Celebrity Quick Touch - Steven Cojocaru

 

Celebrity Touch Target: Steven Cojocaru

Why: Because I am having a celebrity touching dry spell lately and this C-list television fashion critic just happened to be standing there

Where: Los Angeles International Airport

How: They say that clothes make the man, but in the case of fashion victim… oops I mean critic… Steven Cojocaru, I would argue that hair makes the man… look like a woman. I noticed Meg Ryan standing in the United Airlines Premier Executive line (that would mean she was BEHIND me) boarding a flight to San Francisco. Then, as the fluorescent light caught just the right angle, I noticed that Meg Ryan was actually fashion gadfly Steven Cojocaru. Same stringy, bleached hair, vagina and puffy lips (redundant, sorry), but just a little more feminine than Meg. Now, granted, Cojo, as he likes to be called by housewives at the Kohl’s makeup counter, isn’t truly a celebrity, but I have been celebrity touch-free lately, so we will allow it. In order to touch Flojo, I decided to suddenly decelerate, letting those people who were just going to get pulled out of line anyway for not boarding at the right time, breeze past me. This put my modest caboose on a collision course with the flame-buoyant Today Show correspondent. Thankfully, his hair bags must have deployed because he only gently grazed me, saving me years of therapy if something else would have bumped into my rump. Celebrity-ish Touch secured!

Celebrity Quick Touch - Seth Meyers

 

Celebrity Touch Target:  Seth Meyers

 

Why: Because the former SNL Weekend Update star and current Late Night host was standing between me and my Baby’s Breath.

 

Where:  New York City Whole Foods

 

How:  It’s quite a rare occurrence that you would run into a legitimate celebrity in a grocery store, other than, of course, Bethenney Frankel trying to convince you that skinny cocktails are still a “thing.”  But that is exactly where I found recent late-night it boy Seth Meyers, loitering in the densely packed flower department of the Whole Foods on 7^th Avenue (watch in amazement as I don’t refer to this store as Whole Paycheck even once in this diatribe… look we get it… it’s expensive… move on for Henry Cavill’s sake).  Replete in my age-appropriate 7” inseam saffron-colored shorts and Pilgrim Surf +Supply naughty nautical themed t-shirt, I hadn’t noticed the giraffe-faced comedian until he proved an apparent obstacle for me to obtain a delicate bouquet brimming with Gerber Daisies (reader’s note:  my favorite, thanks for remembering) and a whisper of Baby’s Breath (again, why is this still a “thing”).  My annoyance quickly swung to mild-annoyance when I realized a Celebrity Touch™ had presented itself.  So, as I bent from the knees – never from the waist (Flower Fitness Journal June 1987) – to extend my slender, cocoa butter-lathered arm and reach the Gerber (no relation to Rande) Daisies, I casually nicked Seth’s elbow with mine.  Celebrity Touch and “Sorry I Made You Wait in Line at Shake Shack” bouquet secured!

 

I Touched Chris Isaak - Denim on Denim

 

If there is one thing that Celebrity Touching™ teaches you is hope.  No matter how dire the situation seems, you can never give up hope (unless you are Meg Ryan looking for her career – in that instance, all hope is lost).   Never give up hope that you will be able to touch a spotted celebrity.  No obstacle is insurmountable.  No barrier is too great.  No Wendy’s Frosty is too thick to drink with a straw.  You must never give up.  Which is exactly how I secured the touch of hunky rock musician Chris Isaak.

On this occasion, I was again with my beautiful, faithful travel companion Elizabeth at the San Francisco airport.  Elizabeth was alert, as always, while I was too busy fuming at people who refused to walk on the Moving Walkway (don’t you people realize how much quicker you can get to the Cinnabon if you actually walked?).  Elizabeth nudged me to say “Prime celebrity touch at three o’clock.”  I quickly looked at two o’clock, because Elizabeth is always late.  What I saw was the back of a man wearing (gasp!) denim on denim.  Jean jacket on top and faded mom jeans on the bottom, rounded out with white senior aerobics sneakers.  This was the “prime celebrity touch?” 

