So who wants to be rich and famous?

The other day, a rich and famous Hollywood-type person went into Beloved Spouse’s office and caused a near-riot.  I am not allowed to say who he was or anything about him because Beloved Spouse threatened to take away every Oreo in the house if I did.

So I won’t.

Suffice it to say, this person is an actor whose main talent, as far as I can tell, is striking a pose while looking handsome.  Personally, I am not that impressed with someone whose employment is playing dress-up.  Show me a Nobel Prize and I might turn my head.

Unlike Rush Limbaugh who recently condemned an entire religion (Islam) because there are few of its adherents with Nobel Prizes.  In other words, greatness = Nobel Prizes.  This is the same Rush Limbaugh who, in 2007, said “The Nobel Committee here has officially rendered themselves a pure 100 percent joke.  Nothing says I‘m smart quite like an award from a bunch of socialist Swedes” when they awarded the Nobel Peace Prize to Al Gore.  So, the obvious conclusion is: (I’m sure you’ve already guessed it) Al Gore is a secret Muslim.

But the ladies of the office of Beloved Spouse could not have cared less about their visitor’s lack of Nobel prizes.  He was rich, famous and roguishly good looking and therefore, the ladies of the office (and one kind of weird guy) made plans to catch glances. 

Subtlety, good taste and caution were thrown to the wind as they secretly made their plans to go downstairs.  The Normandy invasion of 1944 didn’t have this much preparation.

They suddenly decided they all had urgent errands that required them to pass the glass-walled office repeatedly.  As they did so, they walked with their heads turned sideways so they could peek with both eyes. 

Several offered coffee.  Volunteers asked if they could retrieve doughnuts.  If given an hour, fresh-baked banana bread could be produced offered one.  It was the kind-of-weird guy.

Fights broke out over who would push the vacuum cleaner past the office even though there was no vacuum cleaner present. 

Random objects were flung past the door so they could be retrieved. 

As he walked out the door, it was decided en masse, the surreptitious spies must go to the windows to “check the weather.”  They had never cared so deeply about the current weather conditions as they did that moment when they knew, deep down in their collective hearts, if they did not catch a glimpse of the out-of-doors immediately, they would simply lose the will to live, fall face down on the floor and, without any regard whatsoever to personal dignity; sob.

Once he left, he was THE topic of conversation for the rest of the day and will probably remain so the remainder of the year. 

Why?

Because he is rich and famous!  Duh!

Being rich and famous seems to be the ultimate goal in life.  But have you noticed what happens to those who do become rich and famous?

They hide.  They buy homes in out-of-the-way places, fly private planes, have meals catered and wear disguises.  If business must be transacted, they do it in out-of-the-way places like the office of Beloved Spouse in little, ol’ Bend, Oregon. 

Personally, I have never seen the appeal of being rich and famous.  That’s why some of us decide to be writers.  No one knows what we look like so we can hide in the corner of the room and make fun of y’all. 

Besides, I am kinda rich.  I’m sweet and gooey and too much of me will make you sick. 

Also, I’m famous in that I’m part of just about every “us” I’ve ever heard of.  If I say, “us;” I’m usually included. 

I’m rebellious, ridiculous and, at times, mischievous.  I can be atrocious, capricious and depending on the Oreo supply (or lack thereof); cantankerous.  I try not to be querulous or ambiguous but parts of me are bulbous and my gluteus is definitely maximus.  Rather more maximus than need be.  It’s ludicrous to consider how frivolous and oblivious my outrageous and contentious attitude can appear but I’m not pretentious and rarely serious.  It’s good to be curious but not credulous; ponderous but not garrulous; and there are even times to be frivolous and atrocious but never to be tedious, voracious, gluttonous, ravenous, rapacious and especially not bogus.  I’m not comfortable around the pompous, the zealous or the conspicuous but I do my best to be veracious and wish I could be more sagacious. 

But I’m afraid I’m just superfluous.  And that’s about as famous as I want to be.