This here bringer of the pooper to the fun party

Some of the Celebrities other than Shannon Elizabeth and Giovani Ribisi I have Encountered While Living in Los Angeles

Note: Jon and I will be leaving Southern California on Friday, so pardon the next few posts while I reminisce about living in this big, bad, botox-laden Promised Land.

Calista Flockhart on San Vicente Blvd in Brentwood pushing her son in a stroller. She’s extraordinarily and not surprisingly tiny, yet she can push a stroller like an ox can pull a plow, as if that were her job in life, pushing a stroller, and she wanted to push that stroller better than any other stroller pusher on the planet. I’ve never seen a more devoted or tenacious stroller pusher. The most striking thing about her was the space between her thighs, the space or non-space every woman obsesses about. It’s the non-space on well-endowed women that makes corduroy jeans sing, the space on Victoria’s Secret lingerie models that catches stray sounds and echoes them back and forth between opposite thighs. On Calista the space was as broad as a king-sized headboard.

Cindy Crawford eight-months pregnant ordering salami in the lobby of Canter’s Deli. She was wearing spandex work-out leggings and a white tanktop, breathtakingly radiant and sweaty just enough, her belly bulging straight ahead. From behind I couldn’t even tell she was pregnant, and at that moment I felt an overwhelming sense of inadequacy, that every other creature in the world was an evolutionary mistake. I bet that woman has never been bloated in her life.

David Spade eating sushi at Caf� Sushi on Beverly. I’ve seen him there at least four times. Nothing to report except that he really is that short and that cute and you just want to fold him up and stick him in your pocket like a little blonde gummi bear.

Andy Dick everywhere: at the mall, at the movie theater, at the grocery store, at every shop on Melrose Ave. He’s got this sickening ability to show up unannounced wherever I go, blonde curls jiggling and his glasses perched just so on his nose and those little bony fingers dancing around as he talks. And he doesn’t ever really talk, he just sort of makes this high-pitched squealing eek! eek! sound like he’s been let out of his stall and can’t find his way back. He’s omnipresent, like God or something.

Usher at the Beverly Center mall playing some sort of shoot-em-up game with what I suppose was one of the dawgs in his posse. He and his dawg were using their hands as fake guns, and they were hiding behind those mall-directory stands peeking their heads out, making “pow! pow!” noises with their mouths. I remember thinking, that is the worst fake gun sound I have ever heard, and I considered letting him know that I thought it was the worst fake gun sound I have ever heard, but then I remembered that he was Usher and that I am not Usher and that Usher probably didn’t care what I thought.

Judd Nelson screaming obscenities at a man in a car stopped at a red light right outside of my old apartment in West Hollywood off Sunset. I only caught the tail end of the argument, but it appeared that Judd was upset, or perhaps mildly not happy, and had gotten out of his car, approached the car in front of him and was about to break through the driver side window with his bare hands when the light turned green and the man in the car drove away. It was totally a scene straight out of the Breakfast Club had the Breakfast Club really been an episode of “The Sopranos.”

Keri Russell, Scott Foley, Scott Speedman and Jennifer Garner at the Felicity First Season CD Release Party which I attended not only voluntarily but with such religious exultation that I almost scared the curl out of Keri Russell’s hair. Keri was wonderful and beautiful and utterly disgusting in her cuteness. I wanted to pinch her little button nose until she shrieked. Scott Foley had really sweaty palms but I forgave him because he looked me in the eye when I told him that if Felicity didn’t choose him I was going to fucking cut that bitch. Jennifer Garner was wearing a pair of kahki pants, pleated at the waist and tapered at the ankle. Pleats! Tapers! I remember thinking, this girl isn’t going to go far in this town, not with those pleats, not with those tapers, and now she’s starring in her own prime time drama opposite Michael Vartan. Injustice! Scott Speedman, lordy bahgordy, was sporting a blonde beard matching his thick blonde head, and his jeans had holes in the knees and strategically close to his ass. He is the best Canadian import since Strange Brew.

Renee Zellweger at the Burke-Williams Spa on Sunset. She looked about 120 pounds lighter than her Bridget Jones character. I was afraid I might crush her itty-bitty body just by standing near her, through sheer gravitational force alone. She had recently been featured on the cover of Premiere Magazine and I couldn’t resist the urge to cross that unspoken celebrity/non-celebrity line, so I sort of mumbled, “Just thought you should know that you look fabulous on the cover of Premiere,” as if she didn’t already know that, as if her lawyer, publicist, manager, agent, personal chef and postman hadn’t already told her that. And she looked at me, gleaming, and gushed, “My god, thank you,” as if I were the only person in the world to notice that. I’m pretty sure I made a total impression on her and that she thinks about me and that moment all the time.

Jules Asner walking outside the E! Entertainment building on Wilshire. You know the other day when I was talking about how Britney Spears has the best tits ever? Well, I totally wasn’t thinking correctly. If I had been thinking correctly, I would have been thinking about that day when Jules Asner was walking toward me in that white t-shirt, two-sizes too small, and how for the first time in my life I had found religion.

Carrot Top browsing the porn section at a newsstand on Fairfax.

