135
Tuesday, December 19th, 2023, 2:48 P.M.
Is this a Christmas story? Not really. In fact, I’m sorry if I teased any of you avid readers of Valley of the Go-Go’s with my scintillating title. I couldn’t think of any other title, to be honest with you. It’s that time of year, I guess.
Over the last couple of days, I was trying to think of an episode that would involve the girls in some sort of a Christmas event, but just couldn’t come up with anything. I thought about a scenario in which they would exchange gifts amongst themselves, but I really don’t know enough about their personal lives to make it pertinent enough. If you read my story, you’ll know that I try to make as many references into their real lives as possible. The truth is, I’m a pretty lazy guy, and I actually don’t engage in as much research as I should. Shouldn’t I know more about The Go-Go’s than anyone? You would think so.
I’m still not exactly sure how this whole thing got started. All I know is it turned into a wonderful hobby and I’m glad that I do it. It’s a tremendous brain exercise as I enter into the advanced years of my life, and the story is certainly silly enough for me to laugh about the whole thing. I can only hope that everyone realizes that Valley of the Go-Go’s is hardly meant to be taken seriously. It’s sole purpose is for the reader to wrap itself up in a blanket, feel the warmth of the 80’s, and relish in the joy that of our five, fabulous main characters bring to the world. I truly believe they epitomized so much of that era.
I recently had the thrill, pleasure, and honor of meeting two of them at the Bakersfield Comic-Con in California. Both of them advertised for the event on their social media outlets, so I hopped on the bus, forgot about us, and took the five-hour ride to meet them. Again, I didn’t research the event as well as I should have, and had no idea when they would be available or what to expect. I’m not a comic book fan, nor was I interested in dressing up like Darth Vader or commiserating with a bunch of Star Trek nerds. I only wanted to meet Gina and Kathy.
When I arrived on the grounds, I forgot what building they said they would be in, so I just wandered over to the first Quonset hut I saw and walked into the facility. Wouldn’t you know it, as soon as I entered, there was Gina and Kathy sitting at their respective tables, talking to some people that were standing in front of them. At first, I stood there and stared at them, covering my mouth with my hand to hide the exuberant smile that was on my face. Eventually, I approached Gina’s table and continued to say nothing. As you might expect, I had this fantastic speech, and/or, presentation all rehearsed in my head that was going to make me look like entertainer of the year and immediately make the two women totally enamored with me.
That didn’t happen.
Instead, I mumbled a few idiotic sentences at Gina, as she stared at me trying to comprehend what I was trying to convey. The first thing I noticed about Gina was that it looked like she hadn’t slept in days, a predicament that I instantly determined was the result of a busy schedule. If you follow her on Instagram, you know that this woman is constantly on the go. It was totally understandable in my mind. On the other hand, maybe she started listening to me and wanted to fall asleep.
Either way, you DON’T point this out!
“You look tired, Gina,” I said.
“Yeah, we got in late last night,” she returned.
Ugh !! What a moron I am. You don’t say that to a woman! In my lame attempt to be honest with her like we were already buddies, I probably drove my first spike into the ground.
Strike one.
At this point, Kathy was currently idle with no fans in front of her. Every time I looked over at her, she politely conjured up a smile towards me. That was very sweet of you, Kathy, thank you.
In retrospect, she was probably trying to determine whether or not I was a psychopath. When you’re a celebrity, you have to be wary of things like that. Especially when you’re a beautiful, legendary rock star. And my behavior was not helping my cause at all.
At some point, I managed to retrieve my original manuscript of Valley of the Go-Go’s out of my backpack and showed it to Gina. Before I had a chance to explain myself, however, Gina made a very kind and thoughtful gesture towards me.
She offered me her salad.
“Do you want this?” she asked.
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t hungry by any means, but I didn’t want to be impolite, either. I just sort of stared at it and said— “Uhhh, well…”
“I don’t want it,” she said. “It hasn’t been touched.”
“Maybe later,” I eked out.
I glanced over at Kathy as she once again managed to smile at me. Perhaps this was the Litmus test that she and Gina performed on overly-excited, male fans, to authenticate their status as a psycho. If he accepts the salad, definitely call the cops.
Gina politely perused through the first page of my story, then looked up at me with what I could only describe as amazement.
The question is— Amazed in what way?
Was she staring at me as if to say, “You need help, sir… Being in show business, I know a lot of therapists… I can give you the number of one.”
“You wrote this?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I answered nervously. I was scared to death that she was going to tell me to stop doing it. That it wasn’t authorized by The Go-Go’s.
“This is really good writing,” she complimented.
“Aha!!” I thought to myself. She didn’t actually comment on the content. That was what I was most interested in. I already know that I’m a halfway decent writer. I can formulate sentences and paragraphs and all that good shit. It was the content that I wanted her to say, “I want to read the rest of this… This is really cool !”
But, alas, that didn’t happen. She autographed the cover, I gave her forty bucks, and I moved over to Kathy.
Kathy was a little more intimidating.
I broke the ice by offering her one of my business cards that advertises my story on it. Kathy took it, looked at it, then looked up at me.
“You wrote this?” she asked as well. Kathy’s tone, however, was a bit more demanding. Once again, I was scared to death she was going to say—
“So, you’re the asshole who writes this story?!! How dare you?!! We didn’t give you permission to write this trash!!!”
But, once again, this did not happen. She had never heard of my story.. and.. was not particularly interested in pursuing the matter any further.
It was time for me to take a powder. I had pushed my presence to the limits with a couple of celebrities and I knew it.
Now it was time for strike two.
