Corrupted by the Cult of Celebrity

“They made him jealous with their foreign gods and angered him with their detestable idols.” (Deuteronomy 32:16)

*

They say confession is good for the soul, so here goes:

I have a weakness for celebrities. If you put my obsession on a scale, I suppose the needle would fall somewhere between fan and stalker.

I don’t know when my celebrity addiction started, though like all bad habits, I’m sure it began small--taking a quick peek at People magazine at the checkout stand, catching a few minutes of “Entertainment Tonight” while channel surfing, going to the occasional lunch at the Ivy in Los Angeles.

Then I woke up one day and could tell you what’s wrong with Farrah, whom Brad Pitt is dating and how many kids Mel Gibson has.

The ugly truth was: I was a celeboholic and didn’t know it.

Each year I hit rock bottom during Academy Awards week. That’s when my wife and I find ourselves heading up the 405 to West Los Angeles to go celebrity hunting on Oscar eve, when movie stars flood the town.

“They angered him with their high places; they aroused his jealousy with their idols.” (Psalms 78:58)

After nearly a decade of trying, we know exactly how to spot the maximum number of celebrities. Drinks at the bars of the Four Seasons, Peninsula and Bel Air hotels. Dinner at the Polo Lounge, Crustacean or Spago. Late-night strolls through the lobbies of the Mondrian, Chateau Marmont and Shutters. These are our happy hunting grounds.

We don’t want to talk with them, get an autograph or take their picture. We just want to spot them. Sort of like bird-watchers.

It could be Bruce Willis or Pauly Shore--we’re not especially picky. A celebrity is a celebrity.

It’s not a habit I’m particularly proud of, but there it is.

This year, we hit a new low.

A friend of mine at work has a wife who’s in the movie business. She got us tickets for Elton John’s post-Oscar bash, a.k.a. the hottest party in town.

For once, we’d be part of the black-tied crowd. We’d be inside the velvet ropes. We’d walk the red carpet.

We’d belong.

Just me, my wife, Elton and 1,500 A-list Hollywood types.

“All who make idols are nothing, and the things they treasure are worthless.” (Isaiah 44:9)

It was indeed celebrity heaven. Before getting to the party’s doors, we walked through the block-long gantlet of cameras and journalists and listened to celebrities--James Woods, Jay Leno, Jon Voight--answer some very important questions.

“You look fabulous tonight! Who are you wearing?”

“Armani!”

Inside, the converted restaurant was packed, celebrities at every turn: Phil Collins, Elizabeth Hurley, Elle MacPherson, Denise Richards, Heidi Klum, Jacqueline Bisset, Michael Stipe, Kevin Spacey and so many more.

It was almost too much to take.

But we kept circling the room. Each lap around the place, we saw a few more celebrities. We soon noticed that our idols, stripped of the cameras and adoring fans, became a lot like us. They looked for famous people without looking like they were looking for famous people.

If you can stand another confession, there’s this: We saw so many celebrities that my wife and I actually compiled a list so we wouldn’t forget. We came up with 46 names, our biggest Oscar catch ever.

Again, I’m not proud of it; it’s just what we did.

“You shall have no other gods before me.” (Exodus 20:3)

Leaving Elton’s party, we walked back down the red carpet and looked across Melrose Avenue.

Hundreds of people, many with children, stood up against the police barricades, Polaroid and video cameras in hand, all hoping to catch the slightest glimpse of a celebrity and capture the moment forever.

All this at 1 in the morning.

I stood there for a second and wondered: What kind of person would do that?

Then I had a sobering thought:

I would.