Category: Life

In a packed room, leaning against the wall, standing next to David Letterman, dressed head to toe in New York City black, hands in pocket, lip-curled, doo-whip in full effect, the new Johnny Paparazzi doesn’t even flinch. In fact, he plays it like he doesn’t even recognize Letterman. And instead he tries to look as chill as possible so that when all the looky-loos start rubbernecking for a glance of the late night king of comedy, they see him too. Letterman appreciates this more than Johnny Paparazzi knows. He shows it by ignoring him right back. Imitation is the best form of flattery DL. Thanks for the reciprocity.

And when the new Johnny Paparazzi was out on a date and had to take the bull by the horns to make sure he and his date got to their seats at the theater before the show started and the crowd of fur-wearing painted blue hairs and puttering old tuxedos were shuffling in place like clueless zombies in the lobby, he reached back and grabbed her hand and just did it. Was it coincidence, then, when he approached this short, batty-looking, dyed-hair man moving at less than glacial speed and said “Excuse me, sir” as he bumped him and rushed past and the old man responded with such humility, honesty and kindness (“Why, of course, let me get out of the way.”) that he had to turn and look back? The old Johnny Paparazzi would have stopped to take a photo when it turned out he had just bowled over the Jerry Stiller of Seinfeld fame! The new one had to suck it up real quick and quash his excitement and keep moving, only to turn back to his date and say, “Did you see who that was? Jerry Stiller.” And he never brought it up again. (OK, that is a lie, but this was Jerry Stiller and he ended up sitting near us too. You still get the point.)

But the new Johnny Paparazzi wasn’t born overnight. He was born of indifference, really. He evolved through a disconcerting string of non-cool, b-list celebrity sightings.

The old Johnny Paparazzi tried to get jacked up when he stumbled upon an intimate outdoor performance by Josh Groban, but he couldn’t even muster up a cell-phone pic worth saving. (It meant deleting a pinball high score picture.) Lesson learned: When you are surrounded by a swarm of swooning, suburban soccer moms, celebrity, in and of itself, is not that cool.

Same goes for when Julia Stiles was walking down the opposite side of the street from him. As much as JP loves Miss Stiles, she looked absolutely like hundreds of the beautiful women he sees every day, so why get worked up, he thought. She just happens to have a job that puts her face in front of millions. It’s not as far-fetched as it once seemed. Lesson learned: If I ever run into Hilary Swank at a bar, the new Johnny Paparazzi will pull out all the stops. She is just a woman. And I am a man.

Jerome Bettis. Jerry Lee Lewis. Ana Gasteyer. Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas. You get the picture.

The line of celebrity is getting thinner and thinner. With reality TV and the internet creating a whole new string of amateur celebrities as well, Johnny Paparazzi is evolving and operating under a new philosophy. Or an old philosophy if you are familiar with the movie “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”

Be excellent to each other.

Or at least don’t be a jerk and get in someone’s face to take a photo.

About Me:

Pour me a glass of gin
I’m already two whiskeys in
When the lights go dim
I’ll tell you the secret
I’ve kept since I was ten

I have a perpetual cough
That means a cough that just won’t stop
No cure at the shop
And to top it all off
I guarantee I won’t call the doc

As curable as this may seem
The last thing on my mind is me
But here is the twist
That you shouldn’t dismiss
None of this means a damn thing

For you, I’ll bring to the table
The absolute best health care available
And insist on its use
No matter the excuse
Even when the symptoms are questionable

And I’ll stay up with you all night
If you begin to cry from the fright
That out of sight
An invisible brain tumor
Is growing left and right

I’ll remind you to get that “thing” looked at
And follow up when you get back
So let’s make a pact
I’ll be yours
If you’ll be my emergency contact

I don’t remember what exactly killed the high-five, but it didn’t die gracefully, that’s for sure.

In fact, I think the high-five suffered mightily. In its waning years of popularity, everyone high-fived each other. Politicians high-fived their constituents. Salesmen high-fived their customers. Principals, teachers and counselors gave high-fives. Instead of being the standard greeting or congratulatory gesture of the young, it was adopted by everyone, including our parents and other authority figures. And just like that, it became uncool to high-five.

Thankfully, a successor came along. The Fist-Bump gave us all hope. It was actually more subtle and understated than a high-five, since it didn’t require a protracted arm extension and audible hand-slapping. This of course, made it cooler. Plus, the fist-bump utilized a fist instead of an open hand. Again, cooler.

