Celebrity Encounter

Society has always had a rage for celebrities and the obviousness is so high that I don't even need to talk about it: you simply know what's going on and by extension, what I'm hinting at. You probably agree with me. Are you confused? Certainly, but you should know that I have never felt that craze for celebrities. I've never sought out autographs or stalked their houses in a balaclava. OK, that's a lie: when I was a kid I was so obsessed over the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, that I begged my parents for anything with their imagery on it; I begged my parents to take me to their ice show, and in my only victory, had my parents drop me off at the mall to get their autographs. That session would seal up the celebrity crush factor in my soul forever.

Imagine hundreds of seven to fourteen year olds clamoring around some poor guy in a Donatello suit, screaming for autographs. Those images you see on television where the all the teenage girls are clamoring for people like Justin Bieber? That's nothing; this, this was something else. My friend and I ran from turtle to turtle, trying to get an autograph. In my mind, I succeeded but once or twice, giving up quickly afterwards. To add insult to injury, we only had scraps of paper: take one piece of letter paper, tear it up into four pieces and that's what we were throwing in Raph's face. It's like we weren't even prepared for it, but then again, I don't think the organizers of the event were either. It was a clamor, nothing organized, and in the end on the drive on, I knew it didn't matter: they were just dudes making minimum wage in Turtle costumes.

Further testimony to my unwillingness to care about meeting celebrities would come at the Fan Expo. Year after year there would be dozens of them there - this time organized - that I would walk by without even thinking about. There they were: I didn't even want a photo.

"Hey, there's Lando Calrissian."

"Yup, there he is."

My friend and I continue to walk on, barely trying to get a picture and agreeing that paying $20 for Billy Dee Williams' autograph is not worth the five minute wait in line or worse yet, the awkward conversation that would most assuredly take place. Just a few years previous to this, the same friend and I were drinking on a patio in downtown Kingston; out walks Dan Aykroyd (and his burly entourage). What is the response? My friend decides to yell at him a bit - I don't recall what exactly but I believe it was related to his weight - and Dan doesn't blink an eye. Good for him, but the situation could have been better: everyone had a few drinks and Dan is a regular guest in the Kingston scene. I'm sure he's a great guy, but he wasn't getting any respect that night.

But I digress: I wanted to discuss my encounter with James Cromwell this past weekend. Cromwell, unlike Aykroyd, is an actor that I can respect more so than Aykroyd (even though he was in Ghostbusters). With such great movies like L.A. Confidential and his multiple turnouts in the Star Trek series (among others) he has my respect. He was also the last one I would expect to see in North Bay, eating at the table behind me. By some random chance I agreed to go out to lunch with my sister; my niece typically dictates where we eat but today she would give in and we would go where my sister wanted to. We enter the restaurant and I'm in a dizzy as my niece runs around: I don't notice other people there. There were very few people there anyway.

Halfway through the meal my sister leans over and tells me that somebody famous is sitting behind me. Obviously I can't wretch my body around to see, and I didn't really care to either. Another patron is walking by, and makes a fool of herself: she doesn't know his name, only that he is an actor that she has seen a while back. He confirms, and she goes about her day. It bothers my sister that she can't remember his name, so I'm instructed to go to the washroom and upon returning, take a look at this actor. I do so, but the washroom puts me on a terrible angle to see who this is, but with Cromwell you don't need an angle. I exit the washroom and from thirty feet away and seeing only a profile of his face, it is plain as day who it is.

"Cool" I say to myself, but I don't feel the excitement that some would. What is he doing here? Do I go say something? That's like asking if I want to make a fool of myself, and invariably the answer is going to be no. I'm pretty shy anyway, so we pay the bill and as I pull my sweater on I twist and turn to catch a few more glimpses. I can confirm that he is quite tall, even sitting down. We leave the restaurant and I immediately make a Facebook status update indicating The Event. I was a bit disappointed when not many people commented on it - although I understand many would not know who he is, and many more would not be reading my status updates anyway.

The randomness of seeing this big star here is not lost on me, and I realized the best thing that I should have done was to ask for a photo with him. But I can walk away satisfied with the encounter as is. As my sister points out, we were so close, sitting back to back, that if we both leaned back a bit and threw our heads in laughter around the same time, we would have bonked together. I feel almost silly laughing at the idea and thinking how great it would be had that happened, but such is the age of living with celebrities. I guess the vile act of meeting the Ninja Turtles when I was nine years old has not completely sullied or excluded me from the celebrity run-in excitement. Perhaps in the future I'll seek them out and acquire an autograph or two.