I don’t get it.
David Justice used to be married to Halle Berry.
I met Gregory Widen and told him how as college sophomores, my best friend and I went to the movies and made fun of the massive historical inaccuracies in his film, The Prophecy. Not a movie for people taking lots of history and theology classes. In retrospect, it was probably mean of me but his movies suck (yeah, I’m looking at you, crappy-ass Highlander, despite the nifty soundtrack by Queen) and I’d been drinking.
In the 1980’s when I worked at a bookstore in Santa Barbara, a 6’ 1" woman who was very obviously the famous TV chef Julia Child wanted to buy a book with a check. The check she offered had “Julia Child” printed on it and was signed “Julia Child”.
Prick that I am, I asked her for ID. :wally
Fortunately, she laughed with me.
At that same bookstore I also sold to Alex Comfort (author of Joy of Sex), Marc Lenard (Sarek, Spock’s Dad) and (hummina hummina hummina) swimsuit model Kathy Ireland.
Halle Berry had just won the Oscar for Best Actress, months after divorcing David Justice for being an adulterous jerk.
Have to jump in here…
Colin Farrell comes from a fairly well-off family who live in Castleknock which is a suburb on Dublin’s Northwest side. His alleged “hardness” is all an act and if he tried it anywhere else other than in Beverly Hills or trendy parts of New York he’d get himself hurt. He does hang around Irishtown in Dublin these days (near docks in Dublin) but he keeps his head down and his mouth shut.
I heard this story from a well known Arsenal fan. Charlie Nicholas, a striker, had made the switch from Celtic to Arsenal. It did not go very well. He was having terrible trouble scoring and just wasn’t pulling his weight.
One night he was in a bar in London and was recognized by several Arsenal fans (my friend among them). One of the fans went up to Charlie and started giving him grief about his lack of goals and his general play. He even went so far as to say he could do anything Charlie could and would be more than capable of matching his feats on the pitch.
Without saying a word, Nicholas pulled a 50 pound not out of his wallet. He then turned to the fan and said:
“So you think you can do anything I can do?”
He then set the 50 pound not on fire, turned to the fan and said:
“Let’s see you do that sunshine”.
My friend swears it happened!
I’m not sure that poor Billy Ashley counts as a celebrity!
That story supports my friend Mike’s reason for liking to go to major league baseball games. Says he, “Where else can you go to drink beer and taunt millionaires?” 
Vatican City?
::swish::
I met Bruce Campbell at a book signing a couple years ago, and I introduced myself by saying “Hi, I’m that guy who liked Brisco County Jr” … I immediately mentally slapped my forehead, since I wasn’t trying to be insulting, but after 50 people in a row talking about Army of Darkness and Evil Dead, I thought he’d like to hear someone talking about another stage of his career. Fortunately, he got the joke.
Late 80’s, outside the Pacific Dining Car in Los Angeles (well-known haunt of aging Hollywood stars). I was going in with my girlfriend (now wife) and a male friend, having dinner with some other book-publishing types, during a big publishing convention.
Big car pulls up, and out pops Bob Hope, along with a much younger blonde woman.
Male friend: “Hey, that’s Bob Hope!”
(Hope turns to us with a big smile)
Me: “Nahhhhhhh. Bob Hope is dead.”
(Hope wilts visibly as we head inside for our steaks and martinis)
A friend of mine once went to a Captain Beefheart concert and happened to run into Ric Ocasik (of the Cars) in the audience. He asked Ocasik, “What’s it like to see a real talent?”
TwoTrouts – I remember Mott the Hoople, and I think overall they were a better band than Aerosmith.
Does me calling Michael Stipe a cocksucker to his face count?
Yes. Yes it does. And may I say: Thank you Superdude. Thank you, indeed.
This is not a “trying to mock anyone” story but a “who the hell are you and what is your name story”!
I was in the Tower Record store on Clark Street in Chicago when a band was setting up for an in-store concert (they had raffled tickets away which accounted for the long line outside waiting to get in after they kicked us customers out). One of the band members asked if I was there to see them play and I replied that I wasn’t and asked who he was (I should offer at this juncture that I am a 50 something). He stated that he was in “Smashing Pumpkins” and I point blank asked him who the hell “Smashing Pumpkins” were. He replied by asking if that indicated my dislike of their music and I stated that I had no idea who “Smashing Pumpkins” were or what they played. As I was lwalking away he said “Well my name is Billy Corgan and take care” (or something to that effect).
When I later told my daughter, her response was “You saw him and you told him what!”. As I recall it was one of their last appearances.
