I’ve never been one that cared all that much for meeting famous people. Unless, of course, your name is Jessica Biel, in which case I’m very interested in meeting you, say for dinner, 7pm, your place? Call me.
But otherwise, I never really understood the appeal of meeting someone only to marvel over how great a singer they are, or how wonderful they were in that movie, or about that sick slam dunk they did, and then have them sign their name to your CD or baseball card or face. In fact, once I chose sleeping over a friend’s house to going to a Celtics practice and meeting the Celtics. And these were the awesome 80s Celtics, not one of the scrub teams. (In retrospect, I kind of regret that decision.)
That’s not to say I don’t appreciate some of these people for what they do, it’s more just that I often feel that they don’t need one more person gushing the same old “I love you so much” platitudes they must hear day in and day out. Maybe their egos appreciate it, but my own doesn’t want to provide it.
That’s not to say I haven’t met any famous people, just that I don’t typically go out of my way to do so. Last week, a friend had managed to score us not only tickets but also backstage passes to see Kiss. So while standing around backstage, my friend points out, “Hey, there’s Gary Cherone! You want to talk to him?”
Me: Nah, I’m cool.
Again, just a case of feeling like nothing I could say would be that interesting to myself or him. While I’m sure everyone appreciates some praise or recognition for things they’ve accomplished, I just feel like once you’ve gotten so much of it, it becomes stale. I’d much rather try and relate to these people on a more regular level, but by the nature of celebrity, theirs and my lack of, that’s also not really possible either.
That being said, a few of my celebrity encounters include:
1) Meeting Hulk Hogan when I was a young boy. I was one in a sea of youngins surrounding the Hulkster, clamoring for autographs. (Back then I was more into the whole thing, obviously.) There’s a pretty funny picture of it that I would add to this blog, if only I had it. But I don’t, so you’ll just have to use your imagination to picture me standing next to someone approximately 15 times my size and looking somewhat bored by the whole thing. (Note: that same night I also hid from meeting Jimmy “The Mouth Of The South” Hart, because he was a bad guy in wrestling and kind of scared me.)
2) I once met Ty Tabor, the guitar player for King’s X. This was a few years ago, outside the Middle East in Cambridge where they had just played. Their bus was just behind the building and me and two friends had to walk past it to get to my car, so we decided to stop for a few minutes just to see if we could meet the band. They all come out, and Ty has this group of guitar players around him extolling his every virtue. So when it comes my turn, I decide instead to ask a question that had been on my mind for a while.
Me: Hey, Ty, what’s with the sunglasses you wear when you play? Is it a Corey Hart “Sunglasses At Night” kind of thing?
My Brain: Heh, heh. Good one!
Ty (dead serious): My eyes are very sensitive to light.
My Brain: Quick, make a lupus joke!
My Mouth: I want to, but there’s a foot inside me.
3) I met Butch Walker (formerly of the Marvelous 3, now a solo artist and producer of pop and rock acts) when in Los Angeles. I was in line at the Whiskey to see L.A. Guns, because what else would you do when in Los Angeles? A woman who worked there, comes out and starts talking to the guy behind me.
Woman: Hey, Butch Walker! Blah blah blah something about Southgang.
My Brain: Heh, someone from Southgang is in line behind me. L.A. is funny.
(Note: Southgang was a B-level 80’s hair rock band, and at the time I had only just gotten into the Marvelous 3 a couple months before and did not know who Butch Walker was.)
Woman: And how’s the Marvelous 3 thing going? Wait, let me see if I can get you inside.
She walks off, and I turn around.
Me: Butch Walker? From the Marvelous 3?
Him: Yep.
Me: You guys are badass.
Him: Thanks.
He is then escorted inside. I did see him inside the club later (the Whiskey’s not that big), but didn’t talk to him again as he was busily conversing with C.C. Deville and I didn’t want to interrupt. (Again, in retrospect, I probably should have, as a conversation, no matter how short, with C.C. Deville, I feel probably would have been blog material all by itself.)
3) There was this time that a recently reunited Ratt was playing a club in Weymouth, Me and some friends went and after the show was over, hung around the club for a while. The good thing about this place is that the back was a music club and the front a sports bar, so when shows were over, if it wasn’t too late, you could hang around in the sports bar part and still drink. Eventually, members of the band come out. A few of us decide to pop a very important question to Warren DiMartini, the guitar player.
Us: Dude, the guitar tone you had on Detonator was sick!
Him: Thanks.
Us: What kind of pickups did you use on your guitar to get that tone?
Him: Oh, it was a combination of a bunch of things, the amp, the guitar, etc.
Us: Yeah, but what kind of pickups did you use?
Him: I don’t remember.
My Brain: Bullshit! Tell us! Why are you lying?
(I remain convinced to this day that he did indeed know what pickups he used. It’s the type of things guitar players usually know about their own gear. Why he didn’t want to spill, we’ll never know.)
4) I have a friend that worked for Paula Cole for a few years. And while I saw her several times while he was, I never met her. However, one of those times was when she was on the Lilith Fair. So I go to see the show in CT, and am standing around backstage with my friend. He knew I was a big Sarah McLachlan fan back then and had said he would try to get me to meet her.
My Brain: She’s probably too busy to meet a friend of one of the opening act’s road crew. She’s running this tour, performing, it probably won’t happen. But it’s cool hanging out back here.
My Friend: Wait here for a second.
Me: OK.
My Brain: Hey look, there’s Fiona Apple. She looks sad. Maybe if I got her a sandwich, she’d cheer up.
My friend returns after a minute.
My friend: OK, come on.
My Brain: Where are we going? Am I going to meet Sarah McLachlan? Really?
We walk through a door into a hallway and there’s the person I thought would probably be too busy to meet anyone….hacky sacking.
My Brain: Wha? Uhh? Shutting down now.
Point in fact, this is probably the one time I was unintentionally tongue-tied around a celebrity, as opposed to my semi-normal quiet self. She must have thought it nice that my friend brought his autistic buddy to meet her.
5) And then there was the time me and a few friends met Bruce Kullick, one of the former guitar players of Kiss, when he was playing with his new band. After the show, he was standing by the bar, so a we went over and pestered him with a few Kiss-related questions. What’s Paul like? Is Gene really like he seems? What was it like being in the band? All of which he answered with: If I wrote a book about Kiss would you read it? Would you buy a book I wrote about Kiss? What about if I wrote this book?
I’ve yet to ever see that book.
But sure, Bruce. I’d probably read it.