I’ve tasted complete nothingness. And I’ve sampled some small but potent hits of fame.
And fame is definitely better.
In this, my exhilarating new column, I talk about the humiliation sometimes involved in getting the old “What’s the name again?” treatment that reminds you of your lowly place on showbiz’s totem pole.
But just then, you’ll get a call to be on a talk show or cameo in a movie, and you get a temporary reprieve from all that, convincing yourself that you’re actually an Emmy-nominated sitcom star rather than just some mid-level writer doing a quick bit with her.
Anyway, this one’s a riot — and it’s pretty profound, too, covering fame’s allure, intangibility, perks, and vicious evanescence.
If you don’t recognize me on the street, at least notice me on the link!
And don’t tell me my nose got in my way of greater success. It didn’t hurt Streisand.