In L.A. you can meet the stars. I’ve met a few my self, but my celebrity run-ins are peculiar and random. I come across the rich and famous despite- not because of- my social routine in the City of Angles. So come along and enjoy a chapter from my star-studded path of serendipity, awkwardness and occasional backhanded fawning…
GAWK SOUP
I was having a drink one night in the Formosa Café, the Chinese restaurant and bar/lounge made famous by decades of Hollywood hangers-out, and also as a notable backdrop in the film L.A. Confidential.
Standing next to me was actor and comedian John Henson, "Talk Soup"’s host at that time. I found his hosting on that show to be hilarious -- an accomplishment considering he had to fill the giant shoes left by the previous and original host, Greg Kinnear. I tapped Henson on the shoulder and said: “I really like your show, man. It’s great.” He seemed genuine and warm: “Thank you.” Then I threw in this quick addendum: “Is it still on the air?” He registered a slight awkward stutter: “Uh…yeah. It is” and then turned away in a manner of surprise bordering on outright befuddlement.
At that instant I realized that perhaps my question made me look like a jerk and a wise ass, trying to take a backhanded swipe at a TV celebrity. In fact I was just curious and ignorant, since I had previously lost my cable service when the company caught me pirating it out of the building’s splitter box and I hadn’t seen the E! Network for months. This incident taught me something about financial prioritization in Hollywood -- The cost of getting Cable TV: maybe $40 a month. The cost of looking like a jackass in front of an entertainment celebrity: Priceless.
CELEBRITY LEVEL: C+
WHAT I LEARNED: Do your TV research before you approach a TV personality.
BREAKFAST FLUB My sister was visiting from New York and house-sitting in the Hollywood Hills home of a vacationing producer friend. Staying in the guest house in the rear of the property was Molly Ringwald. I stopped by one morning and the anticipation was palpable and electric as we quietly wondered if and when this goddess Athena of 1980’s teen-movie culture would appear. It seemed highly likely that Molly would come by the main house for some reason or other, or maybe she’d just enter our line of site while walking down the driveway, which would still have been mind-blowingly fantastic. It was as if we were waiting for a fabled and skittish chinchilla to pop up out of its hole and make a cautious appearance in our backyard -- except in this case it was the extremely rare specimen known as ‘Brat Pack actress’.
Sure enough, the North American Redheaded Ringwald crept out of its lair and scampered toward the main house, where we all waited, nearly drooling with starstruck anticipation. Molly agreed to my sister’s invitation to have coffee and breakfast with us. With the house refrigerator and countertop fruit bowl both virtually empty of produce, I came up with a clever plan to remedy the situation. A large grapefruit tree brushed up right against the rear of the house. I ventured out onto the overhanging roof under one of the second floor bedrooms and shook the tree until a fruit or two fell to the ground. Then I reached out daringly- risking a Jackie Chan -- like fall onto the paved patio below -- and snatched a few more of the grapefruits, tearing them off their twigs and tossing them down to land at the feet of the auburn haired ingénue. The scene felt somehow exotic and Blue Lagoon-ish -- except with clothes on.
We sat around in the backyard and listened as Molly told us of her recent life in France and her “amazing” French fiancée. Of course, this latter subject stabbed my heart like a rusty bread knife, because all men are susceptible to the grand delusion that any woman -- no matter how famous or beautiful -- could be theirs if they merely turn on the charm and make eye contact. I must say, Ms. Ringwald was looking very good. A little maturation has worked well for her features, because whereas she was a cute-as-a-button girl in the 80s, she is now quite an attractive grown woman. I managed to get a few sentences out of my mouth, but was intensely self-conscious and judicious with my words, as one part of my brain kept on screaming at the other: “You’re talking to MOLLY F*%$#*ING RINGWALD!!”
At one point, she mentioned that her eyeglasses were broken, specifically the hinge where the earpiece meets the lens frame. I had some experience dealing with this problem on my own glasses, and so I volunteered to fix them for her. I managed to do the old paper clip trick, which not only works well, but gives the wearer Weezer-like nerd-punk credibility. Molly thanked me heartily. This woman brought out both the Robinson Crusoe and the MacGyver in me. Perhaps she was meant to be my muse. Who the hell knows what I could accomplish with her at my side?
CELEBRITY LEVEL: B
WHAT I LEARNED: Not all child actors lose their looks as they get older.
TALENT POOL
A few summers ago, my friend took me to an outdoor pool party organized by a local public radio station. It was held on the ornately tiled back patio of an old Downtown hotel, and on this sweltering day the place was crammed with edgy artistes, bohemian socialites and socio-politically informed Rage Against The Machine listeners. They all looked oddly out of their dark, cavernous element, socializing on the blazingly sunlit Mediterranean tiles or frolicking in the sparkly pool, clad in flowery bathing suits, t-shirts and shorts.
While in the pool, I noticed a guy holding an underwater camera. He was having trouble seeing under the surface. It was the actor Richard Edson, whose work I greatly enjoyed in Stranger Than Paradise, Do The Right Thing and Strange Days. I trudged over and offered him the use of my nine dollar Speedo goggles. He was grateful. He then asked me to pose underwater for some experimental sub-aquatic shots. I gladly obliged, as one never knows which photo opportunity may launch one to stratospheric success. I figured that my exaggerated faces, wild-limbed gestures, and suspension of my body upside down- all of it eight feet under water- may have been what some talent agent needed to see in order to visualize the superstar potential of Adam Gropman. For Lana Turner, it was Schwab’s Drugstore. For me it would be the Hotel Figueroa swimming pool.
I gave Richard my contact information and he promised to send me the photos. I never got them. Has he sold them to a respected photographic magazine? Are they on a pay web site for people who dig looking at guys in bathing suits? All I know is, I could use a free underwater head shot. Or at least a gag photo for my next holiday card. Richard- if you read this, “do the right thing” and send me the photos!
CELBRITY LEVEL: C
WHAT I LEARNED: Successful Hollywood actors sometimes maintain interesting, offbeat hobbies .
