Well, I have a not so nice story about Crystal. This was at Joe Robbie Stadium in Miami, I had seats at the club level for a Dolphin game, and went to the bar inside to get a couple of drinks. Billy Crystal was standing next to the bar talking to some people I didn’t recognize when a little girl and an older kid came over to talk to him, and I guess ask him for an autograph. He padded his pockets and said he did not have a pen, then inmmediately turned around and said to his friends, loud enough that everyone in the bar, including the little girl, heard “Like I need to be talking to a nine year old.” Every since then I’ve considered Billy Crystal a self-important prick.
I’ll throw this one into the mix, even though it involves my brother and not me.
My brother plays poker. Alot. He and my sister in law were in the Carribbean last year at a casino and after leaving the poker table they finagled their way into a VIP lounge (comped I guess because of my brother’s play). As they’re sitting at the bar, my brother begins to notice the lovely smell of the woman sitting at the stool next to him (she has her back to him at the time). He told me “She smelled just like heaven must smell.” He then hears “Hey, Cindy, come here.” She gets up and leaves. He turns to get a look at her.
Cindy Crawford.
According to my brother, she is just as tall, just as beautiful, and just a incredibly incredible as you might imagine. And she smells fantastic.
A friend was organizing the prize ceremony of a university society, and the guest of honour was the Duke of York (the Queen’s younger son, for the uninitiated). I was roped in to do some announcements. Do you know how hard it is to announce him without singing
The grand old Duke of York,
He has ten thousand men… ?
A friend of mine and a few friends were in an alley (in Cambridge (uk)) and saw a mysterious light coming toward them. They kept guessing what it was (eyes of a monster! a very slow motorboke!..) until it got close enough to see, and it was Stephen Hawking in his wheelchair! Of course after their guesses they collapsed in laughter, and think he must have the awfullest idea of them now.
When I was in utero, my mother had her belly rubbed by Luciano Pavarotti as she got his autograph after one of his concerts in Philadelphia. He predicted I’d be a girl, and hey, he was right!
In 1982 or 1983 I was a gate agent for a little commuter airline out of DFW airport. Among the usual boarding pass taking type duties was the occasional early escort to the plan for VIP’s. It was routine and often VIP’s weren’t really people I would recognize or get excited about. Obviously for professional reasons, it was inappropriate to ask for autographs even if you did realize who it was. One day I preboarded this well dressed, very polite elderly gentleman. When he said hello, I thought his voice was vaguely familiar but I didn’t realize until he was leaving and commented on my lovely smile that it was Charlton Heston.