A Highly Satisfactory Star Sighting

My boss, who is straight, is also a big show-tune queen. So when he visited me in New York last night I took him and some other colleagues out to dinner and then to Marie's Crisis for a round of Broadway show-tune belting.

Shortly after we arrived, the girl depicted in the above poster walked in with her mother. She had the starring little-girl-bitch role in one of my favorite all-time movies, Camp.

Needless to say, I was smitten.

Normally I don't talk to famous people in public, partly out of respect for their privacy, but mostly because I would feel like some gawky, stalkerish fan or something. But in this case I decided to approach her because she's not really famous enough to be annoyed by that sort of thing yet. Camp is the only film she's done, and I don't think it enjoyed any sort of prolonged theatrical release outside neighborhoods teeming with gay men, divas and other drama queens. Although the film does show up on the cable channels quite often - and I always make a stop there when surfing, of course.

Anyway, I figured since she's not really that famous she probably appreciates a certain amount of public adoration. Not to mention the fact that she showed up at a show-tunes piano bar frequented by gay men. I mean, helloooo! Craving attention much?

I debated with my colleagues (none of whom knew who she was) as to whether I should approach her - and they all urged me on, telling me I'd regret it forever if I let this one-in-a-lifetime chance pass me by. So I waited until we were ready to leave, and then I made my move.

"Hi! I didn't want to leave without coming over to say hello. You are the girl from that movie, aren't you?"

Ok, it was kind of dumb sounding, but I'm no expert at pickup lines or anything. At least not pickup lines for girly quasi-movie stars.

"No, I'm afraid I'm not. What movie are you talking about?" She was TOTALLY playing me. I liked it.

"Camp! You are the girl from Camp. I know you are. I really enjoyed your performance."

She smiled sheepishly, and then her mother broke in.

"Yes, it is her. She is very talented, isn't she?"

"Yes! I love that movie! I watch it all the time when I see it in the cable tv listings. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your performance."

Giggle.

She really is cute, even if she played a total bitch . My God, I'm so predictable.

"Anyway, I just wanted to stop over before I left. My name is Tom." I offered my hand, which she shook.

"Thank you, nice to meet you!" She wasn't about to offer her name in return. And by the way, I am not mentioning her name in this post because I don't need her Googling to see what a dork I am.

All in all, this was a highly satisfactory star sighting. And not at all meaningless.

Fun with Funerals

Mr. Social Zymurgy challenged me to list the songs I would like played at my funeral. I didn't know what to do with the question so I ignored it as any good cyberstalker would do. But after seeing other blog friends like Bubs and Dale rise to the challenge, I decided I am just as good as they are and am therefore entitled to share my funeral music choices with you, my Gentle Readers.

Mindy June and I were discussing this very topic recently after the funeral of her beloved father, may he rest in peace. Participating in funerals inevitably makes you think about your own, so with that in mind Mindy told me some of her last wishes. She wants to be cremated and then for all of her loved ones to take a portion of her ashes and sprinkle them somewhere they know would make her laugh - like over Ronald Reagan's grave and that sort of thing.


Brilliant idea, and I'd expect nothing less from her.


Whether or not I deserve the honor, I will nonetheless take partial credit for Melinda June's creative decisions with respect to her inevitable demise. This is because back when she and I were 20 year old college students, I decided it would be a good idea to make a list of the people who would attend my funeral if I died right then. I shared the list with Mindy, who was puzzled by it.

"What on earth would make you want to do this?" she asked.

"I think it's important to keep tabs on your life, and this is one way to do it," I replied. "If you can keep enough people around who would feel obligated to attend your funeral, you must be doing pretty well."

"So you're judging the happiness of your life by who will show up after you're dead?"

"Yes."

"Ok. Let me see it." Not being one to waste time asking a lot of unnecessary questions, Mindy rose to the challenge and started helping me refine my funeral attendee list.


"Why is Marla on here?"

"She's a friend of Jon's. I figured she'd go with him and his other friends."

"Yeah, but she hates you. She's still mad about that time you laughed at her sweater vest."

"I wasn't laughing at her sweater vest. I was laughing because KC threw up on you when you were wearing a sweater vest. They always make me laugh now."

"I know that, but she still thought you were laughing at her. She's not going." Marla's name was crossed off. "And why isn't Kirsten from down the hall on here?"

"I don't know - she's the type who would probably go to my wedding if she was invited and had a cute date, but I don't know if she'd get it together enough to make it to a funeral on time."

"You're right. So she'll go on the wedding list. Who is Leo?"


And so we spent the next several hours. Back then it felt like a wise time investment - you could never be too prepared, in my book. You know, that whole Boy-Scout-Motto thing.


Eventually I lost track of my funeral attendee list, which I'm sure has changed substantially over the past 20+ years anyway. But Mindy's recent decision about her own funeral did get me to thinking about mine.

I decided that George can plan whatever traditional funeral he wants for me, with all the attendant wailing and sobbing - the more dramatic the better, in my opinion. But I'm taking charge of the after-party. Here's how it will go:

My funeral after-party will be a piano bar sing-along, show tunes only. The kind that they do at Marie's Crisis - you get a bunch of show-tune obsessed queens and their friends to sing the entire book of a musical, one after the other. Drinking heavily all the while, of course.

I've already enlisted the future services of my not-cousin Marnie, a showbiz professional who runs her own theater. Marnie has been charged with renting out the space, hiring a pianist, making copies of the lyrics to all my favorite shows and gathering everyone together. When they get to "Annie" she'll have some pre-teen girls or drag queens or something act out "Hard Knock Life" with metal buckets and brushes and all that jazz. Of course, the rest of you will be welcome to join in at any time.


My funeral after-party is going to kick major ass. Be sure to keep being my friend so that you will receive an invitation.