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The Foot Shooting Party

Just went out to the skyway to run a few errands…and wound up having a brush with fame. And my own mortality. Or, more accurately, my extreme clutziness. I was walking along wearing boots that were not made for walking when I noticed a guy. Looking at him I was thinking, “wow, he looks just like Michael Rapaport“. A moment later he asked a clerk for directions to Radio Shack, in his native New Yorker accent, and there was no doubt that this was the man himself. It was sort of neat and all but I didn’t think I was particularly starstruck…yet the next instant I found myself stumbling, having gotten my stupid stiletto heels caught on the escalator…and down on my knees I went. Not bowing to this actor, who is, after all, just a guy. But the timing was funny. Or would have been if it weren’t so embarrassing. And slightly painful. I recovered quickly and furtively glanced around. Luckily no one seemed to have noticed. Or at least didn’t let on that they’d noticed, which I was thankful for. But before I could even nix the idea of asking him for an autograph Mr. Rapaport had moved on. Taking the other escalator up while I was heading down. It’s probably for the best. Who knows what grievous bodily harm I could have suffered if I’d gotten any closer to him.