A Brush with Fame

In our society fame is a very prominent feature that I think most kids are aware of from an early age...unless you live outside of mainstream culture.  For example as a seven or eight year old I remember one Sunday in primary class very vividly.  The teacher, one Kenny Balls a.k.a. bus driver extraordinaire, asked us who we wanted to be like.  My answer: Tina Turner.  Apparently I related to her huge hair and admired her fierce attitude.  I quickly felt shame bloom in my heart as Kenny told us he wanted to be like Jesus.  I remember thinking of course!  I'm such a fool.  Why didn't I say that?  I mean maybe Tina Turner is a great person.  But back in the day I didn't know anything about her besides she was famous.  And that was enough for me.

Maybe it's the same reason Ava loves wearing her cousin's hand-me-down shirts of Hannah Montana although Ava's never seen a single episode of that show or heard a song by Miley Cyrus.  She knows she's famous, and that's enough for her.

My Grandma Margaret used to buy the gossip mags.  As teens I remember we'd plop ourselves down on the warm radiators lining Grandma's living room and pass around the copies of National Enquirer.  The articles were dubious at best, and looking back it's funny I liked to see Julia Roberts grocery shopping - oh she favors Gala Apples...how interesting, or Melanie Griffiths without makeup...the horror! 

I have had the privilege of meeting a famous performer.  Dorky, though he may seem now, back in the day...well okay, maybe he was dorky then too.  My boyfriend from high school from the time he was little really loved magic tricks.  So of course he grew up watching illusionists.  When I heard David Copperfield was coming to town I wanted to go with him to see his show.  My family used to gather round the t.v. set and watch David Copperfield's specials.  Who doesn't remember when Bob Saget David Copperfield magicked himself to the other side of The Great Wall of China?!

The night came and his mom dropped us off at the venue in SLC.  We were giddy with anticipation.  Shortly after we walked through the doors a woman came up to me and asked me if I wanted to be involved in one of Mr. Copperfield's illusions onstage that night.  I think if it weren't such a cool thing to my boyfriend at the time I probably wouldn't have said yes.  Being up on stage in front of a lot of people is the last thing I like to subject myself to.  So I reluctantly said yes, the sweat gathering on my palms even then.  I was led down to a room where another poor girl had been picked to be up on stage as well.  We both signed confidentiality agreements.  Then we were told we were going to be the two lucky gals who got their panties switched by David Copperfield's amazing magical powers.  Woo-hoo!  At this time I was considering making a run for the exit, but it seemed too late to back out.  We were briefed on the roles we were to play and what to expect.  Then we were released to go to our normal seats.

I waited nervously next to my boyfriend until the big moment came when creepy thin man Mr. Copperfield prowled the aisles for his next volunteers.  I raised my hand hoping no one could see what had to be massive pit stains by then.  Cool under pressure I am not.  David's roving eye caught mine and he whisked me up onstage.  It was hot up there.  I could hardly breath between the anxiety of being caught up there in front of all these people and worrying about how genuine my surprised face would seem when the "magic" happened.  As with all illusionists there was a lot of showmanship that may or may not have involved a fog machine.  I'm hazy on the details.  I was trying simultainiously not to faint or scoff at the obvious size difference between me and the skinny blond volunteer next to me.  Come on people, if David could really switch our panties hers would definitely come back to her hanging off of her boney hips.  I was thin then for sure because I had been on the rice cakes and water diet for a few months.  It's effective but causes wild mood-swings and dizzy spells.  I wouldn't recommend it.  I just know one thing though, I was not as thin as that pretty blond.

Anyway I remember the moment of David Copperfield's triumph when he successfully switched my red panties with her white ones.  The audience clapped as the gorgeous assistants gave us semi-wedgies by pulling out our magicked drawers and turning us around for all to witness.  Then I looked at the girl next to me who had on my red pair of unmentionables and we both made our oh-so-real shocked and amazed faces.  There was a moment, just a brief moment when I thought I was going to burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all.  If it had been one of my close friends next to me I'm sure I would have, but it helped that the girl who had my knickers on her behind was a complete stranger.  Sometimes I wonder about that girl.  If we saw each other now, would our eyes lock across a crowded room?  Would we smile and nod, two comrades in panty hijinks bonded for life by two pairs of red and white Fruit of the Looms?  Maybe.  I'd like to think we would.  After all, there's nothing like swapping undies onstage in front of a packed theater to bring two people together. 

After we exited stage right the assistants congratulated us on a job well done and gave us an 8 x 10 glossy of a very mysterious looking Bill Nye the Science Guy David Copperfield sitting down, resting his back against a wall with his two thin spider legs pulled up to his chest, although spread a good foot or so away from each other so it was hard not to look at his crotch.  In the picture he was wearing a chunky turtleneck sweater and straight leg Calvin Kleins and a pair of loafers.  The assistants then informed us if we waited until everyone left we would get to meet David Copperfield and he would sign our pictures.  I knew my boyfriend would be over the moon.

We waited a good twenty minutes.  I remember feeling rather awkward.  What was I going to say to this man who had performed voo-doo on my Vicki's?  Then here he came, the man of the hour.  He curtly moved through the few volunteers to participate in his show that night and nary a smile touched his thin lips.  I think he barely made eye contact with me.  I ended up saying nothing.  He signed his name over his crotch.  Nice.  My boyfriend was too star struck to say anything either.  After he left I remember feeling let down.  That was it?  The charismatic illusionist of my generation just signed his very charismatic picture of himself and all he really seemed to be feeling at the time was Get me the heck out of here, already.  I felt used.  David, how could you?  I don't let pretty magicians assistants handle my underwear in front of hundreds of people for just anyone, you know.

It's an odd thing, fame.  At the end of the day the famous are just regular people who have boatloads of money, usually big egos, and a hotel room to get back to to wash out the gallon of Aqua Net used to cement that 'do into place.  One thing I will say about David Copperfield.  I do believe he is magical.  How else did he get Claudia Schiffer to date him for all those years?