wax a chump like a candle

title: ice ice baby – artist: vanilla ice

One week down! It’s going really well. And I’ve been rather slack about both reading and writing, I know. I hope you’re all doing splendidly! I loves you guys!

And now I bring you the promised "brush with celebrity" entry…

in the kitchen with mom, tv on in living room, ad on said tv:
Did you hear that?
What?
Vanilla Ice! He’s going to be performing at Tioga Downs [less than an hour from abode] the DAY BEFORE I LEAVE!
That’s good for him. I’m glad he’s still getting work.
But. VANILLA ICE! BEFORE. I. LEAVE. Right before! So close!
Do you really want to go see Vanilla Ice?
Maybe.
No you don’t.
I might. Okay, I don’t have an overwhelming desire to see him. But I wouldn’t say no to the opportunity. Probably.

So, I didn’t end up going to Tioga Downs to go see Vanilla Ice. And it’s not like I even know much of Ice Ice Baby aside from the line that is also the title and the other line that goes, check out the hook while my DJ revolves it. I likely know more, but those would be the only lines I could guarantee recitation of on demand.

Which is to say, it’s not like his music was ever a big part of my life. I wasn’t devastated by missing out on seeing him perform at some race track and slot machine casino in ‘in the middle of nowhere’ upstate New York. I still think it might’ve been cool in that ’embracing the kitch’ sort of way. But, whatever, right?

Over a week passes since the above incident took place. The same ad is aired. A brief recap of "Vanilla Ice! Tioga Downs! The 17th!" occasionally ensues. But it usually just passes by without much fanfare. And finally, the 17th rolls around, followed by the 18th, which is when I was scheduled to leave. And leave I did.

The first leg of my trip, and the only layover I had, was from the regional airport to Philadelphia. It’s a short flight. Less than an hour once takeoff actually gets around to happening. My layover was to be several hours, but I decided to get to the appropriate terminal right away upon landing. At which point, I determined something fruity was in order since I hadn’t really done breakfast, but lunch wasn’t sounding appealing, either. So, I meander on down to the food court area in my designated terminal and decide to stop at the place serving smoothies and other various things, though I began leaning towards orange juice, because sugary smoothies make me sad.

And apparently being in the service industry made the girl behind the counter the kind of surly and disgruntled that serves the same function with agitated airport customers as poking an angry bear with a stick. While I’m the first to advocate that the phrase "the customer is always right" is one of the stupidest things to get so permanently lodged in our collective lexicon, and that, yes, it seems air travel tends to flip the "stupid & obnoxious" switch in a great many people, such stances do no one any favors. Especially on remarkably slow days with extraordinarily nice customers (there were a few individuals ahead of me).

So, biding my time as next in line, I notice this man strolling up. He’s wearing sunglasses. In a not-so-populated food court. He stops next to me and asks if this place, or any others, is still serving breakfast. And I think, Hey, this guy kind of looks like… sweetmotherofpearl! THAT IS VANILLA ICE! RIGHT THERE! If it wouldn’t be totally weird, I could reach out and touch VANILLA ICE! This is FREAKY! What are the chances!?!

Because I wasn’t a big fan of his music, and he’s long seemed rather sensitive about the whole Vanilla Ice thing, anyway, plus he was sort of acting like he didn’t want to be recognized (and sunglasses indoors with hardly anyone around totally helps with that), I was still kind of hoping the girl behind the counter, to whom he was directing his question, would say something. Which was silly since she had that whole, "Can’t you tell I’m too busy being dead inside to bother with… you? Any of you." thing going on. So she glared at him, shook her head and he was off again while I debated if I should’ve at least got my camera out and let his sunglasses be put to the use of defending him against the flash.

It wasn’t so much that I cared that it was a celebrity. It was more that there had been discussion about this celebrity in the previous week and it’s sort of like talking about this song and a few days later it’s on the radio and you kind of want to call up the person that you were having the conversation with and share that moment of, "OMG! This is that song! IT’S PLAYING RIGHT. NOW. Check it out!" Only, you know, kind of different.

So, I decided not to be some obnoxious spaz and refrained from whipping out the aforementioned camera, or breaking into "ice ice baby," or asking him to sign something, or asking what it was like to live with Tammy Faye. Instead, I got some orange juice and sat down to finish the book I’d started on the plane. Not long after, I saw Mr. Van Winkle wandering through the food court once more. And once more, I opted to act like a composed young lady. I hope he got something to eat.