ahream

Okay, it’s not like I’m stalking Howie Mandel or anything, but even I know the man doesn’t shake hands. Probably this is because I write books about paparazzi and am therefore absolutely required to consume as many celebrity gossip websites and Access Hollywood episodes as humanly possible. (It’s not trash. It’s research.) But the crazy woman in line in front of me for Tonight Show tickets knew it, too. And she’s not stalking Howie either. She’s stalking Jay Leno. So there.

My point is if random audience members are aware of Mr. Mandel’s obsessive-compulsive, slightly endearing, germaphobe issues, you’d think Jay could’ve had one of the interns issue a memo.

My mother and her girlfriends were in town last week, and because all Los Angelenos are contractually obligated to produce at least one celebrity sighting for all visiting guests, I took the whole troop out to Burbank – getting up at 4:30 in the morning to procure tickets, I might add – to see a Tonight Show with Jay Leno taping.

Now Jay obviously knew about the no touchy-touchy thing. Right away he did the guy-at-a-party fist bump, which it is widely know Mr. Mandel prefers, as it minimizes human-to-human cootie transfer. But during commercial breaks when all the other show employees rush up to the guests in the hopes of gobbling up any fallen star power crumbs, many stuck their cootie-ridden paws right into Mr. Mandel’s face resulting in several awkward seconds of horror and discomfort for everyone involved.

Really, Mr. Leno, as the literal and figurative host of this little shindig, you’ve got to be more prepared. Brief the help. And if that doesn’t work, might I suggest electric fencing and cattle prods to keep the PAs at bay? Mr. Mandel seems like such a nice guy. It would be a shame if he had to run away from future tapings, screaming and spraying a cloud of Lysol in his wake.

ahream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (1) Most Recent Twitters: A 3-foot long alligator was found walking down the middle of the street in Venice Beach this morning. I love L.A. In case you were wondering, it is very difficult to get a hummingbird out of your house. They are irrational and prone to hysterics. L.A. Finds: The Nickel Diner on Main between 5th and 6th is a made-to-look-old, throwback of a place that melds into the old downtown and is, at the same time, part of the renaissance. They serve their burgers medium, their soda in bottles and offer all they can to locals in need. Flickr Updates: The second Thursday of every month is the Downtown Art Walk. The galleries stay open late, the restaurants are packed, bands perform on the streets. God, I love L.A. What I'm Reading: Attack of the Unsinkable Rubber Ducks by Christopher Brookmyre What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami Want E-Mail Updates? Click here, type your e-mail address into the first field (for public entries) and receive an e-mail note each time a new blog post goes up. (Photo updates, Twitters and "L.A. Finds" features not included. Those you have to swing by and check yourself.) Absolutely, positively no spam. Promise. Other author blogs: Sue Ann Jaffarian Eric Stone Christa Faust Lipstick Chronicles		2007-09-24 9:16 AM Howie Meets World Okay, it’s not like I’m stalking Howie Mandel or anything, but even I know the man doesn’t shake hands. Probably this is because I write books about paparazzi and am therefore absolutely required to consume as many celebrity gossip websites and Access Hollywood episodes as humanly possible. (It’s not trash. It’s research.) But the crazy woman in line in front of me for Tonight Show tickets knew it, too. And she’s not stalking Howie either. She’s stalking Jay Leno. So there. My point is if random audience members are aware of Mr. Mandel’s obsessive-compulsive, slightly endearing, germaphobe issues, you’d think Jay could’ve had one of the interns issue a memo. My mother and her girlfriends were in town last week, and because all Los Angelenos are contractually obligated to produce at least one celebrity sighting for all visiting guests, I took the whole troop out to Burbank – getting up at 4:30 in the morning to procure tickets, I might add – to see a Tonight Show with Jay Leno taping. Now Jay obviously knew about the no touchy-touchy thing. Right away he did the guy-at-a-party fist bump, which it is widely know Mr. Mandel prefers, as it minimizes human-to-human cootie transfer. But during commercial breaks when all the other show employees rush up to the guests in the hopes of gobbling up any fallen star power crumbs, many stuck their cootie-ridden paws right into Mr. Mandel’s face resulting in several awkward seconds of horror and discomfort for everyone involved. Really, Mr. Leno, as the literal and figurative host of this little shindig, you’ve got to be more prepared. Brief the help. And if that doesn’t work, might I suggest electric fencing and cattle prods to keep the PAs at bay? Mr. Mandel seems like such a nice guy. It would be a shame if he had to run away from future tapings, screaming and spraying a cloud of Lysol in his wake. Read/Post Comments (1) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top