Closer inspection revealed it to be Chris Isaak, smoking hot ’90s crooner and former boyfriend of comedian Margaret Cho (I KNOW!).  The problem was he was about ten people ahead of us in the First Class line, boarding the plane.  This was a major issue because for some horrible act of God, Elizabeth and I were in Coach (why have your forsaken me so, dear Lord? Oh, wait, I know why… never mind.)  So, based on the plane’s configuration, Chris would turn left when he got aboard to go to First Class.  We would turn right to go to Coach.  To rub Kosher sea salt into the wound, Chris would also exit the plane way before us and be long gone before a touch could be secured.  I was crest fallen… ok, not really, because at that time I didn’t have any hair to crest, but I was not happy.  Oh what a Wicked Game Chris Isaak was playing on me.

I sat there in my Coach seat (at least it was United Economy Plus) weeping over the missed Celebrity Touch™ opportunity.  Elizabeth tried to console me with ridiculously staged photos of Tori Spelling and her family in OK! Magazine, but even that didn’t lift my spirits.  Then, something miraculous happened:  I became acutely aware that around us were musicians.  It was Chris Isaak’s band.  Celebrity Touch™ saved!  How, you might ask?  Because as a band, they carry instruments, which means they need to go to baggage claim, and at JFK, our destination, you have to walk through baggage claim to exit the airport.  So, unless Chris Isaak was an ass and would leave without waiting for his band, I would encounter him again at JFK baggage claim.  I gave myself a virtual high five, and dried my digital tears (Remember: real tears streak your makeup, so those in the know always cry digital tears).

Sure enough, as we walked through baggage claim, there was Chris Isaak, completely unguarded.  I strolled behind him, gave him a little tap in the buttocks region and continued on my merry way.  Hope (and no, I don’t mean the girl from Days of Our Lives) had kept the Celebrity Touch™ alive.   

I Touched La Toya Jackson - A Choice Must Be Made

There comes a time in your life when everyone is faced with a Kobayashi Maru scenario (digital high five to all my nerds out there) or what some might call “the no win scenario.” You know what I am talking about: like when you go to Panda Express and you see there isn’t quite enough Orange Chicken under the heat lamps to fill your plate, so if you choose it you know it will be tasty, but you also know you won’t be full. OK, that’s a bad example, because I am never full after Chinese food. Of course, Panda Express isn’t really Chinese food, now is it? Where was I going with this? Anyway, you are often faced with situations where you have to make a split second decision between two equally bad or good choices, and if you pick one direction you will surely not get the other choice. This happens in celebrity touching all the time, particularly if there are multiple targets in the vicinity. (Did any of what I just wrote make sense?)

Recently, I was faced with one of these situations. Two celebrity touch targets of equal value heading in opposite directions. Which to choose? I was at an event in Hollywood, which is a small ghetto west of Pasadena. Now, this event was filled with a gaggle of “B” and “C” level celebrities. And what I love about the “B’s” and “C’s” is that they haven’t perfected their avoidance maneuvers very well, so touching them is like taking razor blades from a baby. For example, the entire cast of “Glee” walked by me this night including (SPOILER ALERT!) the guy in the wheelchair. Please note that I said “walked by”… sorry to shatter your belief of Hollywood being a bastion of moral fortitude. They walked by single file – such a rookie maneuver - so all I had to do is stand with my hand out slightly (I like to use the back of my hand in these situations for obvious reasons) and I touched every single one of them. By the way, one of them had razor stubble on his arms. I am just sayin’…

Lots of touches this night: every generic girl from “The Hills;” Adam Lampert and the other guy who won but no one knows from “American Idol;” Mya from “Dancing with the Stars No One Cares About;” Jenna “Could I be any more adorable” Fisher from “The Office;” and Joel McHale from “The Soup.” And by the way, for the record, Joel says he looks nothing like me, as some have proclaimed.

While all of this child’s play celebrity touching was going on, I sensed a change in the atmosphere amongst the crowd. The “B’s” and “C’s” were on high alert. Someone of significance had entered the room. Was it Charo??? Scanning the crowd, I quickly found the individual causing the stir. Levi Johnston, the sire of the bastard grandson of Sarah Palin, was in the house. Just days before he showed his moose rifle for Playgirl magazine, here was Levi, fully clothed, looking terribly awkward at this celebrity free for all. Levi, the man who had touched the Palin family in a way no one else ever had (to our knowledge…. Although that Bristol Palin looks like a freewheelin’ tramp) quickly became the prime celebrity touch target of the evening. Unfortunately, he was completely on the other side of the room.

