So, there were plenty of people you and I have heard songs by, seen on TV or in the cinema, or playing sports of one kind or another at these parties.
Here’s a quick list of who was there and who prompted me to stop and think, “Ooh, that’s whatsisname” : Good Charlotte, Bam Margera, Tony Hawks (UPDATE 04/09/05: I’ve only just found out that his name is Hawk, not Hawks. I’m not a skateboarder or anything, so, really, all I know of him is that their’s a computer game with his name on it. I didn’t realise it was Tony Hawk’s Computer Game, I thought it was Tony Hawks’ Computer Game), Amanda Lepore, Paulina Rubio, Luke Wilson, Eddie Irvine, Johnny Knoxville (stalking me, I tell you!), Jeremy Piven, Eva Longoria, and a good few handfuls of people that I, as a Brit who watches very little TV or pays little attention to hip hop, didn’t recognise.
On the Friday night, I was waiting to use the lav. Suddenly Quincy Jones breezed past. Quincy Jones. Quincy. Jones. That was a good moment. An actual legend. Not just someone who’s famous. A real true legend. Right there. Quincy friggin’ Jones!
Some dude called Rocco did some cooking on Sunday. Apparently he’s a TV chef in the US, and he was jolly friendly; walking over and introducing himself and bringing us drinks. La de da.
Other friendly folk: That Bokeem Woodbine fella, the guy who played Massive Genius in The Sopranos, he was in Ray too; he was nice and chatty.
And there was an American football player who I obviously didn’t know, but he used to play for San Francisco 49ers if that means anything to you. Had a good chinwag with him.
You wanna see some photos?
Here’s Jessica Simpson’s hair, back, arse and legs.
Below that, another photo of her from the side with a very big man behind her.
Here’s Paris Hilton. Ooooooh!
She and her sister turned up to several of the parties as it happens. Loads of security. But she brushed past me. Her very rich elbow skin grazed my plebby forearm. Thank you, m’lady, thank you very much.
As it goes, she looked very pretty. Prettier than I’d imagined, actually.
And here are two very blurry photos of Pharrell Williams.
He hosted one of the parties, so he was there for a decent amount of time. I shook his hand. He acknowledged the presence of a Minipop of him in the room. Earlier in the day on Saturday, he was doing a photoshoot in one of the bedrooms with a bunch of scantily-clad ladies. It looked like hard work.
It was a nice contrast, though, when I later saw his Neptunes/N*E*R*D* partner Chad Hugo sat by the pool on his own. I was out there smoking a fag, and was too shy to say hello. Had I known what I later found out, I would’ve. One of the Yahoo! chaps told me that Hugo knew Minipops and, sigh, already owned the book! Aaah! take me off now! One of the Neptunes/N*E*R*D* bought my book! Me happy.
Sunday afternoon was a good one. The before-the-VMAs Sunday Brunch party. And everyone was excited cos two people were likely to show up. When they turned up and went out to the terrace, for some reason, Mark (one of the guys I worked with in New York) and I stopped talking rubbish on a sofa and oh-so-casually sauntered outside. And there they were.
He in a fetching polo shirt, looking tall and quite dashing; and his girlfriend in a, breathe Craig breathe, gold bikini.
We tried to play it cool, casually walking by, going to the bar and sitting down, but all the time we were sneaking glances. She’s there.
In. A. Gold. Bikini.
“Did you see that?” said Mark. “She just put sun lotion on herself!”
“Mark! Mark!” said I. “She just adjusted her bikini top!”
She was divine. She glistened and glowed. She was without question the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in the flesh.
And there she was, some 20 feet across the terrace, chatting away and smiling.
(And later on, apparently, they both took the framed prints of themselves that were on the walls. Me happy again.)
Which brings us to the VMA show itself. It was a celeb-free zone at that point; just Yahoo! people mainly. It was kinda nice, like watching it at home with some mates, just with high-end catering.
And the reason why we were all there: ta-da! Two of the adverts were on during the broadcast of the event. They showed the Missy Elliott commercial during the pre-show, and fortuitously, the Green Day one just after they’d won one of their awards.
We all happy, and ready for the last party of the weekend in the penthouse, this one hosted by Missy Elliott, another multiple Moonman winner. Yay for the billionth time.
Jessica Alba, Alicia Keys, Kanye West all turned up for that. Joss Stone too. I got introduced to her. I went a bit weak at the knees; she a pretty lady. The Hiltons turned up agaaaaain.
One would think my weekend was complete now: seeing Beyonce in a bikini, and shaking the hand of, and saying hello to Joss Stone.
A Yahoo! dude comes up to me, leans to my ear and asks me to follow him. I do so. I follow him to an area of the penthouse which is velvet roped-off. A brief whisper with a chap on the other side of the rope is had. Then the rope is opened. We move swiftly into the special area. Another brief chat with a manager. Suddeny, there I am being introduced as the artist who drew the stuff for the TV advert to Missy Elliott herself. I shake her hand, offer my congratulations on her award winning evening. She says she likes the Minipop. A few more sentences, some smiling, another shake of hands, and as efficiently as I was whisked in there, I was whisked out.
In my head, a mantra over and over again: I just met Missy. I just met Missy. I just met Missy.
I met Missy.
I really do wonder how much better my life can possibly get.
I’m so fucking lucky. It totally freaks me out. You do some silly little pictures of pop stars to amuse yourself on your new iMac, and five years later those silly little drawings are getting you behind the velvet rope meeting one of the best artists around.
I met Missy!