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Old 08-14-2005, 03:45 AM
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Scooter Scooter is offline
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I have two minor-celeb stories I can post here.

In 1996 I went with my then-boyfriend, who's a big seventies music freak, to see Susan Cowsill at the Bottom Line in downtown New York City. (Susan Cowsill used to be in the Cowsills, the real-life singing family on whom the Patrridge Family was based.) After the show Bill went backstage to say hi to Susan, whom he knew from his days as a music critic, while I lingered in the auditorium area. Most of the crowd had left when suddenly I realized I was hearing, coming from behind me, an absolutely unmistakeable voice: baritone, resonant, British. I turned around and standing a couple feet away was Paul Benedict, who was on the 70s sitcom "The Jeffersons" (he played Bentley, the British neighbor who worked at the U.N., if you've seen the show), and who's now a part of Christopher Guest's informal troupe ("Waiting for Guffman", "A Mighty Wind"). He noticed me turn around and recognize him and prepared, with some resignation I think, for me to either be a fan or abuse him. It turns out I did both. The trouble was despite the fact that I had seen him on TV hundreds of times I could not remember his name. I'm a visual person and a graphic designer and I had watched the show regularly and so I could see his appearance in the opening credits as they quickly spun out in my head, I could even see the font his name was set in--I just couldn't read it. He was staring at me now so I shook his hand and told him I enjoyed his work, and then stupidly, because it was frustrating not to remember, I admitted I couldn't remember his name. I'm not certain how he felt about this; in any event he chose not to resolve my problem by actually telling me his name. Instead, he patted me on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry about it." Then he turned and walked away. I was left standing there, interested that I had met him, but with an unresolved frustration at not remembering his name now compounded by the added-bonus amazement that he had chosen to keep the secret of his name to himself. Now, the coda to this is as follows: the very next week I went to see "Waiting for Guffman," in which Paul Benedict turns up in a role we were amused to see was listed in the credits as "Not Guffman" (if you've seen it, the guy the actors all think is Guffman, the New York agent). Had I run into him a week later, I could have at least babbled more intelligently about his most recently project instead of a 20-year-old sitcom--I could have at least said, "You're 'Not Guffman'!"

A year or so later Bill and I heard that Mackenzie Phillips, who was famous for being (a) the daughter of John Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas and (b) having been fired twice from another 70s sitcom, One Day at a Time, was going to be doing a show at New York's Town Hall (the site of the performance in "A Mighty Wind", by the way). Mackenzie's show was a revue in which she and three other singers would perform Broadway show tunes from the 70s. This sounded like high camp--failed sitcom star sings!--and we decided we had to go, expecting to have a good giggle afterward sitting around a table at a diner dissecting the performances. Imagine our surprise when the show turned out to be a lot of fun--all four singers were relaxed and confident, and they all sounded great, including Mackenzie. (She did after all sing in her dad's group during one of their comeback tours.) Now we had gone with a female friend of Bill's with whom he always engaged in a kind of rivalry of exuberance--they were always topping each other's acts of extroversion. As we were exiting the hall they were already daring each other to wheedle their way backstage, and before I knew it I was standing on the curb while the two of them worked their way through all the show's crew and hangers-on. As the master-stroke they charmed one of the other singers into giving them three passes to the after-show wrap party. The were ecstatic as they joined me, jazzed at their own chutzpah, and I somewhat dazedly followed them as we walked the few blocks to the bar where the after-party was being held. The entire lower floor of this place had been given over to Mackenzie and company. We stood a while at the bottom of the dark stairwell overwhelmed. It was this huge, cavernous space full of dark nooks barely lit by lots of small lights, filled with scores of people all dressed in black, talking in knots. The bar was lit from below as if all the alcohol came express from Hell itself. Eventually we began to move into the space. I could feel my friends' their exuberance seep away as if they'd spring a leak. We knew no one here--everyone was in groups chatting amongst themselves, and there was nothing really going on that opens up a crowd like music or dancing or anything. We stayed in a knot ourselves, keeping an eye out for anyone we recognized and talking quietly about the show, but at last we had to admit that our little attempt at party-crashing was a clinker. Nonetheless I refused to slink out with complete ignominy: one of the two of them, who had gotten us into this strange, sepulchral place, had to at least say goodbye to our host and provide some kind of cap to the evening. Their giddy excitement had flatlined, however, and they refused. I said fine, I'll do it myself. I turned and--perhaps emboldened by my bracing encounter with Paul Benedict--sought out the famous Ms. Phillips, my two friends in tow. I found her talking with some friends, smiling, a drink in her hands. As I loomed before her--she's not terribly tall--she looked up at me in surprise and took my hand mechanically when I offered it. "It was a really great show," I said. "You sang beautifully." "Thank you for coming," she replied, shaking my hand. She had absolutely no idea who I was but, because I was at the after-party, she clearly thought that I must be connected to her somehow, so she was gracious and polite. We exchanged goodbyes and headed quickly for the exit, my super-extroverted friends following mutely, amazed that I had been the one to shake hands with what had turned out to be that friendly and talented lady we'd laughed at for all those years.

One final bizarre note: An IMDB search revealed that both my celebrities have been regulars on the daytime soap "Guiding Light."
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