
I think I've turned a corner when it comes to this cult of celebrity worship.
I went to an art gallery showing in Beverly Hills last night, but the gallery was actually a collection of celebrity photographs - dead celebrities, live celebrities, musicians, actresses, you name it. The price tags ranged from $1,000 to $15,000. It was all laid out as if this was a collection from Modern Museum of Art.
They had an open bar serving some new kind of vodka,
"V2 Vodka", and the bartendress, looking all of 19, said, "This is really cool! This vodka has caffeine in it, so it's kinda like drinking a red bull with your liquor!"
"Red bull?" I asked her.
"Well, almost! Drink up!"
After two sips of this concoction, I determined to let David drive home.
I saw a photograph of Ann-Margret leaning backwards from the top floor balcony of a Las Vegas hotel in the 1960's (supposedly threatening to jump off), lots of signed album covers from The Beatles, Andy Warhol, a photo of John Lennon in Spain, Angelina Jolie, Catherine Zeta Jones, stills from an Andy Warhol short showing some guy shooting up and then passing out....
Invitees oogled and ahh'd, sipping their V2 Vodkas with grapefruit juice, eyeing everyone who walked in more than they actually looked at the photos. Everyone and everything seemed overly self-aware, poofy and self-conscious.
The gallery employees were talking up the photographs to anyone who would listen, doling out more drinks, trying to assess who in the room really had the big bucks. I'm guessing that might have been the grey-haired crinkly man in the leopard, floor-length fur. He looked liked a very rich dinosaur.
"It's all so fun," said the manager. I must be getting old.
I said to David, "You know what? I'm ready to leave. The 'ick' factor has kicked in. And I need some food in my stomach."
"I've always found this stuff icky," David agreed, and we left.
This whole business, this entire city, was built around the culture of celebrity worship. Something about standing in that gallery, surrounded on all sides by pandering people and the frozen-in-time faces of celebrities long gone made me claustrophobic. These faces were just people, after all, people who have been photographed millions of time, but people all the same.
And I don't find drugs, or mixing Red Bull with alcohol so interesting. I'm not getting on a pulpit here. There are just a thousand other ways I'd rather spend my time.