Well, Excuuuuuse Us!

I never asked to be called a "celebrity." It is, however, how some people refer to guys like me, so if I use the term while referring to myself, don't think I'm self-centered--which, of course, I am, since I believe it would be impractical to be centered anywhere else. I looked up celebrity in the dictionary and found the definition to be dull and uninteresting, probably written by a bunch of isolated lexicographers who wouldn't know a celebrity if a certain film maker walked up to them on the street with neon arrows pointing to his head flashing, Woody, Woody, Woody.

So I will proffer my own definition of celebrity for the sake of this article: A celebrity is any well-known TV or movie star who looks like he spends more than two hours working on his hair. In women, it's the I-just-woke-up-and-did-nothing-to-my-hair look, which, upon reflection, you realize could never occur in nature in this or any other universe. In men, it is the born-again-and-sprayed look; if they were attacked by an ax murderer, the headline would read, "Ax broken by man's hair."

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There are certain celebrities I will not defend, because they just don't need it. Robert Redford doesn't need it. Dustin Hoffman doesn't need it. Dusty can break my Kodak any day; he's already proved he's an artiste, and the only defending he might need is if he were found in the men's room at Grand Central Station dressed as Tootsie. So the type of celebrity I will be defending falls within these categories: (1) anyone appearing on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous; (2) anyone having a name with unnatural spelling, such as Karon Smythe-Pthomson; and (3) anyone with a name containing a word that has never existed before, like Faron Glane.

I suppose the (continued on page 234) Excuuuuuse Us! (continued from page 171) biggest complaint about celebrities, as defined here, is that we do things that many sophisticated people consider dumb. Naturally, they would rather be watching a TV interview with Jonas Salk; but, instead, they get Mo Mo from Hawaii Alert sitting by his pool, talking about his co-star, Jace Jarbman: "A wonderful human being and really great to work with; it's fun!" Of course we may not sound all that bright. What do we do for a living? We drive cars off cliffs and shoot people with rubber guns! When the interview is with someone who rose to fame for having large bouncing breasts, don't be surprised if the responses turn to sludge when the questions get off the subject of large bouncing breasts. In this case, there are only two legitimate questions: "What's it like to have large bouncing breasts?" and "What are your large bouncing breasts going to do next?" There is also the possibility that many celebrities are actually smarter than they act. You don't know how close I came to calling this article "Apologia pro Celebritate," just to prove it. It would have looked great in the magazine and been pretty impressive. I dropped it only when I couldn't think of any justification for having the title in Latin while everything else was in English.

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One complaint people have about celebrities is that some of them receive incredible press coverage and attention that are incommensurate with their accomplishments. This is true.

When I saw Joan Collins interviewed on A Barbara Walters Special, she was sitting in front of 50 or so Perma-Plaqued magazine covers of herself, and I thought it was rather tacky. But later, I recognized not only her right but her brilliance in doing so. Having your face on so many magazines is actually quite an accomplishment. Whether or not some snob thinks it's meaningless is unimportant: It's real. It shows that a personality has exerted some force on society, and for us folks from humble beginnings who had very little hope for success, it's damned gratifying. I immediately started searching through my clippings for magazine covers, which I stupidly hadn't Perma-Plaqued, and found they were folded or faded and way beyond the Perma-Plaque stage. To take them in now would be to risk having the Perma-Plaquers laugh in my face. Now, while Joan has hers beautifully displayed, I've got mine stuffed in the bottom of a card-board box; and if I'm ever in a position to have to remind someone I may be trying to impress that I was on 50 magazine covers, I have to shuffle back to a lousy Bekins box, while all Joan has to do is walk into the den and--wham!--there they are, in living color and fresh as the day they were published. I'm singing a tune of regret these days, and I'll bet a lot of these complaining journalists have their own little stories stuffed away somewhere, and I'll bet a lot of them wish they had had them laminated.

Another gripe is that all celebrities wear fancy jewelry and gold chains. Of course they wear fancy jewelry and gold chains; wouldn't you? Go ahead and tell me that if you were going to be interviewed on Entertainment Tonight, you wouldn't put on your best stuff, including whatever fancy jewelry you might have. The only reason a lot of celebrities have fancy jewelry in the first place is that it was given to them as bribes by journalists wanting to get that exclusive interview, and the poor celebrity is obliged to wear it on TV to show Rupert Murdoch that it was actually received. And what about all the times we see celebrities in sloppy old shirts and jeans? Unfortunately, it's usually on The Tonight Show or at some black-tie affair, but they wear them just the same. I have personally seen many celebrities actually lounge around their houses in faded clothes, just like everybody else. What difference does it make if their clothes are prefaded? The only real difference between you and them is a famous puss.

