About a year ago, Anne and I were driving home down Santa Monica near Highland in Hollywood. It was the beginning of afternoon rush hour traffic, so when I saw a person waiting to make a left from a side street, I stopped to let him go across in front of us. See, I try to do nice things like that, because I believe the world would be a much better place if everyone made an effort to do little things, like hold doors open, let people with fewer items cut in front in the checkout, say “thank you” . . . things like that.
Anyway, I stop to let this guy pull out across in front of us, and Anne says, “Dude! That’s totally Fabio!”
“What? Where?!” I said.
“Driving the car you just let in front of us!”
I laughed, because Anne and I occasionally play the celebrity lookalike game.
We were silent for a second or two, and we both realized that that the car was a Bentley, and the driver was, indeed, Fabio.
“Oh my god!” I said. “It really is Fabio!”
Anne and I decided that this momentous occasion warranted an immediate and vigorous high-five.
Fabio waved his hand at me in the universal “thank you,” gesture, turned West onto Santa Monica, and drove into the Sunset. We continued East into our mundane, non-Fabio lives.
Way back when I was eighteen or nineteen, my friend Damion, who wrote and directed Neverland, stood in front of the Tower Records on Sunset the day Fabio’s CD came out, with a cardboard sign which read, “I need twelve dollars to buy the Fabio CD.” It took him about fifteen minutes to successfully panhandle his way into his own copy of Fabio After Dark.
(partially stolen from my own damn blog WWdN:in Exile)