I handed my SKYY White Russian to my concubine Elizabeth and made my way through the sea of people, which proved to be rather difficult; like Britney Spears trying to navigate through a Burger King drive thru. It took me several minutes to get across the room, and by the time I did, Levi was on the move, heading to the VIP room. I had to act fast. I planned my trajectory and noticed a sizable crowd gathering around Miley Cyrus’s ex boyfriend (why? And was he really wearing a tank top after 6 pm indoors?).

This commotion was blocking my quickest route to Levi, so I darted behind the bar and made my way past the bartenders through an opening at the other end of the bar. Levi was within grasp… perhaps 10 yards away, but he was about to enter the VIP room. One quick burst of speed should do it… and…that’s when it happened: Fricking La Toya Jackson walked within five feet of me. I am not exactly sure where La Toya ranks on the celebrity “A” through “F” scale, but she is a prime touching target, even with that nose. The problem was, she was heading out of the VIP room to the exit, surrounded by bodyguards.

So, here is where I had to make my choice. No matter who I chose, the other one would surely get away. In a split second, I made up my mind: La Toya could plastic surgery her way to the great freak factory in the sky tomorrow. I may never have the chance again. So, I broke off pursuit of Levi and, racing over, I got close enough to La Toya to do the classic “Where the heck’s the bathroom in this place?” graze-by elbow touch with full pinkie extension. Happily, when I touched her, nothing fell off. I had secured my La Toya Jackson touch, just as I watched Levi disappear into the shadowy vortex that was the VIP room, a place from whence he never emerged. I left that evening with my first Jackson family touch, but no Levi. I was pleased but not fulfilled. I left the party and immediately retreated to the nearest Panda Express.

I Touched 50 Cent – Keep The Change

 

There are only a few celebrities I have touched where I feared for my life.  Rapper Ice-T was one of them (for obvious reasons).  Boy George was another (for even more obvious reasons).  But the one that truly made me wish Marc Jacobs made a brocade Kevlar vest was rapper 50 Cent.

I happened upon Mr. Cent at a Rolling Stone party in Hollywood.  The room was filled with previous touch victims, such as then entire cast of Glee, who apparently still haven’t caught wind that their show is a hit and they shouldn’t show up to a Hollywood party in the first hour (page 56 of the Celebrity Handbook).  Half Dollar showed up fashionably late, as one does when you are a multi-platinum rapper and Vitamin Water spokesperson (I know!  That totally makes sense, because rapping makes you so thirsty). Upon entering the party, 5 Pesos was quickly whisked to a VIP booth (Thankfully not the one that R&B singer Brandy was gyrating on the back of like a Walgreen’s hair extension on a roller coaster).

The first thing you notice about .34 Euros is that he is actually a rather small guy, kinda like a bee-stung Gary Coleman.  Now, we all know that 30 Rubles was shot nine times and lived to tell about it, so even though he was Lilliputian and probably leaked when he drank a 64 ounce root beer Slurpee , I was a little scared to get near him.  His menacing Nell Carter-sized bodyguard made me even more intimidated to go in for a high quality Celebrity Touch™.

Since we all know that I am not one to back away from a challenge or a Hostess Honey Bun, I was willing to risk my life to get that touch.  I quickly (OK, it wasn’t so quick, as I was kinda busy staring at Melissa Rivers’ living PhotoShop face) moved in for the touch.  What I needed to do was get into the booth behind where 30 Pence was seated, currently occupied by Lee Dewyze (yeah, I didn’t know who he was either until someone reminded me that he won the ninth season of American Idol, which has basically given him the same celebrity status as the Progressive Insurance lady and the same Bumpit hair style). 

I waited until the puffy-faced Lee was distracted by a tired looking waitress with a 45-day-old dye job and cracked nail polish carrying sad-looking skewered meat products.  That’s when I backed up and kinda flopped into the other side of the rounded booth – Oops!  Did I just trip over your exceptionally low celebrity status and fall into your booth, Lee???  Sorry!!!

