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| Unofficial Celebrity Report: MTV VMA's, Part Two | | Date Created: May 04, 2005, 03:34 PM |
In case you missed the start of our tale from the 2001 MTV Music Video Awards, you really should start with Part One here.
"Oh, are we near the front?"
"Not too far back, but you'll be sitting between Mandy Moore and Jessica Simpson."
OK. Vaguely familiar names, but not much more than a flicker of recognition.
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 We walked through the ornate auditorium and headed backstage to the makeup area. It seemed an almost cinematic blur: a grainy, strange, high-speed rush of familiar faces and music icons. Was that Howard Stern with his girlfriend Beth? No time to look back, we're winding through the tiny halls of the opera house. Once to the makeup room, Junior had to wait for Pamela Anderson to be made-up. She was - in the words of one on-looker - looking like "a two-thousand-dollar whore." (A funny line - but how does someone arrive at that particular dollar figure?)
"Sure would like to have the new script on the prompter," muttered a jittery Junior.
It seemed like the perfect job for our eager escort, and he was off in search of the teleprompter operator. He returned minutes later with good news. We walked back through the bowels into a tiny room, may as well have been a closet, where a pleasant woman was all-too-happy to type in the "newly approved" (heh heh wink wink) script. Mission accomplished.
As showtime neared (and Junior's segment falling about one-third of the way through the show), we were whisked back to our seats. |
 At the race track, I call new fans "swivelheads." They're so overwhelmed, they have no clue where to look next. We were like that in our seats, as we slipped past P. Diddy and his posse (not much different from the Dirty Mo Posse, 'cept the DMP rarely dress exactly alike), then sat behind Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon with their entire family in tow... behind us was P. Diddy's early-teen girl-group Dream or Creme or something like that, making their first and last major appearance... Is that Julia Styles or Kirsten Dunst? (It was Styles.) Across the aisle, Gwen Stefani looked gooooood as usual, sitting behind rock gods U2 (twenty years after I had paid $1 to see them on their first US tour). Isn't that the one guy from Saturday Night Live? Yeah - but we couldn't think of his name... How cool is Tony Kanal of No Doubt, sneaking a few sips out of the flask hidden strategically in his suit pocket?! And Christina Aguilera is just... um... well... scary. |
 The show opened with some good comedy bits from host Jamie Foxx as well as Will Farrell, Ben Stiller and a wickedly brilliant Andy Dick as "Daphne Aguilera."
It is, after all, an awards show, and the first prize of the night went to the blood-spattered Mudvayne - something like Best Video/MTV2 or Next Big Thing or Best New Scary Guys. "This'll be hardcore," we thought as they approached the podium to pick up their moonman trophy.
"We'd like to thank our parents!," the green-haired one blurted out, sounding like a freshly-scrubbed college freshman. (Further proof that things are usually the opposite of what they seem.) |
 Oh, did I forget to mention the ladies on either side of us? On the aisle was Jessica Simpson - a short lil' thing and not as svelte as she is now. ("At her playing weight" someone wondered, thinking she may be portraying a wrestler in a movie role or something). Beside her was young sis, Ashlee, not yet known on her own as a lip-synching, jig-dancing pop starlet. But, on the other side sat a six-foot tall beauty in a scoop-neck dress exposing a thin strand of skin from neck to belly-button. Good gawd. Mandy Moore.
"She's 17..." our volunteer handler had casually mentioned. Talk about feelin' like an old man. Sigh. 17?!
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 At a break during the show, a fleet of volunteer seat-fillers swarmed in and led a small army of celebs from our section to the backstage area. Once in the cavernous wings, while watching Destiny's Child in a minor diva-spat and wondering if Christopher Walken really was made of wax, Junior's anonimity ended.
"Yo, June-yahhh," came the voice, "will you sign this?"
The union stagehands had hidden a wide array of t-shirts, hats and diecast cars in their own little nooks of the theatre. Once the first break in the dam took place, it was a flood of big, burly guys streaming past the other stars to get a Dale Jr. autograph of their own.
"The people's hero," I laughed. "No one but the real workers know who you are..."
Junior signed each of the items and seemed to loosen up more than he had all night. The man who loves going three-wide at 200 mph was a ball of nerves. |
 Moments later, with Linkin Park in place behind the massive facade, one of the stagehands brought Junior to the edge of a flimsy prop door, waiting for his cue to enter.
"I like my music like I like my racecars: fast - and loud as hell. Here's Linkin Park..."
Or something like that. It was a blur as Junior escaped from the stage and let out a huge exhale.
Go to UCR, Part Three.
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