The Stars in Our Eyes: The Famous, the Infamous, and Why We Care Way Too Much About Them by Julie Klam

Author:Julie Klam [Klam, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781594631368
Google: K1d9DQAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1594631360
Published: 2017-07-18T00:00:00+00:00

Intermission 8

I did a radio tour for the publication of my novel. I sat in a studio and was interviewed by DJs and talk show hosts in radio stations all over the country.

Most of the interviewers were nice. The most interesting question: What’s it like having Dennis Miller mouthing off around the house all the time? I said that I imagined it would be a living hell, though I could only venture a guess, as I’ve never met Dennis Miller. The poor man had just spent ten minutes thinking he was interviewing Dennis Miller’s wife. He began stammering his apologies and it became clear that he had no idea whose wife it was that he was interviewing, and I felt so sorry for him that I ended up repeatedly apologizing to him for not being Dennis Miller’s wife.

When I got home I told my Denis—Denis Leary—about it and he insisted that I have met Dennis Miller and I said that wasn’t Dennis Miller, it was Jay Mohr, and Denis became very annoyed because I really never have any idea who anyone is.

Once, I was seated next to Moby at a dinner party. This was years ago and I had spent the summer listening to a Moby CD that Denis had made me, but I had no idea what Moby looked like. So at this dinner party, I was seated next to a very sweet, slightly nebbishy-looking guy who seemed a little out of his element. Meg Ryan was there, Jon Stewart, Nora Ephron. I think the party was for Barry Levinson. Anyway, my sweet dinner companion was concerned that there wouldn’t be anything for him to eat, as he was a vegan. He was just so quiet and unassuming that I realized he was probably overwhelmed by the dazzling luminaries in the room and I decided to take him under my wing. I asked one of the waitstaff to prepare him a salad and then I explained to him who all the important people were. At one point I asked him what he did for work. He told me that he was a musician. “How nice,” I said, imagining him in an orchestra pit, his upper lip quivering above a flute, or perhaps on a subway platform strumming on a mandolin. When we left the party, Denis and I shared a ride with Jon Stewart and his wife, Tracey.

“What was Moby like?” Tracey asked.

“Moby was there?” I asked, in all my innocence.

—ANN LEARY

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