Now that I had pulled Lee’s attention away from his glossy chicken teriyaki stick, he gave me that look typically reserved by my mother during Christmas:  “You’re not wanted here!”  So, I gathered myself and attempted to rise from the splayed position I currently occupied in the plush velvet  booth.  I strategically reached up to grasp the back seat cushion and in doing so, casually touched 38 Yen on his muscle-bound left shoulder.  Celebrity Touch™ secured and I wasn’t riddled by bullets!  I was however riddled as to why a burly security guard resembling a sober Zach Galifianakis was, at that moment, asking me to please remove myself from the VIP section.  No matter, I had my 50 Cent in my pocket and Melissa River’s face needed further exploration.

I Touched Ron Howard - A Child Is Corrupted

Not to say that I have corrupted my son Nate, but let's just say that when it comes to touching celebrities, the apple doesn't fall far from the corn stalk. Nate and I were spending a most delightful Saturday morning in New York City recently, talking politics, astral physics and the utter pointlessness of underwear, when a celebrity touching happened upon us. At the age of six, I was surprised that my son had never touched a celebrity (the Olsen Twins are NOT celebrities), but today was about to be his day.

Joining us in this touching adventure was Nate's mother Jane, a hapless victim to our hyjinks. While we were enjoying our fritatas (that word is never not funny to me) at Sara Beth's on the Upper East Side, in walks Ron Howard. You know Ron: Opie from The Andy Griffith Show, Richie from Happy Days and now and Academy Award-winning director. Well, Ron senses our star power and situates himself right behind Jane.

Now, Jane isn't easily starstruck, so when I mention Ron Howard is behind her, she is nonplussed. Besides, she is wary that I might steal something off her plate if she turns around, which is a family tradition. Jane then decides to go to the bathroom to probably jump out the window. At this point, I execute my touch, which was an "Ooops, I dropped my fork with full arm graze of Mr. Howard on the upward return arch." Text book really.

Touch secured, I returned to my German Pancakes. But then I think, wouldn't it be grand for granny if I got a picture of Nate with Ron Howard? Well, of course it would be, so I ask Ron (I call him Ron) and he agrees. Nate and Ron huddle up and I get a great photo as Jane walks out of the bathroom, with a look of shock on her face... of course, not so shocked that she didn't want a picture too!

We thank Ron and return to our meals. Here is where the old chip off the block starts chipping. About five minutes later... while we are savoring the last of our meals, Nate stands up, says nothing, walks over and taps Ron on the shoulder (ok, this does NOT count as a celebrity touch, because I am pretty sure that Mr. Howard realized he was being touched, by the maple syrup-covered fingerprints now on his shirt, but heck Nate is only six, so we will give it to him).

Nate asks Ron: "Mr. Howard, would you like to hear a joke?" "Sure!" "Why did Tigger stick his head in the toilet?" "I don't know, why?" "He was looking for Pooh!"

Ron exclaimed "That's a winner!" With that, Nate turned around, marched back to our table and polished off his apple pancakes. Nate has officially started his celebrity touching career.

Celebrity Quick Touch - Neve Campbell

 

Celebrity Touch Target: Neve Campbell

 

Why:  Because I thought she was a neo-soul (this really isn’t a thing) bohemian groupie, only to realize she was the star of Party of Five and recently revived her career with House of Cards (I know!  I didn’t realize it was her either… that skin!  Crystalized baby spine.  The only answer.)

 

Where:  The W Hotel Times Square

 

How:  Ok.  Look.  I get it.  I haven’t posted in a while.  I was in a cryonic deep freeze.  Get over it.  Anyway, what is important here is that I was in Times Square and I wasn’t dressed like Spiderman creepily (yes, a word) fondling German tourists for a buck… this time.  I was actually there to attend the after-party of my good friend Alan Cumming, who just wowed the stiffs at Carnegie Hall with a high-steppin’ show surprisingly free of full frontal male nudity.  With Spice Rack on my arm, I reluctantly found myself in a hotel bar.  Like the kind typically reserved for people whose most defined fashion choice is a lanyard and a low-heeled pump.  I was three Aperol Spritzes deep, when The Rack exclaimed there was a celebrity in our midst.  Scanning the room, I saw