Not In Kansas Anymore...

Click your heels, and see if home is where you hang your hat, or somewhere else inside yourself as this simple, postmodern girl takes on L.A.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Recent random celeb sightings:

1.) I think Chad Smith from the Red Hot Chili Peppers lives in my neighborhood. Why he would live in Burbank, I have no clue, but I keep seeing a guy who looks an awful lot like him around. And in LA, the general rule is: if you look at someone and say, "hmm, that guy looks like___", then it probably IS ____.
I first saw him on the bike path near my house. Then yesterday I saw him at Albertson's ( grocery store). It's not like I'm a big RHCP fan anymore, or particularly want to meet him, I just am perpetually perplexed as to WHAT THE F he'd be doing this far into the Valley. He's a rock star, right? The general LA rule about rock stars is that they live in Hollywood Hills. (That means nothing to you without a map, of course. One of these days, I'm going to have to doodle one out. For now, you have to suffice with my lame descriptions).
The Hollywood Hills, kids, are the hills that seperate the Valley from the Rest of LA, waaaaaaay up these windy-roads ( including the ever-famous Mullholland Drive, a death trap if there ever was one) and on which the Hollywood sign sits facing south ( hence the name). Big giant mansions up there, where it's hard to get arrested for serious partying. The farthest anyone comes into the Valley from there is Ventura Boulevard, where all the trendy trendies hang. SOMETIMES you might find them as far as Sherman Oaks or Studio City, but only if they're shopping. In Burbank, you see actors off and on, because of the Bermuda Triangle of Studios ( WB, NBC, ABC/Disney, and Dreamworks) that exists here. It's extraordinarily rare to see musicians. There's a few hidey-hole music studios around, for sure, but unless they're getting arrested for drugs on the way home from a session ( hey,Scott Weiland! Give up the needle and spoon already! We're tired of looking at your scrawny-junked-out ass speeding down our street!), the chances of catching them is next to zero.
So is it Chad Smith shopping for lettuce in my grocery store, or some doppelganger? The world may never know. Unless I ask him. But that would require Effort, and frankly, I'm saving it up for someone I really care to meet.

2.) Sydney Pollack, whom I thought was dead ( I have a real problem keeping track of who's still alive in this business sometimes. Sad, but true. My friend B and I invented this terrible, sick game called "Dead? Not Dead?" where we throw out a celebrity's name and try and guess. Yeah, I know. I'm going to hell.), He cut me off in traffic. In Sherman Oaks ( see above). Nice car, but he needs to pay more attention to where he's going. If he's NOT dead, then how old IS he? Should he even be driving????

3.) Adam Corolla, in my Sav-On. I didn't actually spot him, Dani did. I was too busy yelling at the self-checkout machine ( stupid fucking thing couldn't scan a simple candy bar! I swear, those things are worse than standing in line). Apparently, he was grousing on his cell phone in that nasally voice he has, which is what gave him away. Dani said, "is that Adam Corolla?" Me: "You goddamn piece of shit! Gimme my candy bar! Um, what? " ( swivelling head around, seeing dark-haired irritated-looking man). Her: "THAT guy in the baseball cap with the annoying voice." Me: "Probably. Dr. Drew lives in Pasadena ( not far from Burbank, and near the mental hospital Las Encinas, where he works). He might be here to tape a show or something. ( turning back to check-out machine). I just GAVE you a dollar!!!"
Clearly, that encounter didn't change my life either. But I did get my candy bar.

Ah, the glamour. Some days, it's just too much to take in.