Crystal Head Adventures

So I met Dan Aykroyd today. He was signing bottles of his new vodka, Crystal Head (which is a horrible name on so many levels. Am I the only one who thinks of a scabby strung out tweaker named Crystal when I hear the name of that vodka?) My dad met him once and I thought a signed bottle would be a nice and unexpected gift to give him for his birthday or Christmas. When I told my mom yesterday that I planned to give dad a glass skull of alcohol for his birthday or Christmas (his birthday is in December), she offered that he needed polo shirts.

I thought I would have Aykroyd all to myself. I'd tell him about my dad, get a personalized autograph, lament the lean turnout on an overcast day in Philadelphia...a little me and Dan time. I love my imagination, it's such a lovely insulation from reality. I couldn't imagine a massive crowd at the Wine and Spirits store located along a strip of wig and dollar stores cramming in to get a bottle of vodka signed by someone who wasn't in a movie coming out soon. And for someone who isn't a rapper, it seems a little off the standard celebrity path to lend your gravitas to a hard liquor. I imagined a pissed off Aykroyd sitting in the store twirling his Sharpie and glaring at his agent, surrounded by cases of his skull shaped vodka bottles as disinterested customers asked eachother who he was.

But I was wrong.

As I approached the store, there was a small crowd outside the store taking pictures of an old black man in a wheelchair singing. He had prosthetic legs, a wireless mike, a little sound system, and he was singing a song about Aykroyd's vodka. I shit you not. Inside, the line wrapped around the entire store. It was madness. Polite and ordered madness but far far more people than I expected. I turned out to be 'that woman' for the guy in line behind me. The one who keeps making you take out your 'don't talk to me' earbuds to engage you in inane banter about Ghostbusters and how surprised I was about the length of the line. I knew I was that woman and I still couldn't stop myself. About the third time I made him pull out his earbuds, he just gave up and left them out. He did tell me he had seen the black guy in the wheelchair before and had seen him put on similar thematic performances possibly for shits and giggles but likely also for spare change. I don't think it was serendipity that found him in front of the Wine and Spirits store.

I spent my hour in line watching others get their skulls and random other things signed and saw quite a few get pictures taken. People waiting in line took pictures of the line or held their camera above their head paparazzi style hoping to get a random shot of Aykroyd. I only had my camera phone and wondered with the line still snaking behind me if I would insist on having someone take a picture of us with my camera phone once I got up front. I toyed with the idea of documenting the encounter, struggling with the inherent folly of it all. What did it matter if I took a picture of Aykroyd? I could get one off the Internet far better than the one I would take with my crappy camera phone if having his picture was important to me. And what would I do with this picture? Put it in a photo album? Christmas letter that I never get around to writing? So I resolved that I wouldn't try to take his photo like he was in a zoo.

Next to consider was asking to have a picture taken with him. I watched person after person scoot in close for a photo like they and Aykroyd were close personal friends and had started to poo poo any mental preparations I was making to explain how to work my camera phone to the lady at the front of the line I had seen others hand their camera to. Aykroyd didn't know who I was and again, what would I do with this picture? And then it came to me, I would give both the vodka and a picture of me and Aykroyd to my dad. I get to ask for a picture without feeling like a tool and I have a reason for taking the picture that doesn't make me feel weird. But by the time I had my chance with him, the handlers were moving people through the line with increased urgency and would not take pictures for anyone. It kind of hurt my feelings. He did shake my hand which was decent of him, especially since I didn't have my right hand free to shake his and a mini-awkward moment ensued because I was trying to get the hell out of dodge, embarrassed because I had a camera phone ready and because they were all simultaneously apologizing to us for not being able to accommodate any more pictures.

There is another blog post nesting on how seriously I take photography in a venue that is trading on his celebrity to generate interest in fifty dollar vodka. It's not like I accosted him at an airport (I did this to Larry Bird when I was 20-he seemed pretty annoyed) or snapped photos of him while he was eating (have not done this to anyone-not even friends-okay maybe my sister that one time). But for now just imagine with me, the delight I will bring on Christmas day when my father discovers the heavy gift under the tree for him is a vodka filled skull with an indecipherable signature he will have to trust is actually Dan Aykroyd's. Yay Jesus!


p.s. As I was leaving the store, the security guy holding the door told me I was pretty and had "good hair." He liked that (his words). Not sure if he was also moonlighting at one of the five beauty supply stores on that block and thus had some strong feelings about hair but the comment made me laugh. I can't do the encounter justice but all I could do is thank him and wish him a good night. My dad is calling him his future son-in-law.