This Is What It's Like

I am in self-imposed semiretirement from waiting-outside-of-TV-studios autograph collecting, but there are a few groups of people who will drag me out of seclusion:

1. "Saved by the Bell" cast members
2. "Police Academy" cast members (who will likely never be booked on talk shows anyway...but if there's a G.W. Bailey resurgence, I'm there)
3. Country music legends
4. "Freaks and Geeks" cast members

And, so, when Seth Rogen (Ken on "Freaks and Geeks" and star of what looks to be a damn funny movie, the soon-to-be-released "Knocked Up") was booked for "Late Show with David Letterman," it was clear that it would be time to head back out to the streets. Then, while in Philly last weekend, I stopped at The Book Trader in Old City and found a $3 copy of a Michael Martin Murphey LP. Murphey, famous for "Wildfire," was to be the musical guest on "Late Show" the same night Rogen would be on. Hence, my Tuesday evening was booked up.

And this is how it went:

5:38 p.m.--I arrive outside the stage door at the Ed Sullivan Theater to find a few collectors behind the barricades. Since I'm not around much anymore, I can't be sure that they're collectors, but a look at their sweaty, desperate faces tells me all I need to know. Also, they're behind a barricade, so either they're collectors or they have some sort of confinement fetish.

5:39 p.m.--I spot one of the collectors I know, who's usually at the same music-related autograph events I am. He's there for Murphey, though he did get lead guest Charles Barkley on the way in. Much to his chagrin, however, Barkley's got a crappy signature. He hates crappy signatures. The conversation soon turns into one with a sentence that begins, "Someone should shoot him, or at least hit him with a steel rod."

5:46 p.m.--My collector friend says, "That Rogen guy...he looks like a bum." Fortunately, he does not wish physical harm on him. A few minutes later, he starts ragging on Dick Dale, whose autograph he soon hopes to be getting. After mocking his "bumblebee shit," he relates what I imagine is the world's only Dick Dale joke: What does Roy Rogers do in his spare time? Dick Dale. Please, don't make me have to explain it.

5:51 p.m.--One of the other collectors is basically screaming everything that he says, because he has headphones on and the rest of us don't. It amazes me that people consistently can't figure that sort of thing out. It doesn't seem that hard. In any case, he is here for Seth Rogen, and he soon explains to one of the other collectors there for Barkley who Seth Rogen is.

"HE WAS IN 40-YEAR-OLD VIRGIN."

"Oh yeah, who was he?

"HE WAS ONE OF THE GUYS WHO WORKED AT THE STORE WITH STEVE CARELL."

Yeah? Cool. Maybe I'll get a photo with him."

"YEAH, I JUST HAVE ONE MORE THING I NEED SIGNED."

"Need" is always a funny word among autograph collectors. I use it myself all the time (e.g., "I need to get Elizabeth Berkley to sign my Bayside shirt"), but I'm aware that I sound like an idiot when I do. I wonder if the others do. Or maybe he actually does need Rogen to sign his "Anchorman" DVD cover. Maybe his life depends on it. I shouldn't jump to conclusions.

5:59 p.m.--There comes a time in every autograph situation with my aforementioned music-loving colleague when he starts talking about the Fillmore East. It doesn't matter the situation or who we're waiting for. There will always be a moment where the Fillmore comes up, and I hear about how he saw Hendrix for $5 or sat in the balcony for $3.50 to see the Who or the sheer volume of Blue Cheer. I don't really mind hearing about it, but the harangue against current ticket prices that follows is starting to wear on me. The Stones and their $300 tickets inevitably come up, and this time he calls a female singer (I don't think he ever figured out who he was mad at, but I think it was Streisand) and her willingness to charge $1000 for a seat. He calls her a name that rhymes with "duck 'n' hunt." He has some anger issues, I think.

6:09 p.m.--Charles Barkley comes out and though I suppose I should have figured this out beforehand, he is ginormous. I hadn't brought anything for him to sign, but everybody else (including the guy who looked to have about 15 8x10s (Sir Charles only signed one) moves toward the front of the barricades to get their stuff signed. As he's signing, I realize I should get an index card signed, but by the time I move forward, Barkley's posing for the paparazzi with Biff Henderson. Then a paparazzo essentially tells Biff to get out of the way.

6:21 p.m.--Seth Rogen emerges from the stage door exit and makes his way right over to the cool dude with the "Freaks and Geeks" DVD yearbook. That would be me. Like just about everybody I've gotten to sign the book (eight so far), he seems genuinely happy to see it. It (and not an "Anchorman" cover, my shouting friend) is the sign of a true fan. Or a social misfit.

As Rogen finishes signing the book, the collector who didn't know who Seth Rogen was a half-hour ago angles in. He talks real fast, almost to the point of being incomprehensible, so it sounds like this:

"HeyI'mabigfanof40YearOldVirgincanIgetapictureSeth."

Rogen agrees, so the guy tries passing his camera to one of us, but no one jumps at the opportunity. Finally, someone does and, voila, he now has a picture with someone he only has a very vague knowledge of. Awesome.

Soon, everybody but me is taking a picture with Rogen. Why not me? It's that whole I-don't-wanna-bother-people-I-actually-like-when-they're-being-bombarded-by-strangers-with-digital-cameras thing. I'm much better in more formal situations like the Chiller conventions.

6:26 p.m.--Just about everybody clears out until it's me, Mr. Fillmore East, and some other guy who's just taking pictures. Michael Martin Murphey apparently not a big name anymore. Or maybe ever.

6:32 p.m.--The waiting is the hardest part...

6:42 p.m.--Really, it is.

6:47 p.m.--Someone comes up and asks who the guest is tonight. Before I can get past "Michael Martin," he's gone down the street.

6:52 p.m.--While looking at the stage door for "The Color Purple" across the street (where Fantasia is due any minute), my music friend tells me that if Jordin doesn't win "American Idol," something's wrong. Apparently everybody has an opinion on that show but me. Even someone who saw Hendrix for $5.

7:03 p.m.--I realize that there must be something better I could be doing. But I'm here and I've got an album, so I guess I should stay.

7:04 p.m.--It occurs to me that I could have avoided all this by just not buying the album last Friday. That would have been the smart thing to do. But if I always did the smart thing, this blog wouldn't exist. So hooray for my stupidity!

7:12 p.m.--Michael Martin Murphey finally steps outside and someone with him kindly points out the two scary-looking gentlemen who have albums. He seems excited that anybody's waiting for him, so he gladly signs my album while somebody with him hands out free Michael Martin Murphey CDs. And it's a double disc. Sweet. That makes the 90+ minutes spent standing behind a barricade on 53rd Street worth it. Sort of. A little. C'mon, let me have this moment, wouldya?