My Week with the Rich and Famous

Co-workers were practically tripping over themselves to be the first to tell someone the news: a movie was being filmed in our building.

Working in Boston, it’s not unusual to see movie set signs (large yellow signs with block lettering giving location instructions to the crew), and sightings of stars are no rarity. I even heard one Southie resident sold her toilet seat cover on E-Bay after Ben Affleck knocked on her door during a movie shoot and kindly asked if he could use her bathroom.

But this was different. The stars weren’t in the area, around the block or down the street. They were IN THE BUILDING, and we were going to find them. Because they were not small stars- they were Oscar winner Jennifer Lawrence, Oscar nominee Bradley Cooper as well as Christian Bale, Amy Adams and Jeremy Renner (OK, so I had to goggle a few to see who they were, but I was assured they were BIG).

And they were on the 8^th floor.

The 8^th floor suddenly became something akin to Area 51 in Roswell, full of mystery and secrecy. The button everyone dared someone else to push, the floor where the “beautiful people” were.

 
While I did not personally have a direct brush with fame in the elevator, it was painfully apparent who was going to push the magic ‘8’, and who was going to grind out another long, stressful day at the office on one of the floors the regular folk worked on.

One rainy morning, I blew through the parking lot with my hood up, wet hair plastered across my face, dragging along my ratty pink briefcase on wheels in one hand and a two-wheeler loaded with breakfast food in the other only to see ‘him’, who I swear was Stanley Tucci or at least very Stanley Tucci-ish. And it was immediately and painfully obvious how different our lives are.

His shoes were Italian leather, a color and texture “pleather” will never capture. His jeans were way too cool with the perfect amount of intentional aging not available from any retail chain. His white shirt was crisply starched and bright, not slightly grey and wrinkled from being tossed in with the rest of the laundry. I speculated that I could retire comfortably on the value of his jewelry alone, and I swear I saw his white teeth twinkle like an Orbit gum commercial.

Then he pushed ‘8’.

I contemplated pressing ‘9’ just to stare a little longer and get a peak at the holy grail on the 8^th floor, as I imagined a glowing light would beam through the elevator door crack just before it opened and angels would sing. But I was suddenly and painfully aware that I bought my boots on sale for $20 at DSW, I’m wearing a plastic hair appliance from CVS and I have hangnails, so I got off where I deserved to get off, the lowly 5^th floor.

My 2^nd brush with the almost famous or certainly rich came as I rushed to catch the elevator to the gym mid- afternoon. I tossed my duffle bag into the closing doors and barged my way in to find myself almost certainly with someone who is quite possibly somebody affiliated with something big. He did not appear to be stressed enough to have a regular job, and he was holding something that looked a lot like a script. “Quite an entrance” he commented with a smile, “You’ve earned a big checkmark” after which he drew a checkmark on his notepad. And I, for some reason, thought this was awesome.

The Hollywood week continued, with people making statements such as “I told Amy Adams she was beautiful!” “Jeremy Renner wished me good luck with my scratch tickets!” and “I saw Christian Bale smoking a cigarette!”

In those moments when lifestyles collide, we imagine everyone is more fortunate than us. I’m sure that Bradley Cooper’s car is not full of dents from grocery carts being rammed into the doors, Jennifer Lawrence doesn’t journey obsessively to the basement to check her heating oil level, and none of them have to worry about making it to the next bi-weekly payroll period.

But there’s a reason why envy is one of the seven deadly sins. Nothing good can come from it, and most of the glory we imagine everyone else but us is enjoying is just that – our imagination. And besides, there are a lot more glorious things in this world than being rich and famous.

 
Like family, good friends, and finding a pair of awesome leather boots on sale for $20 at DSW- Score!

Leader of the Band-Wagon

When the Bruins made it to the Stanley Cup playoffs, this newbie fan who hadn’t watched a full game since shootouts replaced extra periods, and who thought our captain was an Irish player named O’Chara, not only jumped back onto the bandwagon, I was driving it.

That’s right, I’d be in the lead Duck Boat holding Lord Stanley’s cup over my head sitting on Zdeno Chara’s shoulders if I could. But please don’t begrudge me- I need the good news and distraction as much as anyone else.

And I’m not the only one arriving late to this party. Pulling into the parking lot of a sporting goods store at 7 a.m. the morning after to see if I could score a championship hat or tee (no such luck), I laughed to myself as I parked my car bearing Celtics plates in between vehicles sporting Red Sox and Patriots plates with not a Bruins plate in sight.

Later that day I drove by a guy walking down the street wearing a Tim Thomas shirt who must have felt like the MVP himself as he waved and smiled to beeps and cheers from passing cars, including mine. Today he’s probably sweating his butt off mowing the lawn in the same shirt, wondering how he can afford to send his kids to college, but on that day he felt like part of the team.

Times are tough- but when the hometown teams are winning, everyone is in a better mood. Even my mother who doesn’t know the difference between Chara and Charo (goochie goochie) asked me to set her DVR to record the duck boat parade so she could be part of the excitement, and what’s wrong with that?

It seems like Boston sports fans are generally described two ways: long suffering or spoiled. We’ve suffered some of the worst defeats (Bruins v. Flyers 2010- ouch!) and the most miraculous wins (2004 ALC Sox v. Yankees- a miracle!). And it is these extreme emotions that keep us perpetually heartbroken and elated at the same time, providing us with much needed exercise as we jump on and off the bandwagon depending on which team is hot at the moment.

And I will freely admit this is not my first ride on a bandwagon. I live with someone who religiously watched every painful Celtics game during years when the Herald couldn’t bribe someone to sit in our skybox. I’ve listened to screams of “you stink” and “stop throwing up trash” directed to our own team, as I suggested “you can do it” might be more encouraging. But enter the big three and the 2008 Championship vs. LA, and guess who is taking a couple of hours off from work to attend the Celtics Duck Boat victory parade wearing my World Champion tee screaming “I LOVE YOU RONDO!” as green and white confetti rained down on me; all this, while the die-hard, life-long fan toiled diligently at work.

Watching the joy and celebration of our championship teams makes me wonder what it’s like to feel on top of the world, to see your dreams and hard work culminate in a feat that is the pinnacle of your career. And for that one moment frozen in time- pure joy. Our personal payoffs for hard work are much less celebrated, and we may never experience that moment that so defines our career that we can sit back and think with a sigh, “I did it”. So we live vicariously through the achievements of our athletes, sharing their pain and joy, bonding with each other over heartbreak and happiness, always looking forward to the start of the next season.

So to you long suffering fans who lost a season during the hockey lockout and who bought their original chair when the “Old Gah-den” was torn down, don’t be haters! You have earned my total respect, and my new enthusiasm in no way diminishes your years of loyalty. Or to paraphrase a childhood song, “Make new fans, but keep the old. One is silver and the other’s gold.” Or in this case, black and gold.