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Rob Zombie's
celebrity

2002-04-28
sunday, april 28 - ...it's a funny thing to me, because it's never meant anything to me. It starts with the p-town famous, and grows higher levels. But for the most part, other people's celebrity has never really been a big deal to me.

First time:

I'm nine years old. San Fransisco. Riding downward in a cramped elevator in some affordable, but historically elegant hotel, I turn around a look at some shaded dude smacking his gum. Odd, now that I think of it, that my mind's eye remembers looking at him eye-to-eye. But even Robert Downey isn't that short. (Maybe it was Tom Cruise...?) I remember looking at him because he was acting weird. He looked back through those oversized 80s black throw-backs to 60s coolness. His cockey smirk, seemingly expectant of some fan-crazed jubilation, read: "Yeah. I am him." I didn't even know it was him until I saw the rest of the 80s young-actor brat pack in the lobby. I only remember Booger from Revenge of the Nerds relaxing in an over-stuffed chair like he was marking his scent.

When the character is absent from the body, and refuses to engage you the way an audience is directly engaged in a movie, what is there to say?

Second time:

A local wrestler who made good went to work in the big leagues for Vince McMahon. At the time it was the coolest thing to hear my hometown bellowed from the ring announcer's operactic lungs every Saturday morning. After a year or so of those Saturday mornings, Billy Jack had enough money to open his own gym, and all the stars were there. ...or so I read. All but Hulk Hogan had gone before my dad drove me down to the festivities. I must have waited in line for an hour before I was finally standing in front of a real-life superhero. My superhero.

Before I knew it, I was standing outside again, a picture of Billy Jack in my hands with Hulk Hogan's autograph, and he never said a word to me. He was much more interested in that cheap groupie with the pancake makeup. That autograph collected three years of dust on the floor of my closet before I threw it out.



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