Wait For It… a blog by Andy Ross

Publishing Infamy

I'm hoping to one day publish lo these many humorous essays into a physical book. Or, if not a physical book, then at least an e-book I can put on my wife’s Kindle. That way, I can still drop it at college reunions and feign embarrassment. "Oh my, did I misplace my published book? How embarrassing… No no, you’ve pressed ‘menu’ by accident. Hit ‘back’ please to see my embarrassing book." (Pretty good feigning, right?)

But, here's the rub: In order to sell millions of e-book copies and afford a beautiful, energy-inefficient Mid-Century modern house, I'll need much greater name recognition. As it is, I'm jockeying for position on Google with the guitarist from OK Go. Stupid rock stars, always hogging the Google.

So, I would like to propose the following: If there are any Hollywood starlets reading this who would like to have a scandalous, tabloid-grabbing sexual tryst, please contact me. I can provide references and Polaroids.

I could be like the hip East Village DJ or vaguely European hedge fund manager boyfriend. Except instead of those things, it’d be me---comedy essayist and part-time storyteller Andy Ross! So, how ‘bout it?

I think we could really help each other add to the omnipresent publicity dross. Do you hear that buzzing sound? That could be our post-brunch paparazzi photo on Access Hollywood.

(Only early career starlets, please. I’m not looking for any leathery, spent starlets. I don’t want to seem desperate.)

Alternately, in order to gain publishable notoriety, I thought maybe I could survive some sort of harrowing disaster, like digging myself out from an avalanche or fighting off an escaped zoo tiger. I honestly considered the tiger thing, but then I remembered how nervous I get around escaped zoo tigers.

Another way I could become famous is by becoming the winning-est Jeopardy contestant ever. How hard could it be? You just ask questions, right? And, my third grade teacher, Mrs. Margaret Furnington-Hamlisch, always told me there are no stupid questions. [nods, self-satisfied]

Of course, then I thought about the time I was a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and I threw up all over guest host Shawn Robinson. They edited that part out, but she was not at all as gracious about it. I guess her dress was a loaner.

Ultimately, I’ve decided to become famous through frivolous lawsuits against chain restaurants. It’s a win-win. If I lose the court cases, I still get all that great publicity. If I win the court cases, I’ll be a millionaire. Then, who cares about publishing a book of stupid comedy essays?

So, it’s a plan. Boston Market, here I come. With a banana peel in my pocket and a dream in my heart.