n o w p l a y i n g - s c r i p t b i n - f a n c l u b - s t u d i o

make love to the camera



May 22, 2003 - 11:58 am

William, It Was Really Nothing

I've seen a fair amount of celebrities since I moved to Los Angeles.

I'm still not great at recognizing them. Maybe it's because my brain doesn't quite have that LA mentality yet, hasn't quite fully accepted that celebrities walk around out amongst us mortals. When I lived in the Valley, Mack from Night Court had a condo right across the street from my place.

Whenever I saw him, I always thought "Hey, that black dude looks just like Mack from Night Court."

When I finally said that to the guy who was my roommate at that apartment, he said "Dude, that is Mack from Night Court."

So, there was Mack, right across the street, and there was Charlene Tilton from Dallas, also right across the street. I've seen all the celebs from the shows I've worked on, as you well know from my 'Name Dropper' period. I've seen famous people at the Improvolympic on a regular basis, from David Faustino to Neil Flynn to Jeff Garlin to to Garry Shandling to Sarah Silverman.

The best thing about watching a celebrity walk into a room is seeing everyone who is standing around notice them, get a weird charge from noticing them, and then doing their best to not look like they noticed them.

My favorite celebrity sighting yet occured just yesterday.

I like to get my haircut at a hotel called The Standard. It's on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. The place is swank personified. The first time I ever went there, I almost felt like I was being gently pushed out of the lobby by the invisible force of hipness. Now that I'm used to it, I just go into the salon, give them my name, and go back out into the lobby to sit in the spherical, hollowed out, plastic bubble chairs that hang by a chain from the ceiling and watch the aspiring supermodel hotel staff go about their business.

A haircut at The Standard is $19 well spent. For less than twenty bucks, gay guys more attractive than most women make you look incredible while complimenting you. On the way back to your car, you feel like a movie star.

Well, until you get into your tiny little white Geo Metro with the squeaky brakes you can't quite afford to have fixed right now.

But trust me, during that thirty second walk back to your car, you wouldn't be surprised if DiCaprio saw you and said "Hey man, Viper Room tonight?"

And you'd just be all "Eh, maybe."

So, anyway, after the haircut, I stuffed myself into my Geo Metro escape pod and pulled out into traffic. It's almost rush hour, so of course, traffic is worse than usual. God forbid I do the sensible thing and run all my errands around 11am. I had to wait until 4pm.

But it was OK. I was rewarded for my afternoon of laziness. If I hadn't gone when I did, I wouldn't have pulled out of my parking space and into the lane next to Morrissey.

I was a huge Smiths fan in college. Lots of people thought he was dour and morbid, but I loved the black sense of humor in 'Girlfriend in a Coma' or in lyrics about shy bald buddhist monks planning mass murder and wishing unhappy birthdays on those deserving. I wore out my Morrissey and Smiths CDs like my mom wore out her Beatles albums.

When I was 18 and 19, and still had the ability and desire to do it, I even tried to emulate the pompadour and sideburns.

Badly, but still.

So. Traffic was stalled, and here I was, six feet away from one of my musical heroes. I'd been a smart ass to Jim Belushi, joked around with Andy Dick, and stayed ice cool while standing next to Joan Cusack in a conversational circle, but sitting in the next car over to Morrissey, I was speechless.

He looked really good. The hair was in full force. He was fiddling with his stereo, but I couldn't tell what he was listening to. He was driving the shiniest powder blue Mustang convertible I'd ever seen. I didn't remember to check what was on his plates.

Traffic started up again in his lane, and he was gone.

I'm not sure what I would have said to him. The wittiest thing my starstruck brain had ready was "Morrissey!" but after that, I would have been tapped out.

Naturally, during the drive home, my brain configured all sorts of witticisms that played on his lyrics. "Watch out for that ten ton truck!" or "Stop me if you've heard this one before, but you're awesome!" or, lamest of all "Hey, where's your bicycle?"

Yeah. Better that I didn't say anything.

Ah, but I saw Morrissey!

Oh, and listen: If you live in Los Angeles, and can make it, I perform tonight at the IO at 11pm. It's a big show. My team is going up against a team that's very, very good, and the audience decides the winner by voting. The show is free, and if you've ever toyed with the idea of heading up there and seeing me perform, tonight's the night! Yow!

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