It’s a cry I hear all the time, and I’ve learned to take it in stride.
After all, it’s my job as a boldface-purveyor to be open to the pitches of up-and-coming talents and wannabes longing for a press break.
But the whole process reached an extra-absurd pitch the other day when someone really unusual hit me up for press.
It wasn’t a model, actor, singer, or even a model/actor/singer.
It was my corner fruit man!
The guy who has one of those rickety stands where they sell five bananas for a dollar and a dirty mango for a buck and a quarter!
“Write about me,” he urged, while carefully massaging a dented grapefruit. “You can take a picture of the stand and I’ll give you an interview.”
“I’ll think about it,” I chirped, secretly horrified.
“This shit is crazy!” I thought. “Even the corner fruit freak wants to be a star! What kind of demented world is this? Even Warhol would be rolling.”
But I guess I just wrote about him, so it totally worked.