Ben Folds is a sweaty, stinky man.
"Don't give me that bullshit, you know who I am
I'm your nightmare little man"
Ben Folds is a sweaty, stinky man.
It's an unseasonably hot August in the great city of Chicago. My buddy Barakas, his fiance, and I are heading home from our first ever Wizard World Con. We're walking into O'Hare Airport regretting that the trip has come to a close, when walking in front of us is a man with sweat stains covering the back of his t-shirt. He looks as if he hasn't bathed in a week. The entire time he's on his cell phone, looking somewhat lost. Of course we're mocking him. He turns his head from time to time, and I remark about how much he resembles Ben Folds. But I kept telling myself that there's no way Folds would be walking around the Chicago airport alone.
We get to our gate, and el Stinkarino continues on. We sit, play cards, and bullshit for a little while. This is post-9/11 so we played it safe, and arrived at the airport extremely early.
Time passes, and Barakas and I spot two guys that resemble Jason Sehorn and another semi-celebrity standing against a support column. Age has made me forget who the other guy looked like, but needless to say neither was in fact said celebrity. Barakas remarked to me, "why don't you go get Sehorn's autograph?" To which I replied, "I will if you go get Ben Fold's!" Then a slight shift was felt from behind us, and the stinky, sweaty man from earlier proceeded to walk across the walkway to a wall away from us. All the time he's still on his phone, staring intensely at me. Barakas and I exchange glances, wondering silently if that was really Ben Folds, and if I scared him.
Not a moment after the airline counter person came over the loudspeaker, "passenger Folds please come to the counter at gate 21." Who do you think walks up to the ticket-taker? El Stinkarino himself, Ben Folds. That's right ladies and gents, I just frightened a multi-million selling musician. One of whom I was, and still am, a big fan. At that point my CD collection contained no less than three Ben Folds Five albums, and had seen him perform at the World's Fair Park in 1998. I didn't think it was him, and it turned out to be true. I was somewhat mortified, wondering if it would be in bad taste to go explain myself to him, and ask for an autograph and photo.
After receiving the boarding pass, he proceeded to walk back to his spot on the wall. Way the hell away from us. Shortly after we boarded the plane. We were permitted to board first, since we were in the far back of the plane, in the cheap seats. I'm sitting on the aisle, so my big ass can get a little more leg room. In the front of the plane I see Ben walk in, stare intently at me, and sit down. The entire time waiting on the tarmac, and on the subsequent trip home I'm trying to figure out the best possible way to talk to him. By the time we get off the plane he is nowhere to be found. Alas, I never got a chance to formally introduce myself to Ben Folds.
At least if I ever do, I have a good story to tell him.
Until next time:
"I go around the world dealing with running and hiding. I can't take a walk in the park . I can't go to the store. I have to hide in the room. You feel like you're in prison." - Michael Jackson
I'm your nightmare little man"
Ben Folds is a sweaty, stinky man.
It's an unseasonably hot August in the great city of Chicago. My buddy Barakas, his fiance, and I are heading home from our first ever Wizard World Con. We're walking into O'Hare Airport regretting that the trip has come to a close, when walking in front of us is a man with sweat stains covering the back of his t-shirt. He looks as if he hasn't bathed in a week. The entire time he's on his cell phone, looking somewhat lost. Of course we're mocking him. He turns his head from time to time, and I remark about how much he resembles Ben Folds. But I kept telling myself that there's no way Folds would be walking around the Chicago airport alone.
We get to our gate, and el Stinkarino continues on. We sit, play cards, and bullshit for a little while. This is post-9/11 so we played it safe, and arrived at the airport extremely early.
Time passes, and Barakas and I spot two guys that resemble Jason Sehorn and another semi-celebrity standing against a support column. Age has made me forget who the other guy looked like, but needless to say neither was in fact said celebrity. Barakas remarked to me, "why don't you go get Sehorn's autograph?" To which I replied, "I will if you go get Ben Fold's!" Then a slight shift was felt from behind us, and the stinky, sweaty man from earlier proceeded to walk across the walkway to a wall away from us. All the time he's still on his phone, staring intensely at me. Barakas and I exchange glances, wondering silently if that was really Ben Folds, and if I scared him.
Not a moment after the airline counter person came over the loudspeaker, "passenger Folds please come to the counter at gate 21." Who do you think walks up to the ticket-taker? El Stinkarino himself, Ben Folds. That's right ladies and gents, I just frightened a multi-million selling musician. One of whom I was, and still am, a big fan. At that point my CD collection contained no less than three Ben Folds Five albums, and had seen him perform at the World's Fair Park in 1998. I didn't think it was him, and it turned out to be true. I was somewhat mortified, wondering if it would be in bad taste to go explain myself to him, and ask for an autograph and photo.
After receiving the boarding pass, he proceeded to walk back to his spot on the wall. Way the hell away from us. Shortly after we boarded the plane. We were permitted to board first, since we were in the far back of the plane, in the cheap seats. I'm sitting on the aisle, so my big ass can get a little more leg room. In the front of the plane I see Ben walk in, stare intently at me, and sit down. The entire time waiting on the tarmac, and on the subsequent trip home I'm trying to figure out the best possible way to talk to him. By the time we get off the plane he is nowhere to be found. Alas, I never got a chance to formally introduce myself to Ben Folds.
At least if I ever do, I have a good story to tell him.
Until next time:
"I go around the world dealing with running and hiding. I can't take a walk in the park . I can't go to the store. I have to hide in the room. You feel like you're in prison." - Michael Jackson
posted by The Big Man | 11/12/2006 08:04:00 PM
3 Comments:
Must be nice to be Folds. Make a few million on a few albums. Yet never have to bathe or worry about the paparazzi. Just the occasional psychotic fan ;-)
"Way the hell away from us" made me laugh out loud.
who knew..i expected him to be short..but stinky? sad. i, too, have seen him a couple of times and am a fan. perhaps paris should try to shower less if that would help her stay out of the paper..i'm tired of hearing about her..
Bone: Must be. I sent a copy to the fiance [from the story], and she sent me back a message commenting on how he was very STINKY. In all caps none the less.
If I would have known that was actually Ben Folds, I may have been gushy instead of 'psycho.'
Alison: He's short to me, but damn near everyone is.
Paris...well....I don't know what to say about her. I went on a date with a girl, and we caught the trailer for House of Wax, costarring Paris Hilton. The girl suggested that we go see it, then once Paris got murdered we walk out.
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