Celebrity Slighting

This evening, I sat in Amer's on State, sharing a sandwich with my sweetheart and watching people go by. Suddenly, one of the students next to us leaps up and screams.

"Oh my god! Can you watch my stuff?!" she asks, getting to her feet.

"Sure," I say. The way she leapt from her chair, I sensed an emergency: a friend's mother was in the hospital, she remembered she left her purse in the bookstore bathroom, or some hidden part of her was on fire.

"That was Anne Heche! She just walked by the window!" And with that, this slight young girl in a retainer ran out the door and gave chase. To Anne Heche.

Well, okay. Celebrity does strange things to us all. I remember taking $40 I didn't have out of an ATM to get a closer look at Clive Owen, and looking directly over the top of Natalie Portman's head as she ordered a post-workout crepe. Bur of all the celebrities to chase down in on a 30 degree Monday night in Ann Arbor, Anne Heche wouldn't make the Top 20. Hell, she wouldn't make the Top 200, and I saw Volcano in the theatre.

Because, really, what would I say to a person who married a dude named Laffoon and dated Steve Martin?

"Hey. So, that whole thing about you speaking in tongues and getting messages from Xenu and shit... was that for real, or were you not sure how to tell Ellen you were having sausage cravings?"

It's just as well I missed her. When Keira Knightley comes to town and I force six Zingerman's reubens on her just so she can cast a fucking shadow, I'll be glad I saved the bail money.

- Posted courtesy of Stephen D. iPhone.


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