Yesterday, Suzanne Pleshette posthumously recieved her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, directly in front of Frederick’s of Hollywood (“which she would have LOVED!” joked the new master of ceremonies). I was there, of course, because I’m a fool for those things, and I filmed it for you, of course – Cloverfield-style, darling, because IT’S ALL THE RAGE. So don’t blame me if it’s unwatchable or you get sick. It’s all JJ Abrams’ fault.
It should be noted that this was the first Walk of Fame ceremony without late-great honorary Mayor of Hollywood Johnny Grant (unless you count Chilean recording artist Lucho Gatica’s star ceremony), so the occasion was TWICE as sad. The new guy rattles on a bit for my taste, but there you are. He’ll get better. After my loopy lady-lover Marcia Wallace (she of the patchy magenta spikes) bombed, Bob Newhart took to the podium for some attention-shifting shtick that I tuned in and out of. Also possibly seen in the audience were Dick Van Dyke, Rip Taylor (wearing a doubly appropriate RIP baseball cap), and several surviving Sinatras. You might also notice, as I did, that a lot of Suzanne’s female friends and family members looked an awful lot like Suzanne herself. These women I dubbed The Plesh-ettes. Anyway, go ahead and try to watch the video. I dare you. If you can make it to the end, we have an ambulance waiting for you.
– James St James