1.31.2009

"The Dude abides."

I'm not sure if I told you this already, but I'm going to go ahead and say it anyway so such an important event in my life won't fall through the cracks: I once met Stephen Baldwin.

Yes, it's true. Stephen. The goofiest of the Brothers Bald(win), not to be confused with Newburgh's beloved Mahoneys. Not quite as presitgious as Alec, not quite as obscure as William, and wasn't there another one in there somewhere? I won't lie, though-- Steve (Stephe?) and I really didn't say too much to each other. It happened in passing, as most celebrity encounters do. I was working on the addition for the Nyack Library last summer and Mr. B. happened to have an office in the building nextdoor. Not quite sure what the office was for, though the secretary that he sent out for coffee and such was rather attractive in an alternative lifestyle kind of way: red streaks in her hair, piercings, an arm tattoo. Pretty sure that was all another cover-up not quite tabloid-worthy, but whatever. Can't deny a man the finer things in life, especially if he has the financial means to afford having them at his beck and call. But, as usual, I digress.

So I'm sitting on a stone wall next to the sidewalk eating my lunch one day. Roast beef and yellow American on a roll, lettuce tomato mayonnaise, salt and pepper. The guy at the deli had slathered way too much mayo on there so everything was sliding all around and trying to escape from the bread's clutches. It was tough to eat and my foreman was making fun of me as I tackled the sandwich laboriously. I was half-way done with it when the big moment came. The front door of Stephen's building opened, but this time it wasn't his secretary-- it was the 'Bio-Dome' legend himself! His dirty blonde hair was long but neatly kept, the tan appeared to be real which just meant he paid more for it, the tattoos on his arms and neck stated once and for all that he was not afraid to mar his body despite his acting career. And those baby blues. His eyes met mine in a foibled moment of fate as I was trying to force down a bite of the sandwich. I don't remember ever trying to swallow so hard, not even on those nights where that last shot didn't agree with my stomach and the saliva kept coming in preparation for the puke. His epic strides were leading him in our direction. He'd be passing us on the sidewalk in a few brief seconds. It could not be avoided. We'd have to converse, or forever hold our respective peaces. Or is it pieces? I guess they're interchangeable if you really think about it.

I gave him the head-nod to stall as I made sure my mouth was empty.
"How's it goin'?" he asked, and seemed to mean it.
"Pretty good."
Christ, was I really star-struck? I don't even watch TV and stick to miserable movies far out of his agent's realm. This man should've meant nothing to me, but for some reason I was nervous.
"Enjoying some lunch in the shade, huh?"
If it were anyone else I would've chimed in with "No shit, Captain Obvious," but this was STEPHEN BALDWIN, famed Hollywood acteur, and he had stopped mid-step to talk with the lowly likes of me, a mere union pipe-fitter.
So, I responded with the predictable "Yeah."
"Well, have a good one," and then he smiled, maybe even winked.
"You too," I replied with a quiver. How bad could his day really be?
And then he walked out of my life forever, at least in the physical sense.

"Dude, you're an asshole," said my foreman in his oh-so-sympathetic tone.
"Why's that?"
"You had mayo on your face the whole time."
I wiped my cheek. I checked my hand. I realized what the smile and wink were for.
"Fuck."

And that was it, the end of my celebrity encounter. I hope that yours have gone and/or will go better for you. Always tell them to go easy on the mayo just in case.

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