After The Great Anthony Bourdain Sighting of 2011, Kendrick and I got to talking about celebrity sightings generally, and he asked me whether I’d been one of those teenagers who did things like send away for celebrity autographs. And the answer is “not really” – I sent away for exactly one, actually: I was nine or so, and I wrote to horror writer Dean Koontz asking for his autograph and “advice” (I was a weird kid). And it’s possible I may have written to Kirk Cameron – I carried around a locket with his photo in it for a year or so, so the chances are good that at some point my obsession overflowed into an attempt at actual contact – but if I did, I don’t remember it.
I did, however, meet Jason Priestley. At the height of 90210 madness. Which means he looked exactly like he does in that picture up there. And if you’re anywhere around my age, you know what I’m talking about when I say “Squee!”
He was doing some sort of meet-and-greet at Macy’s, so my best friend and I went and stood on line for hours, patiently waiting for our moment in the sun. I had all sorts of witty, guaranteed-to-make-him-fall-in-love-with-me things to say running through my head, and my friend and I worked out a plan wherein she would say something first, and then I’d say something second, and so on. And when we got to the front of the line, she held up her end of the bargain, and rattled off a giggly “HihowareyouI’msuchabigfan.”
I froze.
Could. Not. Speak.
But what I could do was take off my friendship bracelet and hold it out to him like a sacrificial offering, and so that’s what I did. And bless his heart, he put it right on his wrist and told the mute preteen with the cowlick standing in front of him that he’d treasure it forever.
And that’s why Jason Priestley will always be Brandon to me.
