Rich Mayfield: Getting lost in the stars could make me famous |

Rich Mayfield: Getting lost in the stars could make me famous

Rich MayfieldSaturday columnist

My exciting adventure in Hollywood continued this week with a surprise appearance on the hit ABC show, “Desperate Housewives.” The tens of faithful readers of this column will remember that I am sitting out the Colorado cold in California this winter and spending my sunny time becoming a star. I began by registering at Central Casting for work as an extra, but quickly realized that my talents could be put to better use. Instead of continuing to pursue mind-numbing work as a handsome and sexy extra sitting or strutting in the background behind the stars, I decided, entirely on my own I might add, to become one. It has not been easy. Hollywood, as you may have heard, is a tough town even for the most talented of people, but I remain confident that soon my own star will shine for all the world to see. And you have my word that no matter how far up the celebrity scale I may travel, I will not forget all those who have encouraged me along the way. People like Mary P., Mike B. and what’s-his-name from Breckenridge.

So I’m riding the star-bound rocket each day, only slightly anxious about reaching my goal before returning to my mountain home by the end of March. Which is why I am so excited to tell you about my trip down Wisteria Lane, home each Sunday night, as I am sure you all know, to conniving but spectacularly beautiful housewives and some pretty stupid husbands. But first I have to pick up my granddaughter who, as you will soon see, is instrumental in my debut. Because her mom and daddy work at Universal Studios, she attends pre-school on a corner of the movie lot and rubs elbows and runny noses with children who I am certain could help me on my path to fame – just as soon as they start speaking in complete sentences.In any case, with our eldest daughter catering to the stars at one end of the vast production center and a granddaughter mingling with their offspring at the other, my assignment on a recent afternoon was to traverse the entire studio, pick up my grandchild and return her safe and sound to her mother. My route was clearly marked, my daughter informed me, as long as I stayed on Jimmy Stewart Avenue and, under no accounts, diverged from that clearly marked route. Off I went, past the open doors of the huge studios shooting television series and major motion pictures, pausing only long enough to allow resident movie directors the opportunity to serendipitously spot a smiling grandpa who would be absolutely perfect for the part they were at that very moment trying to cast.

Such an extraordinary opportunity in the midst of my grandparental assignment couldn’t be allowed to pass without a few discreet horn-honks that I secretly hoped would distract the directors from their duties just long enough to come under my star-bound spell. Dramatic gestures from several cast and crew members had me continuing quickly on. Somewhere past Steven Spielberg Street and Muddy Waters Drive, I made a wrong turn and suddenly found myself following a tram packed with tourists about to be attacked by the shark from Jaws. I pretended not to be lost, even waving at several of the folk who pointed their cameras in my direction assuming I was someone who mattered. I offered up a humble smile just as one would do on Oscar Night. I was feeling only somewhat disoriented and slightly lost as I sped pass the tram and drove through the town plaza where Michael J. Fox took off in his specially designed sports car back to the future. A sharp left brought me to the crash site of a 747 from “War of the Worlds” which was right next to the Bates Motel from Hitchcock’s “Psycho” which had, somehow, miraculously managed to avoid being hit by the doomed airplane.

By this time, several gentlemen in golf carts were speeding in my direction. Not wanting to appear as if I didn’t belong in show business, I casually made a right turn and found myself driving down a lovely suburban street filled with charming homes, manicured lawns and about 300 people who at that precise moment all turned toward me and waved their arms in unison that, at first, I took to be a somewhat over the top greeting but then realized it was something different when I heard someone yell, “Cut! Cut! CUT!” OK, so I didn’t actually make an appearance on “Desperate Housewives” but no one can say I’m not getting closer. I’ll keep you posted on my continuing progress. In the meantime, keep your eyes glued to the TV and your butts seated in the cineplex. Those of us in the business really appreciate all the help we get from you little people. Really we do. Rich Mayfield writes a Saturday column. E-mail him at

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