Op-Ed - Every star has its fall

I’m sure this can be traced back long before Elvis ever swiveled his hips or Beatlemania swept the nation, but it seems worse than ever theses days.

While this isn’t a problem exclusive to our shores by any means, I’m going to address it as a domestic issue because I live in the United States and I figure most people who read this column probably do too.

Frankly, I could care less about the moronic escapades of the rich and famous, but it seems every time I open the newspaper, pick up a magazine, turn on the television or surf the Web I’m bombarded with that nonsense. I’d like to be able to go just one week without reading or hearing something pertaining to Lindsay, Britney or Paris.

Recently I even had my own celebrity encounter, though it was admittedly with a has-been, one C.C. DeVille. For those who don’t recognize the name, don’t fret. The raunchy rock star’s gravy train made its last real stop more than 15 years ago, and these days DeVille is better known for appearing on the reality television show, “The Surreal Life.”

After Poison and Ratt performed at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center on Sunday, Aug. 26, the lead guitarist of the more celebrated of the two glam metal acts arrived at The Grotto to attend a concert after party. I showed up roughly 20 minutes into the soiree to find a meager flock of nostalgic fans had mobbed the C-list star for pictures and autographs.

It would have been easy enough for me to cut to the front of the line and assail him with rude queries and disparaging remarks, but I didn’t. Instead, I stood in line with his smitten fans for 40 minutes. I waited with the idealistic belief that DeVille, who’d beaten out Slash in 1985 for a spot in Poison, might want to answer some of the shrewd questions I’d prepared in advance

regarding music and his career.

Once I finally reached him, he tried to give me a hug, but I introduced myself with a firm handshake. As soon as I mentioned I was from a local newspaper, his demeanor changed completely. It was apparent he wished to retract the hug I’d declined.

I asked DeVille for 10-15 minutes of his time for some questions, but he blew me off, mumbling something about if there was time later on. There were no more than three fans behind me at that point. In hindsight, my lengthy, lame brained interview would’ve certainly cut into the time he had to primp his hair and sign women’s body parts.

Needless to say, I didn’t stick around for “later on.” I was furious at how I’d been slighted. How did he know I wasn’t a die-hard Poison fan?

I'm not, but the truth is he didn’t know or care. As soon as I said I was a journalist, I was no longer a person to him. I was a doormat.

Before entering the trendy nightclub, I’d passed two teenagers on bikes who wondered what had caused all the commotion outside The Grotto.

I mentioned DeVille, then Poison and finally rattled off a number of the band’s bigger hits, but the duo had no idea who he was. I was curious if it was just an age thing, so I asked if they knew other bands from the same era like Bon Jovi, Def Leppard and Guns N’ Roses. They knew all of them. I guess Poison’s derivative, adolescent party anthems and over-the-top hair, makeup and costumes haven’t aged well.

I’m going to end this with the fitting chorus from Billy Joel’s great song “The Entertainer.” Maybe Poison will cover it on their next greatest hits album.

“I am the entertainer

And I know just where I stand

Another serenader

And another long-haired band

Today I am your champion

I may have won your hearts

But I know the game, you’ll forget my name

I won’t be here in another year

If I don’t stay on the charts.”

Resolution update:

Weight: 148 (-12)