I hadn't been on the ground for an hour on my first day before I saw Tom Arnold in a restaurant. It wasn't the most glamorous celebrity sighting, but I suppose it was a fitting introduction to the vernacular of L.A. Now I have an anecdote: You guys, I saw Tom Arnold in a restaurant. I already have more of these kinds of stories than the average bear (did you know I saw Bill O'Reilly in a unisex bathroom backstage at Radio City Music Hall?), but on the east coast, they don't come up in conversation very often. Here, celebrity stories are a necessary part of speech, and people everywhere are dying to share theirs with you.
My roommate McKenzie, ever since she arrived, has picked up the habit of scanning every face she sees, trying to decide if she's seen it before. And, as I'm finding out at every turn, her chances are surprisingly good. As an enthusiast of pop culture of all stripes, I suppose that my mental font of celebrities is larger than many, but it still seems like there is an excess supply of people in this town who, to a given person, can be considered "celebrities."
Last week, I was in an all-night restaurant in Hollywood and saw two out of the three Hanson brothers, but I was the only person in my group who recognized them (yeah, I still listen to Hanson, what of it?). I was excited to see musicians I admire (stop judging me!), but McKenzie was just happy to see anybody.
The producer of "Attack of the Show!" who interviewed me for a potential internship asked, "How are you at dealing with talent?" It seems ridiculous that "talent" lives in a kind of rarefied air in L.A. — the air quality here is terrible anyway. But I can't stop these ridiculous anecdotes from coming out of my mouth, even though I learned years ago that celebrities are just human beings too. All this obsession just seems like a waste of time.
Last night, I went to dinner in the Valley with Janet, the family friend who got me my "HIMYM" gig, and her husband Michael, who's worked for years as a character actor in order to support his comedy writing. I catch him on TV all the time — an episode of "Seinfeld" here, a recurring role on "Hannah Montana" there. I suppose for many, he has one of those faces that is familiar but hard to place. He told me, "Since I did ‘Hannah Montana,' I can't walk into a Chuck E. Cheese without the place going apes--t." I wasn't sure if he was kidding.
He also relishes his celebrity stories more than anyone else I've talked to. He eagerly shared his experiences with Miley, Courteney Cox, the Brady Bunch and Michael Jackson. He refers to them by their first names.
Watching E! with Janet and Michael was exhausting. "So-and-so actress is such a nice girl." "What's-his-name is really a messed-up guy." Maybe I'm in the minority, but I don't particularly want to hear it. I guess I read my fair share of celebrity Twitters, but there are far more people whom I don't care about than those I do.
In a time when so many famous people have done nothing to earn their fame, there is an oversaturation of people in L.A. whom we're all supposed to slobber after. And maybe this means that I'll never fit in entirely in this town, but I don't really have the energy to play along.
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Rebecca Goldberg is a junior majoring in American studies. She can be reached at Rebecca.Goldberg@tufts.edu
