4 posts tagged “1 degree”
Yet another One Degree tale - a close encounter with someone famous. I've had a lot of these, some closer than others. Here is my story about Lori Singer, actress.
I lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan at 72nd Street and West End. I used to walk my two Chihuahuas, Chewie and Ernie, at Riverside Park just a block away. On many occasions, I would see Lori Singer. I recognized her immediately and would watch her but try not to be too stalker-ish. She'd look over at me on occasion and smile.
Sometimes, she had a small child with her but I always got the feeling that it wasn't her kid but maybe a relative's or friend's. I don't know why I got that feeling. Maybe because I hadn't ever read in the movie gossip magazines that she had a kid. She always looked great - even when totally casual, sans makeup.
I remember Lori from Fame and also from a shortlived TV series that I loved called VR.5. (If any of you out there knows how I can get some copies of VR.5, I'd be totally psyched!).
Anyway, there isn't much more to tell. I'd see Lori walking around our neighborhood - I think she lived within a block from me. Again, not trying to be stalker-ish, I did see her going in and out of a building on 72nd closer to Riverside Park. I almost walked up to her to say hi once but couldn't think of anything to say. I figured anything I said would make me look like a stalker.
I repeat - I did not want to look stalker-ish!
VR.5 Links:
Okay, I'm back to my reminiscing about close encounters with famous people. This one was triggered by the September issue of Oprah magazine and an excerpt of Carole Radziwill's new book "What Remains." She wrote about meeting John F. Kennedy, Jr. for the first time when she began dating Anthony Radziwill, her husband who died shortly after JFK Jr. and his wife were killed.
Anyway, enough of the morose and tragic. I remember seeing JFK, Jr. several times in social settings around New York City. Each time, I was struck by how larger than life he seemed. He was like a Thanksgiving Day parade inflatable version of himself. He dominated the room, even in a crowd, while standing perfectly still and smiling. His good looks went beyond physical - there was truly an energy emanating from him that was preternatural.
I found myself in the Hachette Filipacchi building on more than one occasion - where the offices of his magazine GEORGE was located - and would extend my special radar, hoping to catch a ripple of him moving through the hallways or a glimpse of him standing in a doorway. Or better yet, find myself trapped in an elevator with him.
My encounters with JFK, Jr. were much more fleeting than with other celebrities but the impact was incredibly strong. The last time I was in his presence was when a girlfriend and I were signing out of the Hachette Filipacchi building after hours. I was leaning over the log book, pen in hand, when my girlfriend elbowed me and the pen jerked across the page.
Irritated, I looked up to see a handsome man with beautiful eyes looking straight at me, smiling. I hope I smiled but most likely I had a shocked expression on my face, looking more like a deer in headlights than an attractive specimen of femaleness.
Our eyes locked as he strode purposefully across the lobby of the building and walked out the doors onto the New York City street.
"That was him," my friend whisper squealed.
"It was? Are you sure?" I asked.
"It WAS him and he was STARING at you!" she exclaimed, giddy.
She worked at Calvin Klein with Carolyn Bisset who, at the time, was the on again/off again girlfriend of JFK, Jr. who was still embroiled in something with Daryl Hannah.
"But he really prefers brunettes," said my friend. "He just picks blondes because they are the polar opposite of his mother."
I don't know if that was really true or not. I don't know if he was really even looking at me or just looking past me or through me that night. I just remember being totally energized by his presence.
We debated about chasing after him, inconspicuously of course, and following him to see where he was going. When we finally got to the street, he was gone.
Too soon after, he was really gone. I remember hearing the announcement that his plane had disappeared and had an instantaneous thought that he had swept Carolyn up in a moment of romance and flew them to a faraway island to get her away from the paparazzi (she was having a hard time with the constant barrage of photographers and attention).
They were on a tropical island, that's it, I thought. As the hours progressed without any word, there was still reason to hold out hope. Then they found wreckage.
And in an instant, our hearts were broken.
Okay, here's another one.
I used to be in the music business, in music management, and one of the clients I worked with was Metallica.
Sometimes, I'd go on tour with them, helping to coordinate press interviews. On one trip to
Canada, I was able to meet up with my former roommate Brigitte Bako, an actress who had a role in a television series starring Jason Gedrick and also an appearance by a very young Neve Campbell. The series was called "Class of '96.
Well, I had gotten the three of them - Brigitte,
Jason and Neve as well as another young
actress - tickets and passes to the Metallica
concert. Of course, in my stupid little female
mind I was thinking of ways to convince
Jason that I was the perfect girl for him.
