If I had eaten at Planet Hollywood in, say, Branson, Missouri, I would have been in something like my own personal, albeit imitation, heaven. I would even go so far as to recommend, dear owners of this fine franchise, that you move it to some place like Branson, Missouri. Effingham, Illinois. Des Moines, Iowa. Some place where people don’t feel they are anywhere near the same vicinity as actual Hollywood.
Well, let’s get this straight right now. I didn’t get a single celebrity autograph in New York City. I didn’t stumble onto any film sets, like, “Oh sorry! But since I’m here…” And the closest I came to anything like that was when our tour guide walked us by the theater where women were already lining up to catch Denzel Washington on his way in, and I fell behind the