A Little Spittle

Last night I went to the Dave Hill Explosion at UCB to see my man Dave Hill explode all over the place. He had Malcolm Gladwell (author of Blink, The Tipping Point) and Fred Armisen from SNL and it was a good show. For me, the best part of the night was Dave's new snow machine.
Especially when he shot the snow at all the UCB groupies who were sitting on the floor at the edge of the stage. Take that, indian-style sitters!

The worst part of the night for me was backstage. That's right, people--I went backstage. Done it before, will do it again. Is it all that it's cracked up to be? You'd better believe it. All the awkward mingling of huge celebrities like myself with the lesser knowns, and the requisite entourage of hangers on--it's incredible. Anyway, I digress. Here's why it was terrible. I ran into a comic I know from "the scene". That's right, people, I said "the scene". Why? Because there is one, and I know people from it. So we're chatting, he pretends he doesn't know who I am again, like he does every time (good one! love it!), and all of a sudden a piece of spit flies out of his mouth.

Things now are in slow motion. ---Sllllllooooooooowwwwwwwwww mmmmmmooooooooooootionnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn---

And I'm not listening to a thing he's saying now, I'm completely focused on the spittle and where it's going to land.

Where's it going to land?

It sure is taking a long time to land! And here I'm thinking, my cheek, maybe my shirt, maybe the floor if I'm lucky, he's so focused on himself that I'll have no trouble clandestinely wiping it off...

But it landed in neither of those three places. It landed right on my tongue.

OH MY GOD! So it just melted right there on my tongue, like a snowflake, and now I'm super grossed out and definitely totally not listening even more than before, and when he excused himself, I couldn't get to the closest bar fast enough to whet my whistle with a little disinfecting whiskey. We swapped spit, so to speak. But he only swapped with me, so it was technically not a swap, no reciprocation, and though he's not a bad looking guy and I'm no germaphobe, I can't say I was prepared for the whole experience, and it really bummed me out.

The moral of this story is: Keep your mouth closed when you're having a conversation with someone you don't know well enough to want to make out with.

Oh, and a snow machine makes everything better.