Yes, me as Jason Gedrick's girlfriend. Do we
see a bizarre pattern here? But I guess many
young women dream of dating a rock star
or an actor, right?
I'm trying non-stop to impress Jason and
finally offer to bring Jason and Brigitte into
the "inner sanctum" backstage - the place
where the band members hang out with
friends and family to unwind.
Meanwhile, Neve and the other actress
were following us everywhere, and we
began to make a game out of trying to
lose them in the crowd or backstage in
the commotion at the stadium.
But time and time again, they'd find us.
"Where are you going?" Neve would ask.
"Can we come?"
Finally, with Brigitte and Jason urging
me on, I told Neve that no, I could not
bring her beyond a certain barrier backstage.
I apologized as Jason, Brigitte and I headed
past the barrier and into a dimly lit room
filled with pool tables and food.
Sure, I felt a little guilty. Neve seemed like
a nice enough girl, but she was really young
and I couldn't imagine what she'd do in
the inner sanctum.
So Brig, Jason and I played pool, laughed,
ate, drank, and joked about how we ditched
Neve and the other girl.
Then about half an hour later, who shows up
backstage but Neve and the other girl. They
had flirted their cute little selves back to
the inner sanctum!
I felt like a total bitch. Neve and the other
girl smiled at us then proceeded to ignore
us as they partied with other people.
Needless to say, my efforts to impress
Jason were fruitless. I never heard from
him again.
If only I had been nicer to Neve. I learned
later in life that you are better off being
nice to other women than to men.
Women friends have a much longer
shelf life than boyfriends!
I was listening to soft rock radio and
heard the song "Missing You" by John
Waite and was transported back in time
like only songs can do.
I've had a lot of random celebrity sightings
in my life, partly because I worked in the
entertainment industry in the late 80s and
early 90s and also because I spent so much
time in New York City where they are...
everywhere.
So being 1 degree away from somebody
famous isn't really a rare event when you
are in the midst of Manhattan. I just
had this random thought about a random
celebrity because of a song and thought
I'd blog about it.
Random Sighting:John Waite
This must have been around 1995.
I was walking west on Central Park South
and approaching the intersection with
5th Avenue. I see a short, slight man
dressed in black (who isn't in NYC)
walking slightly ahead of me. Spiky-
shaggy reddish hair, pale skin, attractive.
My mind said "John Waite" in that
automatic way your mind registers
something before it really sinks in.
Oh, that is John Waite walking in
front of me.
And in a split second I had already
imagined how we would meet on the
street, get to talking and he'd invite
me over for a drink and then I'd be
dating John Waite. Am I the only one
with these ridiculous fantasies about
unattainable people?
I decide to pick up my pace so that
I'd walk by him, shoulders back,
breasts out (thrusting out with purpose
since I'm not well endowed), using a
confident gait as my long skirt and
long dard hair blew in the breeze.
Ah yes, he will notice me, I thought.
Just then, a man collapsed across
5th Avenue, on the other side of the
busy intersection. Without even thinking
about it, I sprinted across the street,
like Wonder Woman, right? I assessed
the situation and stopped a guy who
was drinking from a bottle of water.
"Can I use that?" I asked then used
the water to douse the man's face who
looked to have been overcome by heat
stroke.
"He's drunk," someone else pointed
out as I administered to the fallen man.
Yeah, he was drunk all right. So much
for the heroic rescue and impressing
John Waite.
I looked up and John (we were on a first
name basis by now) was looking over
at the commotion or at me, I couldn't
tell. I smiled. He turned and continued
walking down Central Park South.
After I made sure the man wasn't going
to die, I casually sprinted back into step
behind John Waite then picked up my
pace, in a very carefree manner, mind you.
"Well, that was interesting," I said out loud.
"Was he alright?" he asked.
"Drunk."
He nodded. I think we exchanged some
other pleasantries, then I blurted out
my name.
"I'm John," he replied.
"What do you do?" I asked because God
forbid he knew that I knew who he was.
"I'm a musician," he said.
I struggled to think of exceedingly interesting
and pithy things to say as we turned onto
Central Park West. I have no idea what we
talked about but by the time we reached
72nd Street where I had to turn, he still
hadn't asked me to join him for a drink.
"Well, this is my street," I gestured. "Nice
talking with you."
"Goodbye," he said then continued on his
way. What? No kiss?
And that was the day I was 1 degree away
from John Waite.
