I Might Name Drop My Way To Fame

I almost went on a date with an Irish girl.

It was in college and after weeks of sitting next to or near each other in a political science class I asked her if she would like to go out.

She said yes and we made some preliminary arrangements but the date never happened.

A dear female friend told me not to worry about it and then asked me to review all I had said to the Irish girl.

“Tell me what and how you said it and I’ll tell you if you said something stupid that chased her away or if it was something else.”

“I told her I’d put the ‘O’ in her O’Mahoney.”

There was a loud gasp followed by a “you didn’t.”

“Josh! You used a cheesy line and scared her away.”

“Maybe or maybe not.”

“I am a woman, I understand how we think.”

“Maybe I didn’t scare her in a creepy way. Maybe she liked it and got nervous. Or maybe it was both.”

“That could be true, sometimes we get a little wishy-washy.”

I rolled my eyes and said I didn’t say anything like that.

“Why did you let me go on like that? That is not cool. I didn’t think you’d be so dumb, but you’re male so who knows.”

“Careful, or I’ll take the rib back G-d used to make you.”

“That kind of stupid comment would definitely get your date cancelled.”

“Love you too.”

I Might Name Drop My Way To Fame

Seventeen years ago I went to a surprise party for a friend and had an interesting experience.

We got to the restaurant early so as not to spoil the surprise and were hustled back to the room where the party was going to be held.

There was one other couple there and we did the normal small talk thing where you introduce yourself and ask a few questions about what the other people do.

The man told me he was a bandleader and said his girlfriend was an actress. I didn’t ask whether I had heard or seen them, it was LA.

As a native I knew it has more depth than its reputation and had lots of friends whose parents were doctors/lawyers or engineers in aerospace.

But I also knew a bunch of people who were trying to make it in entertainment so I didn’t find their particular occupations to be unusual.

The conversation went on for a bit and then the bandleader said I might have seen some of the work his girlfriend had done.

“Were you an extra or in commercials?

There was a flicker in her eyes that made me think she didn’t appreciate it but her poker face didn’t break.

“No, she is the lead on such and such show.”

As soon as he said it I smiled and said I was familiar with it but I had never seen it.

“You ought to watch, you’ll like it.”

“I’ll check it out.”

I meant it, but I never did watch more than a moment here and there. It wasn’t personal, I just wasn’t interested.


I know some people who spend most of their time online tweeting or Facebooking about the cool people they met or interviewed.

I know others who spend their time trying to engage with celebrities on various social media platforms.

Sometimes I read their stuff and wonder if they know how silly they sound. Don’t they do anything that isn’t raw self promotion?

As a man who is sometimes guilty of spending too much time inside his own head it is fair to say I wonder if that is fair.

I have shared tweets where Ralph Macchio and Mark Hamil responded to me and or told stories about singing with people like Bob Dylan.

Maybe it is hypocritical.

Maybe I ought to do more to toot my own horn and bang my own drum. I made the front page of Medium, or at least I think I did.

So did a couple of friends.

They emailed me and said look, this is you.

Hell, it looks to me like some of the self promotion is working for them so maybe I ought to do more than share posts on Facebook once or twice.

Or maybe not.

The funny thing about this business is that the posts I think are great examples of my writing are often those that receive minimal traffic and th0se that are fair go gangbusters.

Well, maybe not gangbusters, but they get read.

I’m A Man

This is one of those songs that tends to make my foot feel a bit heavier upon the accelerator but tonight it didn’t do much more than make do a poor James Brown impression at the gym.

I spent a good 90 minutes catching up with one of the old men yesterday.

Has to be at least three months, if not four or five since we last spoke on the phone so we went a little bit longer.

Dude is turning 50 in December.

I said, ‘dude, we met on the first day of kindergarten. You’re turning 50. WTF.”

He laughed and said he understood.

“Better start stretching, because I don’t care if you are 50–the roughhousing will continue.”

He laughed again and we talked some more.

Rough housing was/is his mom’s word and I have heard her tell us to stop rough housing in the house since we were five.

We generally would stop wrestling for a while but eventually it would start back up.

I told him when we let go of that we are officially old and that he ought to just accept that when we are 90 I will do my best to win the match.

“Fifty, that is just wild.”

“Yeah, it is crazy.”

We spent a good five minutes exchanging stories about the mystery aches that come with time and laughed a lot.

It was good to catch up.


Later that night I lay in bed and thought about how the conversations have evolved and how we swapped stories and ideas about retirement.

We’re not quite there yet, but it is far closer than it once was.

Not quite visible, but not wholly invisible either.

Maybe if I name drop my way to fame I’ll find a way to retire sooner or maybe not.

I’d have to do something to keep busy beyond writing some of these ridiculous blog posts or maybe not.

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