Thursday, July 26, 2007
Fame is a thing. David Bowie wrote a whole song about it and everything.
Fame is pretty big here. Lot’s of famous-types. Which means paparazzi. They're all over the place and whatnot. I’ve concluded that “paparazzi” is another word for “cockroaches.” They seem to be the lowest of the low. Even lower than anyone who’d wear a Ray Lewis jersey. But then, maybe not. Either way, it takes a certain deficiency — a certain nothing — to surround someone’s car in the In-N-Out Burger drive-thru just because the guy ordering the Double-Double Animal Style played “Astonished Juror #3” in a movie back in 1997.
But it seems to me that fame is something that I would absolutely abhor. Why would anyone aspire to have total strangers interrupt as they try to polish off the last of the their cobb salad? Although, it wasn’t a very good one. Mostly iceberg lettuce. And the bacon left something to be desired. I think it was fake bacon. Yeah. It was facon. More like Grape Nuts®. Bacon doesn’t get that hard and gravel-like. And that iced tea was pretty tasteless too. I should have gotten an Arnold Palmer. Oooh… and Arnold Palmer. That would really hit the spot right about now…
But I digress yet again.
So then, it seems to go like this: move to Hollywood, audition, get discovered, get hyped, get famous, get a star on the Hollywood walk of fame, situated in front of a retail chain.
In rare instances, the location of one’s star is fitting. Johnny Cash, for example, is across the street from an X-rated movie theater. Jamie Farr is… well… in front of the Bed, Bath & Beyond with Alec Guinness.
Of course, this wasn’t Alec’s goal. He never asked to end up a doormat for people looking to buy a 3-pack of Dust Buster filters, now did he?
Not Obi-Wan Kenobi. No, he seems more like a Borders Bookstore kind of guy.
“These are not the Ayn Rand books you’re looking for…”