Brief Encounters with the Somewhat Famous

A thin, bleached-blond, highly-made-up, young woman occasionally comes to work at my place of employment. I haven't had the chance to talk to her about much besides work-related topics, but she has always reminded me of one of those girls in high school who thought they were going to make it on Broadway some day. She constantly emits a big smile, a bigger laugh (with perfect, dazzlingly white teeth, of course), and has a tinge of the phony about her.

This girl barely registered and certainly wasn't worth mentioning until a conversation I had with another coworker (one I'm actually friends with. Yes, I do have some friends.). My friend, who is quite droll, referred to Barbie as "Miss Wyoming". I laughed, seeing that as a perfect nickname for this girl. "No, seriously," she continued. "She's actually Miss Wyoming 2007. [Boss guy] was showing off a picture of her in a swimsuit and saying 'Look who I've got working for me.'"

Blatant creepy sexism aside, I thought this tidbit compelling. It explained her fake but cheerful friendliness, her bubbly attitude and the notion that she always looked as if appearing on stage. I wondered if she had a mantra which she repeated to herself. Something like, "smile smile, Miss Wyoming, smile smile..." Since then, she has not been working in my location, so I haven't had the opportunity to broach the subject. Although I'm not sure how I would. Perhaps something like, "So, have you heard of feminism?" or maybe, "I have to ask: what's your talent?" Given that it's Wyoming, it could be something like goat tying (no joke--what did those poor goat ever do, besides maybe eat some of your clothing) or pig wrestling.

But now I can say I once worked with a Miss Wyoming. For whatever that's worth. Perhaps a conversation opener at a party?

I can also say that I was once in Dan Rather's seat on an airplane. In the mid-'90s, I was sitting in Business Class through no fault of my own (like I've ever had an employer who would spring for that), and he came and hovered in the aisle near me. He had obvious plans to sit there, but I just smiled. No way was I giving up my premium seat. It turns out he had a seat in First Class, but was travelling with an associate (read: peon) who only travelled coach. He had hoped to meet for business talk in the middle--business class--but I had thwarted his plans. That made me feel pretty good, for some reason. I love messing with the privileged class.

Another anecdote I can relate, if we're talking about seeing famous people in unexpected places, comes from a trip to London back in 2000 or thereabouts. My man an I were walking in the expensive Knightsbridge district (near Harrods, although I'm not really sure why we were there. Just moseying through, I suppose) and I passed one girl on the street who looked slightly familiar. Then I passed another who looked exactly the same. The Olsen twins! Dressed in non-identical tan coats, and with a handler, the famous-for-I-don't-know-what-teenagers were right next to me on the British side walk. I have to admit, if they hadn't been nearly identical, I would never have recognized them. But still. The pre-anorexic, straight-to-video Olsen twins weren't a sight you see every day. Especially since I don't live near Hollywood. Or NYC.

Speaking of NYC, Richard Simmons once waved to me in Kennedy Airport. It was quite scary, actually. He's a bit freaky, and in his neon yellow overalls, he didn't look exactly stable. You know how crazy his hair is. He was being followed by an enormous bodyguard, which made me laugh. Who'd want to assault Richard Simmons? An unhappy customer shouting "Your Sweatin' to the Oldies 24 made me look stupid and I still didn't lose weight?"

As for airport stories, one time in DFW (that's Dallas, though why anyone would go there is a mystery), I saw the back and side of Rod Stewart's head. He was in a bar, and they had pulled down the metal grate over the storefront so that he could drink undisturbed. I was only a kid, but I came away with one impression: what an arrogant jerk. And I don't even like his music.

So, it's pretty obvious I don't have any really significant encounters with famous people. That's probably because I don't really like most people anyway, and just because they're famous doesn't mean I want to talk to them. Or ask them to pose for a photo. And I've never understood autographs, either. Who cares? My brother once got Gallegher's autograph on another plane trip, when I was a kid. I sat behind the famous fruit smasher. My mom insisted that he smelled like watermelons, but I think she was imagining things (or trying to be funny). I'm sure my brother did not make a fortune selling that signature on E-bay, so what was the point, really?

Besides, I can't beat my main man's famous people stories. He actually went to the movies with Julia Stiles. Okay, so she was about 13 and not really famous yet and the cousin of one of his friends, but still. She was in his car. And then, not even a year ago, he got taken to dinner by Dennis Lehane, writer of "Mystic River" and "Gone Baby Gone". So it's not quite Ben Affleck, but it's better than my lame stories. Richard Simmons. Come on.

Steve Lazmo and Other Nonsense

Steve Lazmo has requested that I blog about Jengo Fett.
May I just take this moment to point out that Steve Lazmo, who looks a bit like Steve Buscemi, insists on wearing a hamburger for a hat? I would never want to take any advice from this ketchup-covered guy.
I could also mention that Jengo Fett--a character from the horrendous Star Wars "prequels" developed by a money-grubbing George Lucas who couldn't leave well enough alone--is hardly worth my time. I mean, at least Boba (Jengo's son, Boba Fett) had a kickin' rocket pack.
When I lived in Aberdeen (the cool Aberdeen in Scotland, not the lame ones in Maryland or Washington State), I used to walk past a house with a life-sized cut-out of Boba Fett in the window. It was intimidating. He wore full body armor and had a laser gun of some sort, not to mention that rocket-propelled jet pack. But Jengo? He just looks like some random dude. Not cool at all. Why would I want to write about him and his army of clones?
This whole topic makes me look like a geek. It doesn't help that I am currently drinking water out of a glass with Darth Vader on it. And a Stormtrooper. And Grand Moff Tarken. It's probably also a bad sign that my cat, cuddled up next to me, is named Wookie.
I guess I am a geek. But does that mean I can only write about Ewoks?
But what else to write about? I could describe the weather again, because it's been pretty wack. Yesterday, the temperature was in the 50s here in Laramie, which felt strangely mild. When I drove an hour south to Fort Collins, Colorado, the 2000 foot plus drop in elevation changed the temp to 70-something. Girls were wearing tank tops and flip flops and other alliterative clothing items. It was so warm, I had to take my sweater off and put the air conditioning on in the car (which seemed a horrible anti-environmental thing to do).
But last night, it dumped snow again, and it is still snowing now. I went cross-country skiing in the mountains this morning and there had to be a least 8 inches of new snow up there. It was very nice, but confusing. How will I recognize spring when it arrives?
I guess I'll notice when flowers start to bloom and trees to bud. Right now everything is still brown (and white) and sleeping. I wonder if crocuses grow here and will push themselves up through the remaining snow. Daffodils would come next, but the environment here may not be right for them. High-elevation flower troubles, you understand.
I noticed that a nearby house also has a life-sized cut-out of a movie star in the window. It's Ahh-nold as the Terminator. Scary, but just not a cool as Boba Fett.