I attended my brother's first ever movie premier this weekend. And let me tell you what, it was great. Before you start saying things like "KOTWF, if your family is in with Hollywood, can you get me a gig," or "Take me now, I need to be filled with your celebrity manhood" I'd just like to mention that he was an extra, but that's not the point. The point is, I sat in a movie theatre, watching a mainstream movie, and there, larger than life, was my brother for a good five, maybe ten seconds.
And he got paid to be there.
Just so you all can share the experience, I'll tell you what to look for. Go see Seabiscuit (Which, by the way, was a fucking great film if you don't mind getting a little sap on you) starring The Dude and Spiderman. During the big horse-race at Pimlico, where they let the "common-folk" into the infield of the track, watch for a tall guy in a BRIGHT RED FLANNEL JACKET. He wore it on purpose to make sure you could see him. Trust me, he stands out. Anyway, that's my brother: Currently poor and playing 132nd fiddle to Tobey Maguire, but soon to be rich and famous.
But seeing him on the big screen reminded me of a few of my other "brushes with fame" so I thought I'd share them with you:
My dad's secretary's sister is married to Tom Urich who is the brother of Robert Urich and father of Justin Urich. I have had dinner with Tom numerous times. When Robert passed away last year, I sent a card to his family.
Years ago, Dick Sargent came to my little town for a benefit he was hosting. While he was here, he was befriended by my father, and he came back regularly to visit. One year, we had a big pool party when he was in town and everyone had their picture taken with him. Two days later, he came out of the closet on national television, and everyone ripped up their pictures. I live in Appalachia.
In Chicago O'Hare airport, I sat down in a bar right next to Fred Rogers. I turned to him and said, "Excuse me, neighbor, would you be my friend?" Fred looked me square in the eye and said "Fuck off, asshole."
A couple of years ago, Shirley King came to town to do a concert. After the concert, we slipped her a note that said "You and your band are cordially invited brunch at our home tomorrow morning. We understand that someone of your celebrity must be leary of accepting invitations from strangers, so we suggest that, if you are interested, you check our credibility with anyone whom you trust." and our phone number. Shirley asked the desk clerk at her hotel if she should party with us, the clerk responded that if she got an invitation from us, that she should accept because our house is the place to be. She ended up drinking all our booze and borrowing our van. At the end of the visit, she said "I just gots to tell dad to give ya'll a call if'n he's ever round these parts." That's all we wanted. Incidentally, that link is to a restaurant in Cleveland, Ohio that is great. Go there.
One time, I got yelled at by Christy Brinkley for running through her lawn. That was kinda cool.
I saw David Hasselhoff in a leather shop in Venice, Italy. No else had recognized him. I said to my brother, "Hey, look! That's David Hasselhoff! You know, Germans love him." Apparently, so do Venetians, because as soon as I said that, they all started saying "David Hasselhoff" and rushing up to see him/shake hands with him/take pictures of him and he had to hurry out of the store because the crowd wouldn't leave him alone. I felt bad for a minute, then remembered that it was just David Hasselhoff.
Now, about my celebrity manhood...