Monday, March 12, 2012

No Photographs, please...

Anyone will tell you that I'm the first to admit what a dork I am. Oh the energy I consume trying to hide it. Being married to me is really easy because I automatically assume something is my fault (except of course when it isn't), or the problem is because of some shortcoming or dorky overkilledness in my nature. I'm a master at overkill, which is why NYC is so perfect for me. But living here also forces you to abide by the Law of Cool that at first you fake (while squealing inside), then you surprise yourself by adhering to, only noticed when you're retelling a story to your mom or friend a thousand miles away and they're impressed by some side element that it didn't occur to you to underscore.
This is especially true with celebrities. I have a gazillion funny stories that maybe I'll share, but the irony is that it is actually a strict rule in our house not to name drop. I've taught the kids that it's tacky and to do it would make you -gasp!- Uncool. A fate worse than death to New Yorkers. So I'm trying to tread carefully and harmlessly.
Right now my obsession is Harvey Kietel. I've seen him at the toy store, 4 times on the street in the last 6 months and then he was in Jason's Yoga for Dudes last Saturday. (Google him, then imagine him saying 'namaste', then you can get a little giggle.) But I love him. "U-571" anyone? "Bugsy"? "The Piano"? "National Treasure"? Yeah, this dude's the bomb. (AND I just thought of something else: We were going to try for another baby, and if it was a boy we were going to name him HARVEY!!!)
Tonight as I was schlepping my kids home from school he was also at the school and then crossing the streets with me going the same direction. I kept my sunglasses on, forcing my mouth in a little pre-occupied frown. But I was totally faking it. Inside I was squealing with delight.

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