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Sunday, August 18, 2002

 

Yes, Timmy, Famous People Live in Los Angeles



I usually don't devote his space to celebrity-worship, but in light of an experience I had today, I felt I would make an exception to the long-standing WFOoBH's no-celebrity policy.

I was just minding my own business in a hip LA eatery (really, is there any other kind?) when in strolls a certain former star of a formerly-huge pop singing sensation supergroup. He's got another guy friend and three young ladies in party outfits and brightly-colored wigs (I think there was a pink, a green, and a red) in tow.

This man with the odd posse was none other than Joey MacIntyre of the legendary New Kids on the Block.

When I left the restaurant, I was looking for teenage girls to tell that Joey Fuckin' MacInTy-ah was in there getting some grub (basically because I'm an asshole and a stampede would be funny). But it dawned on me...do "teenage girls" necessarily know who Joey is? I know that he's still on MTV from time to time and has a burgeoning career as a solo artist [emphasis mine], but this is no Lance Bass, Space Warrior. Maybe I would have been better served finding someone my own age, someone probably no longer squarely in the middle of the boy-band demographic, to tell of this NKOTB'r noshing on a burger. Then they could have told me, "who the fuck cares?" and been on my way. I then could have spun out into an examination of my own life and why I might possibly care that a guy who used to wear tight pants and hang tough while growing up in front of America's fixated eyes was lunching with some chicks eating waffles in wigs in the booth across from mine. Why I noticed that he seemed so small in person, not the 50-ft dancing, giant man-child in a spangly coat on the Diamondvision screen in Madison Square Garden. Why I could hear the squeals of the girls, somehow fading, but still there in the background. Why this guy, this regular man in a Colorado State t-shirt was having fucking waffles with some hot chicks in brightly-colored wigs at 4pm on a Sunday afternoon. Why did it matter?

Maybe it was the impromptu a cappella version of The Right Stuff he gave on top of my table as my lovely dining companion squealed with delight, left me with the check, and joined Joey's coterie. She got the blue wig.

Could be that.

[If you think that this encounter weighed heavily on my soul, just think about what happened when Eriq LaSalle walked into the same restaurant as me a year ago.]



About this site

This is the internet home of Mark Lisanti, a Los Angeles writer sometimes known as Bunsen. He is the founding editor of Defamer, a weblog about Hollywood, where he now serves in the nebulous capacity of "editor-at-large."
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