Because I have lovely friends who are affiliated with the Screen Actors Guild, I got to attend the local SAG Awards party (and won some awesome SAG Swag.) They trust me not to scare off the talent, so I also got to work the box office with my former colleague (and still friend) Sheila. Thank goodness she was with me because I am terrible with celebrities.
Isn’t that crazy? I know all the gossip-worthy ones, and the ones who are on the few shows I watch, but outside of that… Listen, I’ve confused Spike Jonze for Spike Lee, and Terrence Malik with Terrence Howard. That’s unforgivable. Terrence Malik is a screenwriter and producer. Terrence Howard is a spokesman for baby wipes. I also have a really hard time with Guy Pearce and Christian Bale, Leighton Meester and Rachel Bilson, and–okay, ask my husband, I confuse everyone. I’m excited when I get one right. Like when Trinity from The Matrix showed up on Chuck and I knew it was Trinity, and didn’t think she was Xena, because yes, I have confused Trinity for Xena.
One gentleman came through and Sheila said, “Lane! That’s [famous actor]!”
I said, “Who?”
“Don’t know him,” I shrugged.
She helpfully supplied a quick list of hits and I squinted and tilted my head. He looked sort of familiar, but he was no Johnny Depp, you know? However, THIS GUY, was Johnny Depp.
Fauxny Depp came in dressed in the distressed fedora and Buddy Holly rims we’re so used to seeing on Johnny, but unlike the swirling cloud of rumor that Johnny accessorizes with a body scarf of stink, Fauxny had no discernible odor at all. That was my first clue that he was a celebrity lookalike.
Seriously, I thought to myself, “That guy looks a bloody lot like Johnny Depp. I wonder if that is Johnny Depp. I’m gonna play it cool. Hmm. Doesn’t smell. That’s not Johnny Depp. Why would Johnny Depp be at this party and not the one in LA?” That was my second clue. The third was when Alex Mazieri introduced himself as…Alex Mazieri. Can’t fool me.
Glad I played it cool.
The other highlight of my evening was having a Butt Sketch made.
I’ve heard of these before and always avoided them. I thought they were caricature style sketches of backsides, and the last thing I want to see is my tuckus in the fisheye lense of the caricature artist. I walked up on the artist, Rhett, as he was sketching the backside of a zaftig woman in a fur. It was actually lovely and I determined that I should have a portrait made of my own posterior.
Here it is. As Dana Carvey-as-George Michael might say, “Look at my butt! The worst thing you can do is try to ignore it.”
The front of me looked like this:
It was good times all around.