Close Encounters of the Celebrity Kind
Jul. 25th, 2006 02:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfieldBrushes with Mediocrity
One of the cool things about living in a big-city area is the occasional spotting of a celebrity. Despite and perhaps because of the fact that Washington D.C. is not necessarily a haven for the famous, It's always sort of a thrill to see TV, film and sports stars in their original three dimensions, with their acne and their comfortable footwear.
A few months ago, J. and I were in our favorite greasy spoon for a good old-fashioned cholesterol-intensive breakfast when a scruffy Kevin Nealon strolled in alone, ordered a fried egg and quietly paid his bill, without talking to anyone. During this brief visit from the former Saturday Night Liver, my fellow patrons murmured among ourselves, "Is that him? Who is that? Who's he? He's who? How much did he tip?" But nobody ever mustered the nerve to talk to him.
And yesterday I was in my local supermarket and literally bumped into a large man holding his small tow-headed child. I quickly realized that it was new Washington National Austin Kearns. He was wearing a mesh trucker cap and sucking on a Tootsie Pop while waiting for his little blonde wife to finish their grocery shopping. I had read recently that Kearns was "miserable" in Washington since being traded from Cincinatti, so I wanted to make him feel welcome. "Mr. Kearns?" I said, "Welcome to Washington. Good luck out there." Thankfully, he didn't seem too disturbed by the unprompted recognition. "Thanks, man," he replied.
Living and working in Washington D.C., you stop seeing lawmakers as "famous" and learn to see them as simply "rich." (Or, in the case of Senator Edward M. Kennedy (D-MA), you see him as "drunk.") But I ought to mention an encounter on Sunday night at the Kennedy Center where J. and I were taking in a performance by the Reduced Shakespeare Company (highly recommended, incidentally). Our audience included former Speaker of the House of Representatives and noted hot-air balloon Newt Gingrich along with three female guests, one of whom was presumably his surgically preserved wife.
During the 15-minute intermission, a line formed for refreshments -- assuming you find it "refreshing" to pay three dollars for a can of soda and $1.25 for a napkin -- at least 50 people long. I can imagine many of those individuals wondering if they were going to get to the front of the line by the time they had to be back in the theater. Then I saw Mr. Gingrich, his head floating over the rest of the crowd like a gray-haired beach ball, strolling right past the line and up to the concessions table. He held up four fingers, and was immediately provided with a glass of wine and four glasses.
At first I was furious. Why shouldn't Newt have to wait in line like everyone else? Then pragmatism set in. People like Gingrich are probably so accustomed to getting whatever they want whenever they want it that they are oblivious to the petty trivialities of life for normal folks. And people are so accustomed to giving him whatever he wants that they don't give it a second thought.
Put it this way: Let's say you are an individual of some prior reknown, a former public servant who devoted the prime of his life to making the country a better place for rich white Christian men. Given the opportunity, would you budge in front of 50 people to get a drink during intermission, or would you wait in line with the common people?
One of the cool things about living in a big-city area is the occasional spotting of a celebrity. Despite and perhaps because of the fact that Washington D.C. is not necessarily a haven for the famous, It's always sort of a thrill to see TV, film and sports stars in their original three dimensions, with their acne and their comfortable footwear.
A few months ago, J. and I were in our favorite greasy spoon for a good old-fashioned cholesterol-intensive breakfast when a scruffy Kevin Nealon strolled in alone, ordered a fried egg and quietly paid his bill, without talking to anyone. During this brief visit from the former Saturday Night Liver, my fellow patrons murmured among ourselves, "Is that him? Who is that? Who's he? He's who? How much did he tip?" But nobody ever mustered the nerve to talk to him.
And yesterday I was in my local supermarket and literally bumped into a large man holding his small tow-headed child. I quickly realized that it was new Washington National Austin Kearns. He was wearing a mesh trucker cap and sucking on a Tootsie Pop while waiting for his little blonde wife to finish their grocery shopping. I had read recently that Kearns was "miserable" in Washington since being traded from Cincinatti, so I wanted to make him feel welcome. "Mr. Kearns?" I said, "Welcome to Washington. Good luck out there." Thankfully, he didn't seem too disturbed by the unprompted recognition. "Thanks, man," he replied.
Living and working in Washington D.C., you stop seeing lawmakers as "famous" and learn to see them as simply "rich." (Or, in the case of Senator Edward M. Kennedy (D-MA), you see him as "drunk.") But I ought to mention an encounter on Sunday night at the Kennedy Center where J. and I were taking in a performance by the Reduced Shakespeare Company (highly recommended, incidentally). Our audience included former Speaker of the House of Representatives and noted hot-air balloon Newt Gingrich along with three female guests, one of whom was presumably his surgically preserved wife.
During the 15-minute intermission, a line formed for refreshments -- assuming you find it "refreshing" to pay three dollars for a can of soda and $1.25 for a napkin -- at least 50 people long. I can imagine many of those individuals wondering if they were going to get to the front of the line by the time they had to be back in the theater. Then I saw Mr. Gingrich, his head floating over the rest of the crowd like a gray-haired beach ball, strolling right past the line and up to the concessions table. He held up four fingers, and was immediately provided with a glass of wine and four glasses.
At first I was furious. Why shouldn't Newt have to wait in line like everyone else? Then pragmatism set in. People like Gingrich are probably so accustomed to getting whatever they want whenever they want it that they are oblivious to the petty trivialities of life for normal folks. And people are so accustomed to giving him whatever he wants that they don't give it a second thought.
Put it this way: Let's say you are an individual of some prior reknown, a former public servant who devoted the prime of his life to making the country a better place for rich white Christian men. Given the opportunity, would you budge in front of 50 people to get a drink during intermission, or would you wait in line with the common people?
