So I was pondering this privacy thing and How I Will Respect Your Privacy and I remembered these little stories:
As you know, I grew up in
– aka “Hollywood North”. Do they still say that? If so, how embarrassing. I hated it then, I hate it now. Anyway, the reason why they call it Hollywood North is because a lot of films and television shows are filmed there. I’ve heard celebrities say that they love it in Vancouver, BC because they can be relatively normal there because Canadians are so much more laid back and respectful of a person’s privacy. Vancouver
This one time when I was working in a clothing store on
Robson Street in the late eighties, I was helping my manager with the window display when Richard Dean Anderson went walking by. I just stood there in the window, frozen holding an Esprit sweater in my hands and gawking. I said, “That was Richard Dean Anderson! You know, MacGyver!!” to my boss, so she pounded on the window even though I protested with her to not say or do anything. She wanted to go running out of the store and down the street, but I persuaded her not to. He kept walking, but I just stood there staring. The guy that was with him came running up to the window and pretended to take multiple photos of me with his disposable camera while I stood there in the window with my mouth open.
While I was working in the same store, Dustin Nguyen used to shop there, but never on a day when I was working, but I would have been totally cool and cas’ and treated him like a normal customer.
Another time, my dad and I went to Star Trick: the Musical. Star Trick: the Musical was an improvisational satire based on Star Trek. My dad is a huge Star Trek fan and we were on a daddy-daughter date. Dad and I were in the front row. Just as the lights went down, Peter DeLuise walked in and sat in the empty seat at the end. I turned to my dad, jabbing him in the ribs exclaiming, “Dad, Dad! That’s Peter DeLuise! From
21 Jump Street? You know, Dom Deluise’s son?” He craned his neck around trying to get a look, and I slumped down in my seat, ever the embarrassed daughter. Just before intermission he was escorted out, but right after the lights went down, he came back. At the end of the show, my dad walked right up to him and said, “Uh, my daughter wants to meet you.” That was so totally not true, it’s not like he was Johnny Depp or anything, but it was still cool to see him. He shook my hand and I said “hi” (softest hands ever) and totally let him go on with his business. If it wasn’t for my dad butting in, I would have completely left him alone and let him enjoy some improv in private.
My dad did a lot of extra work in the early nineties. Because he was an average sized man in his fifties, he worked on The Commish a lot. One day, because we needed the car, my sister and I had to drop my dad off on location before we went on our merry way. Just as we were saying bye to Dad, Michael Chiklis walked past the car. Mrs. Bowie had the window open and exclaimed (loudly too), “Oh my GOSH!! It’s the Commish!!” He turned and looked. She scrouched down, blushing, and I gave him the reverse head nod. He gave me a “what’s up”, I gave him a “howzit goin’?”, and we drove off. All the rest of the day she COULD. NOT. BELIEVE how cool I was and how uncool she was about the whole thing because she went all fan-girl and I was all mellow and she kept talking about it. The reason I was so cool was because a) I’m cool like that, and b) I realize that famous people are totally normal and probably get so sick of people fawning all over them, so I just like to respect their privacy and leave them alone. O, also c) I'm too shy to talk to those people.
Also, Stephenie Meyer was in Mrs. Bowie’s ward while they were filming Breaking Dawn and you should have heard the fan-girl squealy voicemail she left me on that one.
PS. Tomorrow is Mrs. Bowie's birthday, so I dedicate this post to her. Happy Birthday, Seestow!