Tuesday, September 29, 2009

What's the Fascination, Kenneth?

So I went to get shaving cream at Macy's and was greeted by a wall of people behind those metal jail bars for midgets that the cops use to cordon off protesters. As I walk by I notice the throngs of people are carrying signs or posters and cameras. I take a closer look and see that they're all carrying Mariah Carrey crap.

So I ask one of the cops what's up and he tells me Mariah Carrey is making an appearance in a few minutes. I shrug my shoulders, move in to Macy's, get my shaving cream and exit as far away from these losers as possible.

I say losers because, to be honest, anyone that is over the age of 12, who stands around in a crowd of people waiting to see a celebrity is a loser. That's right. It's not like the celebrity is going to change their lives. Mariah Carrey will get out of the limo, flash those fat thighs, maybe provide the porn sites with a nipple slip, certainly give the tabs more fuel for the "she's fat or pregnant" pages and then she'll do her thing, posing for press photos, maybe sign an autograph or two and move on.

And the 29 year old fat chicks and greasy dudes will live far more enjoyable lives I guess. Why not? They can now say they stood outside, rubbed asses with other dudes, whilst Mariah Carrey walked by and, guess what man, she looked at me. Seriously. She saw me and we made eye contact and if there weren't 500 other losers around, she weren't married, I wasn't a fat, unemployed stain on society, she wasn't Mariah Carrey, wasn't married, wasn't wealthy, talented and, some might say good looking (not me), she'd have asked me out man. Seriously. we had a moment there and I could see, in her eyes man, the way she looked at me, she wanted me. Bad.

What the fuck is the point? Why do people sit around so they can see, that's right see, a celebrity? I don't get it.

I waited over night, in the rain, for stones tickets when I was in college. It was one of those things, decided at 2 in the morning, when we were hammered and, probably, high on some for of narcotic, so we went, figuring, the stones are old, they might not tour again. Waited all night, made friends with the girls in front of us, thankfully, because they sold out when it was my turn to buy tickets and the girls asked us to go with them.

The last fucking row in the superdome. That's like sitting on the 75th floor of a building, staring down on the street. But they had speakers so we heard the music and I could care less about seeing those corpses prancing around on the stage.

I'd never stand around to get a glimpse of a celeb. Perhaps, because I live in a city filled with celebrities, and I see them wandering around from time to time, I'm no longer as impressed. There are those moments when I spot a celeb and I dial the wife or email a friend but only when it's a cool sighting like seeing the donger on the street or sitting in front of Abe Vigoda at a show, doing a double take upon seeing him and having him lean over and confirm that yes, indeed, he is still not dead.

Sure, I've seen them and, at times, spoken to them but only because the situation called for it. Richard Gere once approached me in a store because we were both killing time checking out stereo equipment and Alec Baldwin did exchange shoe advice at the Cole Haan store in East Hampton (he talks to everyone) and he did play with my daughter when she was hysterical one night in a restaurant but I'd never, ever stand around waiting to see him.

I tend to do the opposite when it comes to celebrities. I have no desire to bother them and, as such, I tend to move away faster than normal. What the fuck are Drew Barrymore and I going to talk about? Would she feel more comfortable if I stared at her?

No, she wouldn't.

So why the fuck are those folks still down there, an hour and a half later, waiting on Mariah Carrey?

To misquote the crazy fuck who assaulted Dan Rather, What's the Fascination, Kenneth?

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

No fascination here, but for my one crush whom if I were to bump into in your fair city..I'd faint.
Anyone who graced the walls of my bedroom as a teen, is old and disgusting, and most stars now that are splashed across the mags are too young.
I find from interviews that most, but not all celebs lack personality to match the well publicized "talent" and need extra chairs for their ego to sit beside them.
Not impressive to me at all. An entourage of people to do everything from fetch you coffee, buy your clothes, do your hair and make-up and probably wipe your ass when you are too drunk from after -parties from awards shows..means one thing to me...you are fake.
Fake as any action figure or barbie doll that can be posed by anyone to act on their will alone.
A truly sad and unfulfilling life.
The karmic debt of fame must be a real bitch.
As for Mariah Carey...ugly as a baboons ass.
As for chatting it up with celebs, I do as if they were anyone else, especially the famous Twit couple.
At least they display intelligence, and integrity.
In the words of aplusk...
"Why is it whenever I visit NY, she asks me why I don't live there?"
*sighs...
I even hear they sell dreams for 99cents.

Trent said...

Honestly, I think people do that asinine stuff because they want something to take them out of their pitiful existence, if for just one precious moment.

I've never waited in line to meet someone, except for when I'm at a concert festival, and then I get fucking autographs when I do!! At least I walk away with something when I leave. Meeting them is nice and all that jazz, but they're people just like any of us. They just have way more money, and teeth just as bad as the rest of us.

Which brings up another interesting topic... Isn't it strange how MANY celebrities have bad teeth?? Why the fuck is that? Do they just decide one day to not bother messing with their teeth? Are they broke? WTF?

Trent :-)

Floogin McNoogin said...

Trent, I always point that out to my wife. It's the bottom set of choppers that are so horrific. They spend money fixing the more visible ones, probably figuring that, when they make it big, they'll fix the bottom ones and then they never do.

Photos of Mariah in the paper today, kissing her ne perfume bottle. I wonder how many of those losers went and bought the new stink after seeing her thru the crowd.

Sad really.

Floogin McNoogin said...

Anon, they don't sell dreams here anymore. Since the banking crisis last summer, it's mostly nightmares but I have heard whispers of a store down in the east village, down a dark alley, run by an ancient chinese man and, if the rumors are to be believed, you can buy dreams for under a buck.

And Magwais, lots of Magwais.

Anonymous said...

well then floogin..no getting wet...

Floogin McNoogin said...

yeah, the no getting wet thing is a bitch.