I didn’t want to act like a pestering fan, so I took off and started to look at some of the other exhibits. It was amazing to see how many talented people had come to this event. Especially the artists. So much talent. Very impressive.
By and by, I ran into some actors that I was familiar with. One guy had acted in the movie, “The Warriors” which every man in my generation has seen a million times. I had a nice conversation with him. He was one of the baseball Furies that gets into the classic baseball bat fight with Ajax. Very cool.
The other was an actress that was in “A League of Their Own.” She played the sister of Geena Davis. I didn’t make such a great impression with her, however. Somehow, I offended her with my comment about girls throwing a baseball. She thought I was being chauvinistic, and she was probably right. When will I learn how to talk to women?
The last stop was the last table I came to before ending up right back where I started. This was the icing on the cake.
It was Jerry Mathers— The Beaver.
I stopped dead in my tracks. There was absolutely no expression on this man’s face. He looked like he would rather be waiting for a prostate exam. I thought to myself— “One of the most iconic T.V. shows in the history of television, and this is what this man’s life has been reduced to.” Such a shame.
Nothing I said seemed to cheer him up. Not even my impression of Eddie Haskel. Somehow, I got the feeling he had heard my nonsense too many times before.
I never came back to his table.
I wish I could say the same about Gina and Kathy. You must know I was not done making a fool of myself with them.
It was the salad. This was my chance to really hit it off with Gina. I would accept her kind gesture, eat her salad, and we would be friends for life. Soon, I would be on tour with The Go-Go’s.
I walked back over to their table and approached with severe caution. They were both engaged with other people behind the tables, as their backs were turned away from me. There was the salad, still sitting in the same position. I tried to time it so that Gina would turn around just as I was reaching for it.
I made my move.
I reached down and put my hand on the plastic container hoping for her to turn around.
But she didn’t turn around— Kathy did.
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I had a look on my face like I was a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
And Kathy looked like the mother.
You see, Gina never said anything to anyone, of course, about offering her salad to me. Why would she? Kathy didn’t know. I was busted.
Kathy had a look on her face like she wanted to say, “Hey, pal, what is your fuckin’ problem?!! You already write some asinine shit about us on the internet, now you’re stealing our food!! I’ll see to it that you get twenty years for salad stealing!!”
Luckily, Gina did eventually turn around and bailed me out.
“Yeah, go ahead, sweetie,” she said. “Take it.”
I looked at Kathy and said, “I’m going to eat Gina Schock’s salad… I’ll be able to say that for the rest of my life.”
Kathy was not amused.
Strike two.
After the two of them closed things up for the night, there was obviously no reason for me to stick around any further. I wish I could say that about the next day. I now know that it’s not a good idea to make two appearances to one of these events to see the same celebrities for a second day in a row. Oddly enough, when I returned to my hotel for the night, I actually felt pretty good about myself. I thought I had made a decent impression on them. How I felt this way, I’ll never know.
The next morning, I had time enough to watch the Sunday N.F.L football games before going over to the Comic-Con. The only problem was, I was in California and was unable to watch my beloved Chicago Bears on the T.V. in the hotel room. I asked the hotel clerk if there were any bars in the area for me to watch all the games. She led me to a place a couple of blocks away from the hotel and I walked over there. Therein lied my second problem for the day. I am totally unable to watch The Bears without drinking beer due to the fact that I get so extremely nervous.
Wrong.
This undeniable fact led me to the Comic-Con probably smelling like a brewery. As is typical of me, I forgot the one, cardinal rule about drinking booze; You can’t smell it on yourself. It also didn’t help matters that The Bears blew a game that they should have won. Things were not off to a good start.
Now comes the part that will make you cringe:
I walked into the building, stood in front of Gina and Kathy, spread my arms out and announced—
“Hey, I’m back!”
I shit you not, that’s what I did.
Doesn’t alcohol do wonderful things for you?
I’m guessing that it also doesn’t help matters that Kathy is sober, and extremely outspoken and proud of this accomplishment. Good for her— She should be. She also may not allow people around her that have been drinking. Obviously, I didn’t take that into consideration, either. Yesiree-Bob, I took a swing at the last pitch and missed.
Strike three. You’re out.
Miraculously, they allowed me to talk to them for a little while longer before I headed off to the bathroom to unload some of my beer. I had an uneasy feeling as I headed across the compound to the washrooms. I felt like I was in trouble. When you’re me, you know what that feeling feels like. Sure enough, as I meandered around the outside of the building, a voice called out—
“Excuse me, sir.”
I turned around and saw a rather docile looking man with a beard approaching me. At first, I thought he was going to ask me about the event. Then I felt a lump in my throat.
“Uhh, could you not.. like.. hang around The Go-Go’s table any more?”
I felt sick to my stomach, but I responded in a positive manner. I knew what I had done. There was no point in making a big deal about it.
“Sure, no problem,” I said.
“Cuz… they get kind of nervous about people spending too much time around them,” he informed me.
In all honesty, I thought the man was being overly courteous to me. I envisioned one of the girls having much more choice words for me than those.
“I understand,” I told him.
That was it. I was officially kicked out.
I hate to end the story on a down note. I hope the majority of my little tale had the more desired effect of making you laugh more than anything else. I certainly have no hard feelings whatsoever about what happened or the response from Gina and Kathy. They didn’t know who I was. They were only taking precautions like they should be. I’m glad they do those things.
All in all, it was a fun and enjoyable experience and a rewarding adventure. Naturally, if I had to do it all over again— Well, you know the rest of that line.
But what does this have to do with Christmas? Didn’t I say this was a Christmas story?
Yes, I did.
Merry Christmas, everyone!!! And have a great New Year!!!
There… That’s my Christmas story.