Got some podcast swag in the mail today. While back I started listening to the Says Who podcast by Maureen Johnson and Dan Sinker. They started the podcast as a coping mechanism to get through the final weeks of the 2016 election, and when everything went to hell after that they decided to keep it up. We all need to cope somehow and help each other get through this.
After starting to listen on a more regular basis, their calls to help support the podcast endeavor on their Patreon started to eat at my guilty nerve. Eventually, they finally got me to contribute. And here is some of the benefits: A sticker, a pin, and a little note that reads:
Hey SaysWhovian!
Thank you so much for supporting Says Who!
We appreciate your citizenship in SaysWhovia, especially since it means we don’t have to only hang out with Chad.
Maureen and Dan
Aww. That’s sweet. And it’s amazing how one word, or in this case one name, can trigger a memory.
Back in the days when I worked at the Tribune one of my coworkers on the metromix.com staff was Chad Schlegal, dining producer. One day, probably some time in the early 2000s, he comes up to me and says “Hey, Elizabeth Hurley is at Marshall Field’s on State Street. Let’s go see her.”
“Sure,” I said. Why not? Big Hurley fan ever since her Vanessa Kensington performance in Austin Powers International Man of Mystery. One of the joys of working in Chicago was the random opportunities to participate in something ridiculous. So yeah, count me in.
Of course this was some promotional event and who knows how close of a glimpse we’d get. But if nothing else it got us out of the Tribune Tower basement for a short while.
We got to Marshall Field’s and found where the appearance was taking place. Cosmetics department, naturally. Elizabeth was there promoting some new fragrance or something, and the line to meet her stretched across the store.
We saw the line and shrugged, we don’t have the time to wait in the middle of a work day. A store rep heard our conversation and chimed in with “If you buy her perfume you can go in that much shorter line over there and are guaranteed an autograph.”
Chad was hesitant, but I saw an opportunity. “Mother’s Day is next week.” Sold! Step right up in the express line.
Chad went first. Typical celebrity autograph appearance protocol, no pictures, she only signs the provided photo (a perfume ad, of course), handlers all around her to make sure no one lingers and the line keeps moving. Chad gets his autograph and I’m next.
“Hello,” she says in that British accent of hers. “What’s your name?”
I could have said Rudolph for all I knew, for I was quite smitten. I don’t normally stalk appearances like this, so this schmuck was lucky enough to blurt out my name in the presence of this lady I had a mild celebrity crush on.
“Really? I don’t think I know any Americans named Craig. They’re all named Brad or Chad or something.”
If I had been drinking it would have been a perfect spit take right in Chad’s direction. Brilliant.
I think mom enjoyed the perfume. I don’t remember. Somewhere tucked away I still have that picture where Elizabeth Hurley wrote my name on it. I just have no idea where it is anymore.