I was driving down Addison a few years back – in the height of the Bulls #-peats and Scotty Pippen pulls up next to me at a light rolls down his window and says to me, “Anyone ever tell you you look like Scully?” (Gillian Anderson) and I look over and say, “Anyone ever tell you you look like Scotty Pippen?” And then I rolled up my window. He laughed. I waited for the light to change. Not a b-ball fan.
I also ran into Oxana Baiul (sp?) in a bathroom in Vegas. I had a few cocktails and I swore I recognized her from somewhere…so I go up to her and say the standard, “Hey, do I know you?” and then she says “no” because she didn’t know me. I guess I had a bit too much to drink because I continued–asking her if she went to my college, if I perhaps tutored her in my ESL classes :smack: and she finally says that she is a skater and I saw her on TV. To which I replied, “Oh right! I saw you on Oprah”. She was on there to talk about her drink-driving. Lord.
I also ran into Clinton from What Not To Wear. I didn’t know who he was, was just having a few ciggies with him when I noticed that most girls were staring at him. It was weird. We hung out for quite a while and together mocked the rest of the hangers-on.
As a kid I tore a strip out of Jacques Parizeau at a lecture… does that count?
You’re welcome.
I’ve posted this before, but here goes:
Several years ago, a few friends and I go to Athens, Georgia (I’m a comedian, and was booked for a few shows. The friends came with me for no real reason). One evening, when I wasn’t performing, we’re wandering around Athens. My friend Amanda sees Stipe, freaks out, and drags me over with her (she’s a HUGE REM fan. I think they’ve had MAYBE 3 good songs). She asks Stipe if she can have an autograph, and he says no. She looks at him, and he says, “it’s nothing personal, but if I sign one for you, I have to sign one for everyone else in town.”
She starts to walk off, depressed. I just look at him, and say, “look, cocksucker. This is your fucking hometown. Anyone that wanted your autograph already HAD it.”
During the Houston Rocket championship runs, I’d go to Bennigan’s at 59 and Kirby after the games. Pretty much every time, two or three of the Rockets would come in for a drink or something to eat.
I never asked for an autograph, spoke to them or bothered them at all. In fact, most patrons gave them their space. They didn’t bother anyone, and no one bothered them. That was the cool thing about that team. A bunch of blue collar, lunch box guys. Mostly good citizens.
Except one. Sam Cassell.
All the waiters hated the guy. He was too loud and always had a smug look on his face.
Well, one night, I am at a table having my dinner, and Cassell walks in with Mario Elie, Tim Breaux and a few hanger-oners.
They order appetizers and drinks, but instead of sitting in the bar or at a table, they stand in the aisle. Not a big deal, because there was a party atmosphere after the games. The other guys are cool, but Cassell is lording over the place; making a lot of noise and trying to get people to notice him.
Again, I say nothing to the guy. But, he further annoys me by leaning on the railing seperating the aisle and my table.
So for most of my meal, Sam Cassell was leaning on me and laughing extra loud in my ear.
My buddy and I pay the check and start to leave. We walk to the exit of our section, and into the aisle where Cassell and Co. are standing. As he sees that we need to pass by to exit, he looks me right in the eyes and reaches across the aisle to his buffalo shrimp sitting on the railing and starts dipping it in the sauce. And keeps dipping it, blocking my exit. Then he smirks at me.
Too far, sir!
I start walking and give him the “shoulder arm.” Shrimp stays in sauce, Sam goes back. I keep walking (I wasn’t looking to rumble, I just wanted an exit unimpeded by shrimp dipping).
I hear the grumbles coming and realize that I have probably made a mistake. So, I figure I better show “tough.” So I repeated the action as I passed Mario Elie.
For this, I feel bad. Elie was a good guy. Quiet. Polite. The waiters all loved him. He was my favorite Rocket. He had just hit the “Kiss of Death” against Phoenix the season before and that is my favorite moment in Sports HISTORY!
But, I am a bigger “watsonwil” fan, than Rockets fan. I needed to make them think I was crazy enough to give them pause for a few seconds.
What I forgot about was that my buddy was a few steps behind me.
He still had to walk the gauntlet.
So he did the exact same thing!
While the guys were trying to figure out what happened, my buddy and I ran…RAN to our car and got the hell out of there.
If anyone bumps into Elie, tell him I am sorry.
If anyone bumps into Cassell, bump a little harder.
He must really hate to go out in public.
2nd hand story. Mid-'80s, the sister of a friend told me she was walking in The Village and saw Ocasik walking towards her. She smiles and says “Hi Ric”, and he just keeps walking. She yells to his back at the top of her lungs, “You’re not that f**king good!”
Okay, so it wasn’t to his face…