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There is an unwritten rule that a star must never publicly grieve over his fame and fortune. Nothing is more irritating than watching a celeb lean back on a sofa the average person would kill for, then prance around his neo-Tudor mansion under the palms, pause under the Simbari painting and complain about how he can't go out anymore for fear of being mobbed. "Well, go get in your pool spa, you jerk! Go sit in the Rolls and smell the leather! Get a little party up with Sly or Burt or Frank! I'll trade places with you any day!"

But at the risk of sounding like an ingrate myself, I will mention a few of the drawbacks that you may not have considered. It's true that many restaurants give celebrities their best tables. But imagine walking in one night and finding that your special table is unavailable because Ronald Reagan happened to come in, or imagine being at a party where you are the center of attention when suddenly Reagan decides to pop over. A celebrity, no matter how big, is at the mercy of the whims of the President. You can be the biggest thing in town and if the President walks in, you're dead. If you think it's bad having your show canceled, think what it's like to have it happen to your personality. Suddenly, the women are no longer interested in Steve, and you can almost smell the excuses being concocted so that they can get themselves over to Ron.

Besides the constant danger of having the President take your table, there is the little matter of valet parking. Most restaurants in L.A. have it, and there is a posted fee of $1.50. Well, if you forget and don't put the exact amount in your pocket ahead of time, you've just lost 50 cents. You can't stand next to your Mercedes waiting for change from two dollars. You've got to casually toss in the extra 50 cents like you don't even care, and I don't need to remind you, that's a 33 percent tip! The result is that the noncelebrity can park ten times to the celebrity's seven, and I still believe that while you are eating, the valets put your car up on blocks and swap your engine.

And speaking of eating, I don't know of one celebrity who minds giving autographs, especially at mealtime. After all, it's the public who put you where you are, and the least you can do is give them the courtesy of a legible signature. Many times, however, celebrities are asked for autographs by people who have no idea who they are. Many autograph seekers have just a vague idea that they've seen you somewhere before, and only after getting the autograph and taking a quick peek right in front of you do they know you're David Hasselhoff and not Norman Mailer. You also get the feeling that some of these autograph chasers haven't paid to see you in 15 years; celebrities should have the right to see recently validated movie-ticket stubs.

I was walking down the street one day and heard a woman whisper about me, "Look, there's Eddie Murphy!" I swore that if she asked me for an autograph, I was going to sign my own name and stand my ground no matter how persuasively she might argue that I wasn't me. I waffled, however, and signed Eddie's name just to avoid problems, and I'm sure the next time she sees Eddie on TV, she'll lean over to her husband and whisper, "He's actually white."

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I am now going to tell you something that you may find hard to believe but that is common knowledge here in Hollywood. Behind virtually every form of celebrity behavior that seems graceless, or just downright dumb, there is a horrifying truth: Most celebrities are actually scholars in philosophy who have been captured and hypnotized by the Argentine Mafia. Proof abounds, but if you want to see some for yourself, look at a rerun of the Barbara Walters Special in which Christie Brinkley did her impression of Shirley Temple singing On the Good Ship Lollipop. Just before she asks her to do it, Barbara places her right arm on the edge of the sofa. Her hand then curls over the edge, where Christie can see Barbara's ring, which contains ? mysterious stone. Barbara's hand begins to rock subtly, and then and only then does Christie begin to sing.

So the next time you're put off by a celebrated person, think twice before you throw stones. Would you be so great sitting on the hot seat on The Tonight Show--especially if Johnny were rocking his ring, sending you into a trance originally induced at the Argentine Mafia brain-washing camp just outside Nevada? If you were making ten grand a week, might you not go out and get one little ol' car with your initials on it? Can't you see yourself with 200 pairs of shoes? Might you not like to punch a photographer after he took that one last shot of you with your finger up your nose? Tonight, as you're lying in bed watching Johnny, I want you to imagine yourself sitting across from him, with the lights glaring and millions of people watching, and try to answer this question: "So what's next for [your name here]?"

If that doesn't make you sympathize with celebrities just a little, then what about this: Imagine yourself waking up, one, five or ten years from now, as many celebrities do, and saying to yourself, "Hey, where is everybody?"

"A celebrity, no matter how big, is at the mercy of the whims of the President."