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Friday, June 04, 2004  

Ready for Her Closeup

We didn't have nearly as many celebrity sightings as we expected to in Los Angeles. I don't think Portia de Rossi even counts because if Pamie hadn't pointed her out to us we would have blown right by her, oblivious. We also saw a guy on La Cienega who looked like Larry David from the back, but as he was behind the wheel of a 1988 Corolla, we thought it unlikely.

We'd even made reservations for lunch at the Ivy. In fact, it was our first order of business after arriving Saturday. One of Trash's coworkers, who coincidentally helped coach me for my interview with my current boss, asked us to have lunch there to see who we could spot. She'd been there herself and had a very nice conversation with Sharon Osbourne in which absolutely no hams were thrown.

But when we were at the Ivy, there was only one celebrity, and everyone's attention seemed to be fixed on her. There were stares and whispers and amateur paparazzi snapping digital photos of her. Guess who I'm talking about. No, forget it. You can't guess.

It was the woman sitting across the table from me.

Yes, several people had mistaken Trash for someone else. Someone famous. Unless Trash is way more famous than she lets on.

It didn't end at the Ivy. That night at dinner, she went to the ladies room to find a line of three women waiting to use the facilities. Star-struck, they insisted she go first.

"No, that's okay," Trash demurred. But they wouldn't take no for an answer. And so they enjoyed the frisson of listening to a supposedly famous person peeing. They stopped short of asking her not to flush and heading in after her with an empty water bottle, however.

Same deal at breakfast the next morning, with her as the subject of indiscreet points and excited sotto voce conversations. And at brunch at the Newsroom the following day, across the street from the Ivy.

Stee suggested that maybe the interest in her was simply curiosity over who the mystery woman was with the guy from They Might Be Giants (i.e., me), but that doesn't explain everything. For instance, when we were leaving the hotel on Friday night, Trash came around the corner as another guest was entering his room This conversation began before I was even in his line of sight:

"Hi! Hi!" he stammered excitedly.

"Hi…?" Trash answered.

"You guys going to dinner?"

"Um, yeah…?"


"We don't kno—"

"You want some suggestions?"

At this point, I took over our end of the "conversation," because Trash was busy staring at him in frank, blank confusion.

"No, we're meeting friends, and they're picking the place."

"Oh! Okay! Well! Bye!"


"Bye! Bye!"

By this point we were convinced that Trash was being mistaken not for an actor, but a producer or studio executive. Pam guessed that the dude at the hotel was someone who had recently had a meeting or a pitch with Trash's mogul doppleganger, and is now convinced that a) his career is over, b) he made a total jerk of himself (which, okay) and/or c) that producer or studio executive is a total bitch.

Of course, we still had absolutely no idea who Trash was being mistaken for. We kept hoping someone would approach her to ask for an autograph so she could say, "Sure! And who shall I make it out from?"

Or she could throw her spurious weight around somewhere, demanding of some flunky, "Do you know who I am? Then could you tell me?" But we ended up going home without ever finding out.

I always did think my wife looked like a movie star. Now I just wonder which one.

Today's best search phrase: "Camp game pudding 'up my nose'." Now I'm really glad I never went to camp as a kid.

posted by M. Giant 7:47 PM 0 comments


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