Part of why I love S.

A few weeks ago, I said, in passing, somewhat jokingly (but, truth be told, only somewhat), “God, how did I miss it? Angelina had the twins.”

He said, “Angelina?”

“Angelina Jolie.”

“Who’s Angelina Jolie?” S. said.

“She’s an actress. . . .” No response. “She’s married to Brad Pitt. . . .” No response. “She’s Jon Voight’s daughter.”

“Oh . . . Jon Voight! He has a daughter?”

Copyright © People Magazine

Paparazzi

I was in Venice last night for week four of an Aline Smithson–led class at the Julia Dean Photo Workshops. (Can’t say enough good things about Aline and Julia—if you’re in Southern California, taking a JDPW class would be a good move.) On the way home, my boyfriend and I stopped off at Hows Market on the PCH in Malibu so he could get something to eat. While he was examining Nutrition Facts labels on products he had no intention of buying, I was wandering around at the front of the store, camera over my shoulder. The checkout guy came up to me and said, “You’re not paparazzi, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, if you are, you just missed her.”

I laughed. Then as we were paying, he said, “Sorry about that. We have to be careful about paparazzi, and Paris just left three minutes ago, so I thought maybe you were one of them. They can put their cameras up to the window, but they’re not allowed in the store.”

“Paris Hilton?” I asked.

I think that’s what finally confirmed for him that I wasn’t paparazzi. That, or my boyfriend’s laughter.

Copyright © 2007 Liz Kuball