him directly, so I sent an email to his dad. The next thing I know, there was a package in my mailbox for my young friend, Gloria – a signed photo and a handwritten letter from George. I framed both items and sent them to my friend, who lost her battle with cancer a few months later. Her mom called me a year after her death to tell me that it was the one thing Gloria treasured most right until the end, and it would be the only thing she wouldn’t pack up and put away. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=240134 Brushes with Fame by KayCeeBee KayCeeBee http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=240134 SMITH <![CDATA[ I spent the summer of 2008 in New York City. I wasn't there for fun or a chance at fame, but to take care of my aunt who was dying of a brain tumor. My mother took the day shift, dutifully showing up at the hospice center in the Bronx. I had night shift, complete with a pull-out cot by my aunt's bed so I could be close enought to hold her hand. Those nights were eternal. I would crank up the television, which was always tuned to Turner Classic Movies. The melodrama of Douglas Sirk seemed to suit the situation in a way that reality telivision or CSI didn't. Yes, life was in technicolor and the accompanying soundtrack featured lots of violins and organs. Very near the end on one of the hottest days of the summer, I left the hospice and took the subway back to the Upper East Side to rest in my aunt's apartment. Once I got off the train I realized that I couldn't go back in that apartment. My mother and I were in the process of dismantiling it and cleaning it to sell. The sight of my aunt's things in boxes made me sick: her college yearbook, piles of empty Chanel bottles, her tiny socks and shoes, her makeup rotting in the Bobbi brown containers, and all the mail left unopened. I decided I wouldn't go back, ever. It was a childish decision, like when you tell your parents you're running away and all you have is your backpack and your Nancy Drew #55 book. It had no basis in reality. But I went with it and ended up at Tasti D-Lite, a new york ice cream joint. It's smaller than a postage stamp and more comforting than a letter from home. It was in this miniscule place that I saw my biggest crush, inspiration, and obsession: Heather Matarazzo aka Dawn Wiener of the film 'Welcome to the Dollhouse.' She was ordering cookies and cream, and though she was many years older than she was in the film, her face is one you don't forget. I froze. You always imagine those moments, but when they come your imagination, mouth, sanity all leave you. When the woman behind the counter asked me what I wanted I told her, "I'll have what she's having." This got Heather's attention and she turned to me and smiled. This is when I was supposed to tell her how much she'd meant to me, how that film made me feel less alone in the world. How it saved my life on several occassions. What did I say? "The cookies and cream is slamming." "I know," she said. "I'm having it for breakfast." She then turned and left the store and I had the courage to return to the aparment. ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=190305 Brushes with Fame by danyell_steal danyell_steal http://www.smithmag.net/brushes_with_fame/story.php?did=190305 SMITH