Eventually, the fist-bump even became a litmus test to detect who was “with it.” When someone stuck their hand up anticipating a high-five, maybe you gave them one, but you always looked over your shoulder to make sure nobody else was watching you do it. After all, better to “leave someone hanging” than be seen doing the outdated high-five. Seriously, publicly performing a high-five became the coolness equivalent of wearing a D.A.R.E. t-shirt after elementary school.

Yes, at one time it seemed like the fist-bump would carry us well into the next millennium. But that is no longer the case. Sadly, I’m here to proclaim that the fist-bump is dead. And Howie Mandel killed it.

Maybe you know Howie Mandel. He’s the host of one of the worst TV shows ever created, which is really saying something. His show “Deal or No Deal” was the first game show that clearly required no discernible skill or intelligence whatsoever to play. Of course, “National Bingo Night” debuted last month on ABC and instantly lowered the game show intelligence bar even further.

Anyway, Howie Mandel adopted the fist-bump as his way to greet and congratulate contestants on the show. The only problem is, he isn’t doing the fist-bump to be hip. He’s doing it because he is “germaphobic,” and figures that a fist-bump will spread fewer germs than a handshake. All of this is true, by the way.

To recap, let’s review what the fist-bump has now become intertwined with:

1. It is showcased nightly on a moronic game show.
2. It is being popularized by Howie Mandel.
3. It is deemed a more sanitary alternative to the traditional handshake.

Seriously, how can the fist-bump possibly survive that triumvirate of lameness?

I don’t know, I hope the fist-bump isn’t completely dead. But, I think we are safe to assume it is on life support. Frankly, after watching what the high-five endured, I think we should just pull the plug and shed a tear. It’s the humane thing to do.

Summer is here and we all know what that means. It’s that special season where all Netflix addicts hang extra thick curtains in the windows to block out the natural light. Thankfully, I didn’t take my window treatments down last summer so all I had to do was update them a bit for the new year. (Rubberstamp Madness magazine has some great tips on how to spice up last year’s window treatments, if you haven’t seen the latest issue yet!)

One of the best parts about being a Netflix member is how fast the service is evolving. I feel like I am a part of movie distribution history. I’m no Rosa Parks but by adding my voice to the chorus of other Netflix members’ voices, I feel like movies will continue to arrive to me in unique and varying ways. This is empowering. It might just be the biggest social movement I’m ever apart of. Today it is through the mail, tomorrow it will be downloaded. In five years, I’m pretty sure I will be Netflixing Woody Allen’s DNA and just creating the movies for myself in my centrifuge.

But the absolute best part of being a Netflix member is the goal we all share, the one thing that brings all of us members together; our insufferable desire to scam, scrimp, rob, cheat, copy, burn, and screw over Netflix. By god, we really make them earn that $20 a month, don’t we! I’ll be damned if I ever have to put a movie on my queue twice. No, I would rather buy a hundred hard-drives, a thousand blank dvds, and laboriously spend hours following the hacking career of Jon Lech Johansen than reorder my fucking queue! All to squeeze every last movie I can out of the service!

OK, I am not joking anymore. I will tell you some of the things I have done in the past to prove my point.

1. Bought a DVD burner, blank DVD discs, and got the software for my mac from an illegal file-sharing network in order to burn a copy of every Netflix that arrived. Total cost: $150 and possibly my freedom. I was going to build a personal library that would rival Netflix’s own collection. This lasted about 2 months. None of the burned DVDs play now. Apparently, human breath scratches a blank DVD. Eventually, I realized Netflix is the library. I am just paying for my library card. And with all the new movies that they offer, I rarely want to rewatch a movie I’ve already Netflix’d.

2. Entered into a movie sharing pact with two friends who were also Netflix members to “pool our queues” if you will. That way, we wouldn’t have to all get the big blockbusters that we all wanted to see, just one of us would get it and then share it around. Total cost: $0. Total number of days this lasted: 3. My friend sat on the movie I gave her and didn’t watch it or return it, therefore effectively logjamming my precious queue for almost a week in Netflix time*. (*Netflix time is defined as regular time + the amount of time it takes to receive the next movie in your queue after you put the old movie in the mailbox.)

