Ben and I had the privilege of seeing Eartha Kitt last night at Blues Alley in Georgetown. I got to touch her twice on her way to and from the stage. Not that I was starstruck or anything. Girl is seventy-EIGHT and still kicks ass.
Anyway, back at Ben's house, we were talking about the force of nature that she is. She speaks, like, a billion languages. Black girl sings songs in Yiddish about Romania. We then talked about how terrifying she must have been, back in the day, to The Powers That Be. As in, to the types that had a big file on Lennon and who went on that Commie witch hunt in Hollywood.
Which made me realize: the ultimate measure of celebrity is the size of your FBI file. To hell with how much money, or how many houses, boats, cars, or even fans you have.
He or she with the thickest FBI file wins. I would pay money to see Ms. Kitt's.