Dispatches from the City of Angels
I'm a writer and humorist living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my novel LOSING CLEMENTINE out March 6 from William Morrow. 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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"Taint what a horse looks like, itís what a horse be." - A Hat Full of Sky by Terry Pratchett
"Trying to take it easy after you've finished a manuscript is like trying to take it easy when you have a grease fire on a kitchen stove." - Jan Burke
"Put on your big girl panties, and deal with it." - Mom
"How you do anything is how you do everything."
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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.
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