Brief encounters of the celebrity kind

Celebrities are not like us. What with being rich and famous and having second homes for their second homes. Sure, they put their pants on one leg at a time, but they have people to help them. Or so I always thought, until recent brief encounters with two famous women set me straight. Anoushka Shankar was a featured day diarist in our first This Day book and Rosanne Cash in the second book. I got backstage invites to their concerts, which sounds very glamorous but bear in mind that this is backstage at a college performance hall, not backstage at La Scala. But maybe backstage is backstage? Beat-up wooden floors, gray lockers lining the passage, fluorescent lighting, mis-matched chairs, a fire extinguisher. Folding table with a cellophane wrapped gift basket, soda cans, knocked-over stack of paper cups.

Rosanne in concert is fantastic; if you haven’t seen her, you must. I was simultaneously caught up in the music and hyperventilating about meeting her. I practiced my casual yet clever conversation and imaged the banter, the instant rapport, and the life-long friendship that would follow. Of course, it went nothing like that. I knock on the stage door – Authorized Personnel Only – explain who I am to the guy who did the after-show Q&A – I wrote a book? Rosanne’s in it? – he nods and lets the door shut behind him. It’s the kind that locks automatically. So I knock again. And again – am I knocking too loud? - feeling like a complete rube, despite my rural chic outfit of jeans, not-too-trendy top, and tweed and dark pink suede three inch slingbacks. Once I’m in – I wrote a book? – Rosanne’s in it? – it’s over in what seems like a heartbeat. She’s lovely. And gracious and friendly to this tongue-tied stranger who’s made all sorts of assumptions from having read her day diary entry and seen her on the TV. She kindly signs my copy of This Day in the Life (page 360) while I mangle inanities about how nice to meet her. Sheesh. Then she’s gone and I’m in the car headed home.

And meeting Anoushka? See above (different outfit, same shoes). Fantastic concert, gorgeous and so sweet, signs my copy of This Day (page 16). This time I manage an actual, albeit brief, conversation, ask if she’s ever re-read her day diary entry (yes) and if her life is calmer now (no, it’s much crazier).

After my celebrity encounters, I’m left with what can only be described as a ‘warm fuzzy.’ Anyone who knows me knows I don’t suffer fools or warm fuzzies, but these women, famous with a capital F, were generous enough to share a day in their lives and gracious enough to share a moment backstage. So maybe, just maybe, they put on their own pants? I like to think so.

--Bindi

Thissss Day in the Life

At my desk in my home office, I pull out my “recruiting” file—a list of names of women, or categories of working women I’ve been gathering over the past year or so to invite as day diarists for the book project. Today, “SnakeBabe” happens to be at the top of the pile. She is one of the most famous female magicians in the country, and has performed everywhere from Animal Planet to The Jerry Springer Show to Las Vegas’s Adult Entertainment Expo.

I check out the SnakeBabe’s website. Her real name is Maria Gara and her magic act is called “Venom.” It includes, among other things, fire eating and pulling a python out of a male audience member’s pants. Billed “The World’s Sexiest Magician,” I can see from the photos and videos on her website that this claim is definitely not hype. In life, many things intimidate me, among them sexy women who can eat fire, snakes, and cold calling (including cold e-mailing). Nevertheless, I start typing…

“Dear SnakeBabe…” Scratch that. I’m writing to a person, not a SnakeBabe.

“Dear Ms. Gara…” Scratch that. Given the personal nature of this project, it feels more fitting to start off immediately on a first-name basis. I figure if this level of familiarity offends a potential day diarist, well then I doubt if they’d be willing to share the intimate details of their work and personal lives for the reading public anyway.

I start again… “Dear Maria, I am the creator of the book series This Day in the Life, and would love for you to participate in this national book project…” In the e-mail, I offer an overview of the book and how its mission is to allow readers to see beyond the labels, stereotypes, and job titles by which women are so often defined. In closing, I thank Maria for her consideration then press “send.”

A few days later the phone rings and my eight-year-old daughter, Thea, answers it. She finds me, as usual, at my desk. I’m riffling through more names on my recruiting wish list: bomb squad women; Wal-Mart sales associates; Newsweek’s list of the next generation of leaders in their field. I’m building up the courage to e-mail Queen Latifah (an entertainer, business-woman, and role model according to the article in Newsweek) when Thea hands me the portable. A woman’s voice comes over the line, “Hi, this is Maria.”

My mind draws a blank.

“The SnakeBabe,” she prompts.

Omigosh!

Maria is enthusiastic about contributing to This Day in the Life of Working Women. I answer her questions and she tells me about her work rescuing reptiles and promoting their proper care, and how she is currently installing some kind of sophisticated technology on her and her husband’s websites. Over the phone, it is easy to forget that I am talking to America’s Sexiest Magician; a fire-eating femme fatale. Maria agrees to confirm her participation as a day diarist, and we say our friendly goodbyes.

Buoyed by this conversation, I return to the wish list on my desk, eager to continue recruiting day diarists. In life, as I mentioned earlier, many things intimidate me, among them bomb squads, sales associates, and the next generation of leaders in their field. Nevertheless, I start typing,“Dear Queen Latifah…” Scratch that. If I’m going to stick to my decision to address potential day diarists by their first names rather than their surnames or titles, then I shouldn’t make any exceptions, even for royalty.

I start again. “Dear Latifah, I am the creator of the book series This Day in the Life, and would love for you to participate in this national book project…” As I finish the e-mail, I thank Latifah for her consideration and press send. Almost. Then I think of Maria, with her fun, sexy, reptile-loving personality, and I revise the closing to my letter. “Thank you for your consideration… Hugs and Hissessss, Joni.”

Scratch that, I decide, after the briefest reflection. I’m no SnakeBabe, but I’m lucky to know one.

-Joni