Being near a huge celebrity is like experiencing an accelerated degenerative disorder of the brain that passes through its entire cycle in about one minute.
(Note: This is the second part of Adam Gropman's story about his celebrity sightings. The first installment can be read here.)
In L.A. you can meet the stars. I’ve met a few myself, 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…
MANHEIM STEAMROLLER
I was sitting in the Urth Café on Melrose, the best place to overpay for a latte and a vegan brownie -- if you’re inclined to do such things. The place is full of vaguely Madeline Stowe-ish and Darryl Hannah-esque actress/yoga instructor/convertible BMW owner-types. It also has a fair share of cosmopolitan Persians; soap opera actor guys in sweatpants; purposeful, crisply serious script development women; and the odd computer consultant or corporate lawyer hoping to inhale some of that Melrose/Robertson Success-Adjacent vibe.
If you go to the place with any sort of frequency, you will occasionally spot a genuine celebrity. This is like the bonus platinum crouton on top of the gold-leafed arugula salad that is already your Urth Café visit. On this aforementioned day I found myself sitting next to actress Camryn Manheim and her gaggle of middle-aged women-friends. She was recounting a pro-Bill Clinton speech she had delivered on a televised event and the torrent of emails she received afterwards.
I engaged her in a brief conversation and told her that both the entire movie Happiness, and her specific role in it were phenomenal. In it she plays a lonely, eccentric apartment-dweller that turns out to be a psychopathic murderer. I must say, she was nothing like that in real life. In fact, she was quite amiable and appreciative that I had even seen the movie at all. She told me that strangers always approach her to talk about "The Practice" but never Happiness. I told her that I’d never even seen "The Practice" and said: “That’s the lawyer show, right?” She actually smiled and said “Yeah, that’s it”, as if to say: “You dear, sweet pop-culture ignorant boy! God bless you for being a non-TV watching freak and instead seeing the hardcore indy film that’s so much closer to my heart. ” Then I shook her hand and retreated quickly back to my free ice water with lemon wedge before it got awkward.
CELEBRITY LEVEL: B
WHAT I LEARNED: Seeing hip, under-appreciated indy films sometimes pays off.
BASKETCASE DIARIES
I was at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf on Hillhurst in Los Feliz -- the one nearest my apartment. I really like the atmosphere of that location, because its outdoor sitting area has the perfect combination of assorted neighborhood characters, semi-pretentious Hollywood glamour types and genuinely hard-working writers and actors. A bagel and a latte there on a weekend morning with a few sections of the L.A. Times has always been an especially magical slice of heaven for me in this city which often resembles purgatory’s vestibule.
I was standing at the counter awaiting my order and when I turned my head slightly I noticed that standing maybe five feet away from me is Leonardo DiCaprio. Let me repeat for proper effect: Leonardo DiCaprio. The one who seven years ago was more famous than Bill Clinton, O.J. Simpson or any of the twelve disciples.
I need to make something perfectly clear so that you, the reader, understands the psychological background of myself, the writer with regards to this situation. I have never been an especially starstruck or celebrity-chasing person. I’ve never done a Star Map tour. I really do not go to venues and establishments where one stands a high chance of rubbing elbows with famous people. When a sighting does happen, it is by accident and is a by-product of going to a place primarily for a particular activity or type of event.
As far as specific celebrities go, sure, I always expected that if I met DeNiro or Streep or Oldman, there’d be some kind of awe-struck response on my part, an instinctive respect for the level of talent and virtuosity before me. But Leonardo Dicaprio? Never gave him a second thought. I’d barely seen any of his movies, and I’m clearly not in his demographic. I’m not a 14-year old girl, a 50-year old bored housewife or a gay pedophile. At that point I hadn’t even seen Titanic.
But here I was standing in the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf and I was FREAKING OUT. I mean, I was beyond trembling. My head felt as if I’d snorted PCP cut with borax. I was an inch away from catatonic.
