Showing posts with label paparazzi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paparazzi. Show all posts
Thursday, November 16, 2017
When you’re in a basket in a basket IN A BASKET
... and it’s the most exponentially cat place you could be on the planet so you’re concatually obligated to stay where you are even though that asshole paparazzo Jake won’t get out of your face with his damn iPhone so you refuse to even flash him your trademark Bitch Kitty ScowlTM just to spite him.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
The celebrity curse: Day One
My first full day of being a celebrity is winding down ... and let me tell you, it's been EXHAUSTING. The press tours! The autograph hounds! The paparazzi!
Actually, the magazine hit Chicago-area mailboxes on Saturday -- so I've really been a celebrity for three full days. I just didn't know it. So I've decided to measure the demands of my celebrityhood from the moment someone thrust the magazine in my face at Monday morning's staff meeting to show me the grotesque photo and misleading profile that have my name on them.
Here's how it's shaken down so far:
WORK
People I encountered: I think we have about 200 employees
People who've made comments: About all of them -- but that's only because of the office gossip network
THE GYM
People I encountered: Not too many -- maybe 20
People checking out my famous ass in the shower: None
THE TRAIN HOME
People I encountered: I was able to get a seat, so maybe about 50
People who fought to sit by me and cop a feel: None
SUPERCUTS
People I encountered: 10
People demanding haircuts inspired by my famous mane: None
THE LAKEFRONT TRAIL
People I encountered: Tons, but I was too busy focusing on getting in four miles before the sun went down to count
People hiding in the bushes and snapping photos of me to sell to the Sun-Times: None
SIDETRACK
People I encountered: A whole bunch -- it was show tune night, you know
People staring hungrily at me as they sang "One (Singular Sensation)": None
MY BEDROOM
People I encountered: Just me
Supermodels showing up at my door in nothing but towels, demanding that I kiss them: None
THE 147 MORNING BUS
People I encountered: Standing room only
People craning their necks to see exactly what a glamorous celebrity listens to on his iPod: None
CALIFORNIA PIZZA KITCHEN
People I encountered: The place was about half full
People walking by our booth and stealing surreptitious glances as they basked in my celebrity glow: None
MY INBOX
People able to reach me via the email address the magazine set up for me: Infinite
People who've crafted seductive e-poems in celebration of my shining famousness: None
As you can see, I've developed a true empathy for my fellow celebrities today. Keeping up with the constant demands for my attention -- not to mention keeping myself photo-shoot pretty at all times -- can really take its toll. I don't know how Julia Roberts and Gilbert Gottfried do it.
I'll be back tomorrow with more tales from the front. In the mean time, duck if you see me. The crowds can be vicious.
Actually, the magazine hit Chicago-area mailboxes on Saturday -- so I've really been a celebrity for three full days. I just didn't know it. So I've decided to measure the demands of my celebrityhood from the moment someone thrust the magazine in my face at Monday morning's staff meeting to show me the grotesque photo and misleading profile that have my name on them.
Here's how it's shaken down so far:
WORK
People I encountered: I think we have about 200 employees
People who've made comments: About all of them -- but that's only because of the office gossip network
THE GYM
People I encountered: Not too many -- maybe 20
People checking out my famous ass in the shower: None
THE TRAIN HOME
People I encountered: I was able to get a seat, so maybe about 50
People who fought to sit by me and cop a feel: None
SUPERCUTS
People I encountered: 10
People demanding haircuts inspired by my famous mane: None
THE LAKEFRONT TRAIL
People I encountered: Tons, but I was too busy focusing on getting in four miles before the sun went down to count
People hiding in the bushes and snapping photos of me to sell to the Sun-Times: None
SIDETRACK
People I encountered: A whole bunch -- it was show tune night, you know
People staring hungrily at me as they sang "One (Singular Sensation)": None
MY BEDROOM
People I encountered: Just me
Supermodels showing up at my door in nothing but towels, demanding that I kiss them: None
THE 147 MORNING BUS
People I encountered: Standing room only
People craning their necks to see exactly what a glamorous celebrity listens to on his iPod: None
CALIFORNIA PIZZA KITCHEN
People I encountered: The place was about half full
People walking by our booth and stealing surreptitious glances as they basked in my celebrity glow: None
MY INBOX
People able to reach me via the email address the magazine set up for me: Infinite
People who've crafted seductive e-poems in celebration of my shining famousness: None
As you can see, I've developed a true empathy for my fellow celebrities today. Keeping up with the constant demands for my attention -- not to mention keeping myself photo-shoot pretty at all times -- can really take its toll. I don't know how Julia Roberts and Gilbert Gottfried do it.
I'll be back tomorrow with more tales from the front. In the mean time, duck if you see me. The crowds can be vicious.
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