Star Gazing

Last month, while vacationing at Lake Tahoe, I walked into a busy restaurant and nearly collided with Stan Van Gundy, head coach of the Orlando Magic. I think he said excuse me but I can’t really be sure. A moment later when I pointed him out to Mick (who is a big fan of the NBA) Stan had taken a seat across from his brother, Jeff Van Gundy. Jeff is the former head coach of the Houston Rockets and is currently an NBA color commentator for ABC and ESPN. I noted that both were surrounded by children and assumed that they too were on vacation. As our family settled into a booth to have lunch, we did what any ordinary American family would do—we kept a good eye on the Van Gundy’s to make sure they were normal.
Observing the Van Gundy brothers as inconspicuously as possible, I noted that both appeared to be smaller in real life than on TV. They also seemed to be eating their lunch just like everyone else in the restaurant. Mick wanted to get Coach Stan’s autograph. Because I felt it would be tacky to ask the coach for his signature, and then suggest he provide both the pen and the paper, I carefully counseled Mick to be content with gawking. Sadly, the girls in our group failed to appreciate the significance of dining with celebrities and unabashedly acted like the Van Gundy’s weren’t even there—even after my lengthy explanation of who they were and why this would probably be the highlight of our vacation. Even Mick lost interest after our food came. Before we finished the first course, the Van Gundy’s were gone.

Two days later, we left the Lake Tahoe area and drove to San Francisco to continue our vacation in the city by the bay. Arriving at Ghirardelli Square, we hastened toward the chocolate store (since that was the primary destination of our entire trip) and in the process, Mick almost had a head on collision with John Turturro. (I should point out here that Mickey has seen Transformers One at least a dozen times and went to Transformers Two at least 3 times while it was still in the theaters.) When I reached my youngest son, he was still stammering and pointing and may have let a little pee-pee slip into his pants. “Yes, that was he,” I assured the boy, “and no, you can’t go running after him.” A few minutes later when I reported to the girls that Mick and I had just seen John Turturro, Sunny immediately went scurrying off to find him and Mick was on her heels before I could intervene. They tracked him down in a nearby restaurant but wisely resisted the temptation to hover and drool on him because he was with his wife and children. (John Turturro, by the way, has been married to the same woman since 1985; rather anomalous for Hollywood types these days.)
Interestingly enough, Mr. Turturro also seemed smaller in real life—about the same size as me actually—and he was dressed just like a real person. I’m not sure what he had for lunch but I had Ghirardelli chocolate.

This whole fascination our society has with “celebrity” is intriguing to me. I once read that Paris Hilton is paid thousands of dollars to appear at clubs and businesses just because of all the people she draws. Are many of us so insecure that we flock toward famous people in order to elevate our own status? Perhaps it’s boredom with our own lives that impels us take pride in close encounters with the rich and famous. Whatever the reason, it’s all really stupid to be so star struck if you ask me—which is why I’m a little concerned with recent events that have transpired in my own life.
Three or four months ago, a fairly famous person moved into our neighborhood and being LDS, he and his family became actively involved in our ward. I didn’t know he was famous at the time however, so I just treated him like a normal new move-in. In other words, I welcomed him to the ward, assigned him to clean the church one Monday night, and then went about ignoring him like I do everyone else. Then just a couple of weeks ago, my home teaching companion said to me, “you want to learn something interesting? Google Brother _________ and see what you get.” I did and couldn’t believe what I found. My new friend has won both an Oscar and an Emmy! Now I feel this compulsion to go hang out in his driveway. I’ve also just discovered that he’s working on a project that could propel him to super-stardom so the pressure is on for me to get in good with him now before it’s too late! And to complicate matters, last week I asked him if he knew another famous person who just happens to be my favorite musician and he not only knows him, they’re personal friends!
If that wasn’t enough to bury the giddy-o-meter, last Sunday I learned that my famous neighbor called my favorite musician, and said nice things about me to the extent that my favorite musician asked my famous neighbor for MY e-mail address!
This is not good. I’m 56 years old and feel like a 14-year-old girl with a backstage pass to a Jonas Brothers concert. Since writing is my preferred method of self-help therapy, I’m hoping this session will help me get a grip on things before I turn into a star stalker.
Unfortunately, another thought just struck me. What if I discover that my favorite musician is shorter in real life, picks his nose in public, and attempts to communicate metaphysically with me rather than via e-mail? What if he turns out to be such a geek that I can’t listen to his music anymore?
So much for this self-help session. I should never have typed my new neighbor’s name into Google.