At that time, Leo was arguably the most famous human being in the world. Titanic-mania was still sweeping the land like an emotional black plague. He was on the cover of every glossy publication in the newsstands. He was in every TV news show and every gossip column -- an inescapable icon that could command a chorus line of agents and producers to dance at the snap of his finger and a Beatles-size army of girls to squeal and faint with one ten second live appearance. As unassuming, regular and almost goofy he looked standing there slightly disheveled in T-shirt and sweat pants that afternoon, this guy was by far the most famous person I’d stood within spitting distance of in my entire life. And I’d be damned if I was going to pass up the opportunity to mentally implode and experience an irrational momentary breakdown!
As I clutched my latte on the counter and reached out for my scone, I felt as disoriented as a bug in a clothes dryer. “What do I do?” I asked myself, “Should I lift up the drink? Put it down? Knock it over and scream?” I experienced that incredibly uncomfortable sensation in which you want so badly to turn and look at the really famous person dead on to make that 100% I.D. confirmation and also to mentally record any interesting facial expressions or other peculiarities, and yet you feel as if there is powerful and deadly force stopping you. By turning and staring into the Leo, I would be blinded, or turned to stone, or worse yet, he would say: “Hey, why you staring at me?”
I then started to go through the magnificent delusion whereby I -- the regular person -- turned the entire scenario around in my mind and imagined that Leo -- the big star -- was looking at me and scrutinizing my every move. I imagined that every tiny micro-movement I made would make the difference between a life of bland normalcy and a speaking role in Titanic II. I vividly heard this phone call in my mind, with Leo calling director James Cameron: “Hey, Jim. I saw this guy Gropman down at the Bean & Leaf. This kid can really handle a coffee and scone. You gotta’ use him.”
I then started going through the Five Stages of Being Near the Huge Celebrity. This is an accelerated degenerative disorder of the brain that passes through its entire cycle in about one minute. First Stage: Confusion: “Who am I?”, “What am I doing here?”, “Did I get my coffee card punched?” Second Stage: Denial: “That’s just a guy wearing a Leonardo Dicaprio mask”, “There is no Leonardo Dicaprio. He’s just a media-created hoax like the moon landing”, “I don’t exist. I’m really a spark on a computer chip.” Third Stage: Rationalization: “OK, he is a really good looking guy”, “He’s got the advantage of an unusual first name”, “I’d be that famous if I grew up in Los Feliz.” Fourth Stage: Disappointment: “I feel so unsuccessful compared to him”, “He was in a movie that made $600 million and I was in a short film that played at Pasadena City College”, “He’s over six feet tall! Couldn’t he at least be short?!” From here it’s a short and slippery slope downhill to the Fifth Stage: Homicidal Rage: “Why the hell does he have to come into my goddamn coffee shop and ruin my day?! I’m sick and tired of the guy and his arrogant, conceited bullshit! He has to come into my Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf and just rub my nose in it! ‘Look at me, I’m so rich, I’m so famous, I’m so handsome!’. Why can’t he just leave me the hell alone and let me feel marginally OK about myself!!”
Right then, as I seriously considered buying an automatic weapon, coming back and shooting up the place, I had an amazing moment of clarity. I calmed down, stepped back and got a little perspective. Perhaps, I thought, I was being unfairly hard on him. Maybe this was really just in my head. Maybe it wasn’t so much Leo. Maybe it was me.
So I decided I had to go and apologize. I had to set things right between Leonardo and myself. In my mind I heard my voice saying, in a cool, nonchalant way: “Hey, man, I like the stuff you’ve done in those movies”. But when I turned to face him he was already gone, like a wraith, and I felt horrible about all the hate, anger and jealousy I psychically assaulted him with. I knew in my heart that Leonardo was an innocent victim of my own inner darkness. So I decided to write an apology letter to Leo -- the kind that one doesn’t actually send and yet it brings emotional healing -- and that letter ended up becoming this very essay.
So Leo, if by chance you are reading this, I am sorry for all the weird vibes that day at Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. If I see you there again I will be friendly and let you buy me a frappuccino. And maybe a small house.
CELEBRITY LEVEL: A
WHAT I LEARNED: Maybe big stars are just people, too.