Jennifer Lopez and P. Diddy in the lobby of the offices of eCompanies. He was in negotiations at the time with a start-up “company” called Icebox, a “company” with no “revenue model,” to create a P. Diddy-themed online animation series. I really can’t tell you much about Mr. Diddy because Jennifer Lopez’s ass was in the room. She was wearing a flesh colored lycra bodysuit that fit her like a coat of paint, and you know how they say that actors are much shorter in real life than on screen? That’s totally true, but irrelevant. What’s relevant is that her ass, if at all feasible, is bigger in real life than on screen, or in magazines, or even in your hottest, wildest fantasies, it’s that big. You can’t possibly imagine how big it is. Huge. Enormous. Elephantine. And all the little dot com robots at eCompanies, all pasty-white and flat-assed and envious, myself included, could do nothing but instant message each other over and over again: CAN’T. BREATHE. ASS. IN. ROOM.

Perry Farrell walking down the street in Old Town Pasadena. He looked very Italian. I have no idea what that means.

  • Hurgle the GErbil

    Eagle Mountain has 3,000 sq. ft. almost new houses for $125k. But I see you guys living in Sugarhouse.

    Everyone in Utah has seen Strange Brew.

    Putting the Dooce in Utah is like checking to see if your gas tank is full with a bic lighter.

  • the only black person you see and you have to refer to him and his “friend” as “dawg?”
    come on now, we can at least pretend to be pc around here and use the right terminology. i’m black and i don’t refer to my friends as dawgs or hommies or whatever lame word white people think we use. you were cool until today – not that you care what i think but i wanted to let you know anyway.

  • I’m sorry, but I would bet $500,000 that Usher refers to his friends as “dawg.” Whenever he’s not engaging in gay sex with them, that is. Maybe even during.

  • swona, why don’t you climb the golden stepladder and get the fuck over yourself? being pc isn’t a requirement, you know, and you should go see a doctor about your irony deficiency. lighten the fuck up and get a sense of humor.

  • i ate a double double from in-n-out burger on lankershim next to bob hope once. i went to school with one of frankie avalon’s sons. i also toured with HR from bad brains for a while.

  • ..I still don’t know to where her dooceness is moving.

  • Swona, it’s “homies”, and whether you really are black or not, go fuck your self.

    Anyway, the only celebrity sighting, outside of Ms. Asner’s fab knockers and Ms. Lopez’s tasty rump, that I’m jealous of is Perry Farrell. He Rocks!

  • Honk if you think Orrin’s a weenie. (On a NOW bumper sticker in Salt Lake City — I leaned on the damn horn when I saw that.)

  • My strangest celebrity sighting came at my old job (I was the lead programmer for an Icebox competitor). I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, looking out the door of my office into the entry way and who walks past? None other than Ron Jeremy. Apparently he was a character in one of our lame shows. Naturally I had to IM all my friends. “Hey, you’ll never guess who’s wandering around my office…”

  • o

    i just wanted to say that on sunday morning paul benedict (the doorman on the jeffersons) was eating lunch next to me and tried to leave through a door that had metal bars behind it.

  • if’n you’re reminiscing, surely you have more memorable moments from living here than celebrity sightings. if that’s the only thing that you’ll miss, that’ll be sad.

  • ME

    I hung out with Jon Stewart after a performance. While sitting on the couch with him, someone took a photo. It was a smoke filled room, both of us were smiling and I must have blinked. We look like a bunch of potheads in the picture. He was down-to-earth and short, though not as short as David Spade for whom I had to reserve a table at the Palm in downtown Philly after his show was over. I could probably kick Spadeís ass if he werenít hypoglycemic.

  • Awhile back I sort of set up a little page for posting celebrity sightings (http://planetbrent.com/stars.aspx), but then took down the interface when it fell into disuse. Maybe there really is a fascination with all things Hollywood after all! And if so, maybe I’ll put the page to work again…

  • golden state

    hold on, rewind things back for a moment…swona has a point that is worth talking about in more constructive ways than telling her to ‘go fuck yourself’ and to ‘get the fuck over yourself’.

  • i hate usher

  • moose

    Hurgle: “Putting the Dooce in Utah is like checking to see if your gas tank is full with a bic lighter” — that is inspired! *FOOM* A definite potential. The SLC hive should be honored to have Her Dooceness blogging her spicey sweet nectar from its midst…hope they appreciate it all.

  • All I can say is…

    (+) You appear to have sensibilities as antithetical to Utah as Satan’s are to Heaven. Sweet.

    (+) J. Lo is the most curious combination of hot, hot in all its forms — sly, bold, seductive, overpowering — and boring, borning in all the ways Hollywood is noted to make things and people.

  • SnarkyPup

    Um, it’s pretty clear from the tone of the description that the use of “dawg” and “posse” was ironic and somewhat self-mockingly doofy. I mean, come on: “what I suppose was one of the dawgs in his posse”? Could that sound any whiter? Clearly the author did that on purpose. But I guess all the non-dumbass readers already figured that out.

  • good luck in utah. i’m sure you’ll celebrities there too, but they’ll more like steve young and shawn bradley.

  • You know, a month from now you’re just gonna be bitching about how much cooler LA was.

    As for celebrity sightings, I once saw that guy who played Long Duck Dong in Sixteen Candles. He was at A Votre Sante on La Brea. No, I didn’t ask for his autograph.

    Also saw Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise (prior to the big breakup, obviously) sitting in a theater in Westwood, watching the movie Unbreakable. Unfortunately, the sighting was more exciting than the film.

  • brent

    Uma. Trolley Square, Salt Lake City, UT.