It started a few weeks back when I was asked to flex my culinary muscle (or as we celebrities call it, a “tongue”) as one-half of a two-person tasting panel. The event was a mushroom festival (held in a grocery store, mind you), and my co-judge (the not-as-famous Editor of the TVI Times) and I would be asked to rate several dishes brought in by patrons of the store.
At first I was hesitant to commit. To consent would be tantamount to breaking Rule No. One of my Ten Foodie Commandments: “Thou shall not consume that which is warm/hot and also prepared by culinary non-professionals.” Time-temperature abuse is a scary thing that I prefer not to fuck with. Far too pedestrian for my tastes. But in the end, my ego won out. (It always does.) Indeed, my star was destined to shine brighter, burn longer than even the hairiest case of foodborn illness. (Although, thankfully, there was none to be had at this particular event.) Another notch for my ever-expanding belt. Celebrity food judge: Check.
Then this past weekend, all eyes were again on me as I furiously scribbled erudite notes on rock/alternative competitors in the New Mexico Music Commission Talent Showcase. This time I was wearing another one of my hats, filling in as the panel of judges' only Music Editor (or as we celebrities like to call it, “freeloading”). No one rushed me for autographs after the show, but I did relish getting my name called over the P.A. And the gift bag wasn't bad, either. “We'd like to thank celebrity guest judge Laura Marrich of the Weekly Alibi!” [Emphasis mine]
I admit that I'm having a bit of a hard time transitioning from my former “civilian” status into full-blown celebrity. For one, my cocaine use has skyrocketed to frightening new frontiers of excess. My friends from before? Well, they're boring—and so fat, too! Perhaps what's most disturbing is that it's not enough to merely enter a room anymore. Now I must pause in each doorway that I pass through, coyly awaiting the star-struck praise that is sure to greet me. In fact, that's probably where I am right now—eyebrow cocked, arms oh-so akimbo, perpetually on the brink of hearing those four magic little words, “Laura Marrich—the celebrity!”