3. I’ve tried it all concerning the Netflix envelope. I’ve shoved three movies in one, one movie in three, and everything in between. I drop them in boxes all over Brooklyn, fold them, tear them, and write on them. I’ve soaked them in water, burnt off their edges, and every once in awhile I even find one that is two years old and I’ll stuff a disc in there and send it back. At this point, I am just fucking with the people at Netflix. I want to get in their heads. I am not a number baby!

Yet time after time, my new DVD arrives in the mail just the same. I’m convinced that without junk mail and Netflix, the postal service would have been abolished just minutes after email was invented. Before Netflix, I would only get one piece of mail a year and that is the birthday check from Grandma (that $25 is always appreciated, Gigi!) so I probably wouldn’t even have been the wiser had it been shuttered. But now I sit and wait for the mailman like he is delivering my college admissions acceptance letter, all in the name of quick turnaround.

Despite all this praise, I have found one person who can’t join the Netflix revolution. I bring it up now because, invariably, I know Netflix is listening and is poised to solve my friend’s dilemma. You see, he is a touring musician without a stable address. He can’t reliably have movies mailed to him. But I think I have come up with a solution. Think of an airplane flying a time sensitive mission over a very long distance. Classic scenario for a little aerial refueling also called air-to-air refueling. In the same spirit, I want to see a fleet of Netflix vehicles that roam the highways and byways performing vehicle-to-vehicle Netflix transfers.

“Sir, I see on your myspace page that you’ll be playing in Vermont tonight. I’ll be pulling up along side you shortly as you make your way to the venue and I was wondering if you had any last minute changes to your top three choices on your rental queue this evening?”

Knowing Netflix, the fleet is already being gassed up as I type this. We are making movie distribution history after all.

Foot traffic has been down lately, there’s no mistake about that. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time somebody stopped by and inquired about my bobbleheads. I’m actually considering putting dust covers on the two guest chairs in my cubicle. Sadly, I’m beginning to accept the fact that hanging out in my cubicle doesn’t have the same allure that it once did.

However, I intend to do something about it. Here are my ideas for making my cubicle an office destination once more…

A Nerf Mini Basketball Hoop: Technically, I already have such an item in my cubicle. But, if I had a second hoop, then I could get a full-court game going.

A Magic 8-Ball: How hilarious would this be? I could pretend to consult this item whenever a coworker asks me a ‘yes or no’ question. I know, in the real world, this shtick wouldn’t be funny at all. However, in the bland and sanitized world of office comedy, this would kill.

Velvet ropes: I want my cubicle to have an air of exclusivity. In conjunction with this, I’m going to designate the area by my filing cabinet as the VIP corner.

An Ashtray: I don’t smoke, but I consider this item to have great potential as a conversation piece. When people stop by and ask why I have an ashtray on my desk, I can respond thusly: “In the ’50’s it was commonplace for people in an office to sit and smoke at their desks all day long. In the event that fad ever makes a comeback, I’m ready.”

A Shrunken Head: The novelty items above are nice, but I think it would be fun to take it a step further and transform my cubicle into a curiosity shop/freak show. Perhaps, I could supplement my income by charging admission. And while they don’t have full beards, there are numerous old ladies in the office with some degree of facial hair. I’m sure if posted an ad on the company message board I could find lots of other freaks to round out the show.

A Giant Playland with a Ball Crawl: Admittedly, I’m stealing this idea from McDonalds. If any coworkers wander through my area with their small children, the ensuing tantrum will force them to stop by and hang out for a while.

A Bread Maker: I’m going on the record here, the bread maker is my favorite kitchen appliance. It does the full damn job. Start to finish. It mixes, kneads, cooks… My involvement is minimal. Just put the ingredients in and eat the output six hours later. When people stop by, we could share a slice of bread and I could impart wisdom about how great it would be our other coworkers were as thorough and diligent as the bread maker. Or, conversely, I could say our office functions like a bread maker in that it is very costly and produces unreliable results. I like appliances that lend themselves to multiple office metaphors.

Obviously, procuring these items will be difficult. If anyone has something from the list, I’m willing to offer a trade. My tape dispenser is of absolutely no use to me. I don’t even know why I have one. Seriously, who needs tape? Not once have I ever had an office situation that required taping two things together. It’s not like we’re doing arts and crafts in the afternoons. I’m not gift-wrapping any financial reports. Let me know if you’re interested.

In the meantime, I need to get to the mail room. With his shirt off, there’s a guy that works there that could pass for an ape-man.