Hobnobbing 3: Knobs Unleashed

I strode casually up the front steps of the enormous west coast villa. The mansion’s windows glowed warmly against the early evening sky. Inside the partygoers moved carelessly to and fro, their chat and chortle filtered outside into the pleasant evening air. Unconsciously I brushed down the front of my tux to make sure it was in order. Mentally I conjured up every bit of composure I had within. I would need it. Briskly stepping over an unconscious Lindsay Lohan who’d passed out on the front steps, and tossing out a quick “evening” to some partygoers who stood nearby, I wandered inside.

Before I’d made it three steps inside, a familiar voice hailed me.

“J! J! Hey man, what’s goin’ on?”

I immediately recognized the voice as belonging to the thicko Val Kilmer. Desperately searching around for an out, the only nearby familiar face I saw was Heath Ledger. Realizing instinctively that any conversation with him would probably end quite badly as I unleashed a torrent of gay jokes, I turned to Val and bit the bullet. Sure, I could have faked an epileptic fit to aid a getaway, but I felt that I rather owed Val since I’d convinced him to do “The Island of Dr. Moreau”. I mean, it was only an April Fool's joke, but somewhere along the line things went horribly astray, as anyone who has seen ‘The Island’ can attest.

“Hey Val, long time no see. Hope you're not working too hard there sporto.”

“Well I do what I can J, but you know that Hollywood is a tough business, and you’ve gotta work hard.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I can’t imagine how much work went into “Batman Forever”. Hey listen, rumor has it you hooked up with Paris Hilton, any truth to that?”

“Ah, well, a gentleman never tells J.”

“Indeed.” And, thank God. I hadn’t the stomach for that sort of imagery. “Well, I’m headed for the bar, catch you later Val.”

Halfway to the bar I found myself suddenly and quite uncontrollably keeling over. Slightly shaken by the fall, I looked back over my shoulder in search of whatever had tripped me up. Much to my surprise, two little oval eyes, sitting nearly at ground level, were starring back at me. My first thought was “what a peculiar place for children”. Before I even had time to stand up, the little fellow scurried off and joined a sibling who was in the corner hanging from a bit of ornamental foliage. Getting my bearings once again, I let my gaze wander across the room. Inexplicably the entire villa seemed to be overrun by the little guys.

Turning to nearby host George Clooney, I asked him what was going on.

“Oh, Angelina is here tonight!”

Of course, that explained it.

“Hey listen J,” George continued”, “if you’ve gotta use the phone, use a mobile. I’ll be damned if I let those wiretapping fascists spy on my place.”

“No phones, got it. But, ah, don’t use that mobile too much there George, heard they can give you brain cancer.”

Hmmm, Hollywood, cell phones, and brain cancer. Certainly a post unto itself. I made a mental note and continued my trek towards the bar. I was more mindful of the mini-Jolie obstacles and made it safely. Being a light drinker, I inexplicably ordered a triple shot of rum. Before I could indulge, I noticed Stephen Spielberg sitting beside me.

“Ah, nice to see you here J. Enjoying yourself?”

“Always do, Steve, always do! Hey listen, I’ve got a script for you, a real winner. Its called “Intifada Mountain”. Thought I’d give you first dibs like I did with “Jurassic Park” and “Schindler’s List”. If you want to run with this new one, feel free to give me a pseudonym again. You know me, I’m not in it for the credit, only the art.”

“I’ll definitely take a look J. Listen, have you seen Lucas around? He keeps bugging me about this stupid 4th Indiana Jones. I mean, what am I supposed to tell him? Harrison is practically in ‘walker’ country at this point, what am I supposed to do?”

“Hey hey now, leave me out of that one.”

Graciously I slipped away and casually began gaiting towards the exit. A thundering glass-shattering scream suddenly filled the air and sent me leaping. I’d seen Howard Dean earlier, and really I should have been expecting it. Still it took me by surprise. In my temporary horror, I accidentally knocked over Sheryl Crow. Fortunately, a gaggle of Cambodian orphans broke her fall. Apologizing profusely I helped her to her feet.

“Again I apologize Sheryl. Say, ah, where’s your hubby, I rather expected him to be here tonight. You know, I just cannot get enough of that party animal. Ahhh, what a guy. Really, he’s a total blast at these things. In fact, Lance is really the only reason I come. What a joker….. ‘Rachael Welch and the Pope in a lifeboat… those aren’t buoys’… aha ha ha ha ha ha hahahaha. Yeah, he’s a blast alright, and a true inspiration too. Just an all around great guy. Take my advice Sheryl, and don’t let go of that catch. He’s a trophy through and through.”

“Actually J, Lance and I split up….”

“Ah, too bad, that’s just too bad. But you know, these things happen for the better don’t they? And really, between you and me, I always thought all of the hype over Lance was a bit much. I mean, testicular cancer! Come on. If you ask me being a little lighter in that department is nothing but an unfair advantage when it comes to cycling. Am I right? Hahahaha. Yeah, you’re definitely better off without him, I’ll come straight out and tell you. That man was nothing but trouble. Really, he was a real waste of oxygen, a piece of human garbage if you ask me. Anyway, I’d best be off.”

I slipped away, rather smug at how craftily I'd avoided a big faux pas. Nearly at the exit, I was waylaid by the inseparable duo Noam Chomsky and Michael Moore.

“Ah, J, your arrival could not have been more timely. Indeed, of all of the fellows that might have appeared at this very moment, I dare say that you are the most agreeable. Since you have in fact arrived, just now, we have found ourselves in a most satisfying condition. We implore you for your wisdom.”

“Michael here, and myself, were just discussing recent the happenstance taking place in Her Majesty’s dominion of Canada. You, being Canadian, are in a most particular and valuable position to help us answer the vexing perplexity that has left us at an impasse. Michael here believes that the Conservative electoral victory is a giant step towards the NeoCon-ization of Canada, while I myself see the election results as a move toward the oppression of the working class. What say you of this matter?”

“Well, I’m certainly not of the intelligentsia, like you fellows, but for what my humble opinion is worth….have you even read the official agenda of the Canadian conservatives?”

“Read their manifesto, why on earth would we…..ah, oh, oh hahahaha, ah Junker you witty fellow you. Ah, I must say that I like thy wit well Junker. You really are a laugh. Ahahahahaha, ‘read the agenda’ says he. Oh hahaha!”

Dismissing myself amiably, I made a b-line for the exit. My mental constitution was iron strong, but thirty minutes in a place like this and it was starting to buckle. The walls seemed to close in around me, and I narrowly avoided a roving pod of little Cambodians scurrying past my feet. Finally the door was in front of me and I burst into the cool night air. Quickly my poise returned. It certainly hadn’t been an easy night, but nothing worth doing is ever easy. With yet another post ready to roll, I headed north, back home to Canada, and blogging.

Hobnobbing with the Stars

Hobnobbing II: Return of the Knobs