Here’s something which I hope can be a regular feature, here on the BLOGZALO, wherein we will explore, not what it’s like to be a celebrity, but rather, the misadventures which occur when you forget that you are not a celebrity. If I was an A-lister, shit like this might not happen to me:

Yes, STARS: They’re not like us . . . We get stopped by the TSA. Now, let me begin with the disclaimer that I never whip out the “Do you know who I am?” speech, even in instances where I’m completely entitled. For instance, at the Los Angeles party for the premier of PR3, I was held back at the velvet rope until somebody from BRAVO PR showed up to confirm that I was ‘on the list’. I believe this happens for the same two reasons that I always get stopped by the TSA. The first one is,

Bouncers and doormen do not watch Project Runway.

This is the result of a time scheduling conflict. Essentially, if you make your living as ‘the guy at the door’ having any television habit is a distant, if not inaccessible, luxury. Think about it. You go to work, just about the time that “Everybody Loves Raymond” or “Desperate Housewives” starts, and you get home and go to bed right about the time that the early morning news shows start. You probably sleep through “Good Morning America” and get up in time to watch either a rerun of “Jerry Springer” or “Maury”. And if you’re not threatened by how ‘gay’ it is, maybe you’ll watch Oprah while you’re having your “morning” coffee. That’s it. That’s all the television you get. After you eat something, you probably run some errands, work yourself out at the gym, and/or work out one of your personal training clients at their gym, eat something again, and then start getting ready to repeat the whole cycle all over again. If you’re lucky, you squeeze in a date or two per week, and smoke a little pot to help you deal with the stress of the ubiquitous cavalcade of self-important “I’m-on-the-list-assholes” that walk up to the velvet rope every night.

Unless you are diligent with the TiVo, you’re totally SOL working the door as a bouncer. You missed David Fisher getting kidnapped by the crack fiend, as well as every incarnation of “The Bachelor”, and let’s face it, you didn’t even know that “Charmed” was on the WB, let alone, that it lasted five seasons after Shannon Dougherty was fired. Suffice it to say, tuning in to watch people whine about broken overlock machines on the “Queer Eye” network is really asking too much of these guys. Other than the music they are usually playing there, this is the main reason you will not see me inside “the hottest club in LA”.

“But that schedule does not apply to all of the TSA guys”, you might say. And yes, you are right, which brings me to reason #2:

The kind of person who wants to work in the TSA is the same kind of person that used to bully me in elementary school.

Take a look at this situation again:

I’m sorry, but even at my Rumsfeldiest, there is no way in hell that you will convince me this is an image of someone who is a threat to national security. When was the last time you ever saw a terrorist wearing a pink t-shirt, with hearts on it, and a pair of sky-blue plaid trousers? I mean, for heaven sake, what kind of threat to national security actually says “for heaven’s sake”? Don’t tell me this is proof of the “random nature” of the inspections, either, because I swear, I am stopped 9 out of the 10 times I fly. And don’t tell me it’s the mustache. This was part of an ill-fated plan to go as Freddie Mercury, that terrifying icon of Muslim Extremism, for Halloween. In a line-up it’s more likely that I’d end up being mistaken for this man:

than for this man:

I am convinced that because we live in a time of unwarranted fears, perpetuated by a reckless and greedy executive branch, that we have all become quite familiar with a pervading sense of individual powerlessness. And those who were the most powerless to begin with, like the old bullies from my grade school, feel even more powerless in this time period. The only thing they can do to combat this feeling, is what they’ve already been doing for centuries, which is to take it out on the girl-boys. And, on top of that, I think way too many of them work for the TSA. SHEESH.

I am completely serious when I say to people that I suspect the odds are more favorable that I will be injured in some instance of American anti-gay hate crime, than in some foreign anti-American terrorist incident. Let’s face it, there are a lot of people in the world that hate Americans, but there are way more people out there who hate the gays. And this brings me back to the picture.

If I ever do get injured in an anti-gay hate crime, it won’t be because I’ve been discovered taking advantage of the supreme court ruling in Lawrence vs. Texas. It will be because some day I’ll be skipping through the wrong American suburb, whistling, and wearing a pink t-shirt, with sky blue plaid trousers. I’ve said it before, “The only thing they like less than a woman in this country, is a man that acts more like a woman in this country”.

Phew. Now that I’ve got that off my chest, I’m going to need some help getting through security. Can some of you guys tell me which of the following texts I should print on a t-shirt for my future encounters with the TSA?

Terrorists don’t shop at H&M

God, I was hoping you’d wave your big beeping stick between my legs.

Metal detectors make me hard.

Admit it. Having your hands on my thighs makes both of us feel safer in a post-911 world.

PICK ME! PICK ME!

Tell me your favorite, or propose your own, and I’ll post photos of me wearing the one with the most votes the next time I go through LAX.

Thanks,
Andrae