(Here is the story of the Biggest Douche I've Ever Met. Since he happens to be famous, I'm not going to say his name, but you'll know who it is.)
In Christmas of 2002, I went home to Tallahassee, Florida to spend the holidays with my family. As usual, I hung out with my good friend there who owns Tallahassee's best music venue. He told me about the show they were having that night, and rolled his eyes as he said who the band was "It's that guy from that (edgy drug movie). He has a band now."
"Omg, ___ ______ has a band?" I said.
"Yeah. They made us give them a $700 (NOTE: I originally thought it was $7000 but my friend finally read this and corrected me. My bad. But that's still ridiculous!) guarantee even though nobody has ever heard of his stupid band. And get this - his booker called a couple weeks ago, after the deal was done, and told me that I can't refer to (Douche) in any way when I advertise the show. So, basically, I've guaranteed them $700 for a show nobody is going to go to. Apparently, he wants to "make it as a band the traditional way without using his name as an actor"
I asked him what he was going to do and he laughed "Oh, fuck them, I wrote "Lead singer is ____ ______ from (edgy drug movie) and (beloved-but-cancelled teenage TV series from the mid-90's)" on all the flyers we put on campus, and mentioned it in the ad we put in the paper."
Just then, the phone rang. It was the co-owner of the club calling with a problem. Apparently, the band had just arrived and had found one of the flyers in the bathroom trash can, and were livid. So I went with my friend down to the club.
When we got there, the first thing I noticed was the huge "Britney bus" in the parking lot. (Yeah, Douche, you're a real musician, struggling on the road, you're so punk rock...)
Douche was on the front deck of the club, screaming into a cellphone. "This is unbelievable!" he shouted. "There is no way we're playing here now!"
So basically, he threw a huge fit and kept running around the parking lot yelling on the phone about how the club had "violated the contract" and shit. So my friend runs into the club office and reads the entire contract. Nowhere in it does it say anything about advertising! So he brings it out and shows it to Douche, who goes inside the bus and comes out and says "fine, we'll play."
(A note about Douche's looks. Okay, so this guy dates Hollywood starlets and is considered something of a heartthrob, right? Well, all I'm saying is, I'm not a Hollywood starlet, I'm just a normal person, and I would not date this guy. He's just so clearly a total TOOL in every way, and his looks, which come across okay on screen, are just really strange in real life. And he's teensy-tiny and extremely effeminate. Just basically totally not my type. But whatever, that's not the point.)
Later that night, I arrive for the show (hey, free drinks and there's nothing else to do in Tallahassee) and Douche is in the parking lot on his phone. "Awww, you're seeing The Strokes tonight, baby?" he said (um, yeah, I was totally eavesdropping, shut up) I assumed he was talking to his then-girlfriend, who was in two blockbuster action movies with Drew Barrymore "Say hi to Drew and them." he said.
So the band sucks, I mean, plays, and oh my god did they blow, but sure enough, the room was chock-full of giggly Wet Seal-clad sorority chicks from FSU, who were all no doubt there to see J_____ C______, Douche's character on the mid-90's TV series.
After the show, my friend the club owner was sitting at the bar talking to some friends when Douche walked by him and totally intentionally ran into him hard with his shoulder and kept walking. What a fucking tool! Who even DOES that?
Later, out on the deck, Douche was holding forth before a giddy cabal of dreamy-eyed coeds. I stood off to the side with my Polaroid around my neck, commenting bitchily with my friends on the sight. He actually said the following, swear to God, may I be struck down if a word of this is a lie or exaggeration:
"It's all about the music, you know? It's not about Hollywood, or who my girlfriend is, or what movies I'm in, like Panic Room, which just came out."
Suddenly, a girl runs up to me and says "Oh my god, I will love you forever if you let me use your camera! Does it have film?" So I let her and her friends get pictures with Douche, who posed with his eyes wide and his cheeks sucked in. Soon, other girls were begging for the camera, so I let them use it too.
"Don't you want a picture?" Douche actually asked me. "Um...surre?" I said. So I posed for a polaroid, which I still have. My friends who took it were making faces at me and I was trying SO hard not to laugh.
So then I went home, and the club actually recouped their $700 guarantee, and the rest is the stuff of legend at the club. And now, whenever I read that he's dating the latest indie It Girl or whatever, all I can think is "Wow, she must be a total idiot." The End.
(Do you have a story like this that you're dying to share? Send it to me and I'll turn it into a Nearsighted Item. I'm not worried.)
I love this story more than you know. Why couldn't Jordan Catalano just stay Jordan Catalano? Everybody knows actors make bad musicians.
Posted by: Jackie | September 28, 2006 at 07:36 PM