American Idol

Just before the opening dinner at the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop, Erin and Elizabeth, my writers' conference buddies, spot me looking for a table.

"Come with us," they say. "We saved you a seat at the table right in front of the stage."

Five minutes later, Dave Barry (the keynote speaker) strolls in and sits down at the table next to mine. My humor writing idol is very close to me -- so close I could fling a piece of lettuce at him.

"Haha!" I am thinking. "I should fling a piece of lettuce at Dave Barry! Now that would be high comedy! I bet he'd make a booger joke in my honor!"

But I don't fling lettuce at Dave Barry because the scolding voice of my mother is rattling in my brain. "David Eric Fox," I hear her saying, "do not fling lettuce at Dave Barry! People will think you're a lettuce flinger."

So I don't. I eat my dinner politely, and at one point, I politely excuse myself.

As I'm standing in front of the urinal, another thought enters my mind: Wouldn't it be so freaking cool if Dave Barry walked in right now and stood at the urinal next to me? What would I do in such a situation? Shaking his hand would probably not be appropriate.

Dave Barry does not walk into the bathroom. I empty my bladder and go to wash my hands. As I am leaving (I swear I am not making this up) Dave Barry's brother walks into the bathroom.

"Hi," he says.

"How's it going?" I ask.

"Good," he says.

Dinner continues.

Eventually, Dave (Barry) gets up to give his keynote speech. He tells a story about the time he met Barbara Bush. Due to a freak act of nature he had ended up standing next to her in a group photo with the White House Press Corps. He tried to make small talk with her. Embarrassing things came out of his mouth.

Thirty minutes after his speech, Dave is in the lobby signing books. I'm scared. What am I supposed to say to the man who had so much influence on my writing that I had to quit reading his stuff because I was starting to sound like a tawdry imitation, a cubic zirconium Dave? My palms are sweating. My heart is palpitating. It suddenly dawns on me that in a month, I will be giving a co-presentation with the Princess of Norway -- not just giving a presentation, but giving a presentation about her country -- and I am more intimidated by the thought of shaking Dave Barry's hand and saying, "Huhuhuh... I really like your writing, Mr. Barry."

But there is no turning back now. I am next in line. I am sufficiently nervous that I fear I might vomit up some lettuce on Dave Barry as I try to act cool in his presence, and I realize such an act would probably not make him want to endorse my book later. But it's time.

"I feel like I'm meeting Barbara Bush right now," I tell him. He laughs. I tell him his booger jokes have been a massive inspiration to me, that my own first book will be out in a matter of weeks. He congratulates me. He signs a copy of his book: Dave Barry's Only Travel Guide You'll Ever Need. He is very nice to me. He waits patiently as my digital camera freaks out and stops functioning. He wishes me luck. He shakes my hand.

I don't actually think to read what he has written in my book until two days later:

"For Dave, my idol," it says.

Wow man! Dave Barry told me I am his idol! Or maybe he was just being funny. He does that sometimes.

Comments

[Lizzy]

You're funny. I'm certainly glad there was no lettuce flung.

[brrre]

The Princess of Norway??!! You'd better start praying to all the Gods that are that she does not bring her husband. Or herself. I know you're a humorwriter, but they are clowns. Unvoluntary that is... Not the kind of people you would like to be seen with. So I just have to say: "David Eric Fox, stop that, people might think you're a clown!"

[Linda]

I'm trying to decide if meeting Sam Barry in the bathroom trumps my near-Dave experience.I think it does.Congratulations. Also, did it occur to you that Sam Barry resembles Stephen King? Also, I am very, very new at blogging (uh, 6 days) and I didn't know that what I replied to you appeared publicly. (Why have teenagers if they will NOT help you learn to blog?) So I saw my plug for my blog and was embarrassed. sorry.