Aug 24, 2020 3 min read

Recently, someone asked me, “Do you wanna be famous?” It might have been the Pussycat Dolls talking to me through the radio – but whatever. The question saddened me because I realized I was not yet famous. I’m only whipping out my pen and scrawling my stylized signature on checks – for the gas bill, phone bill, etc.

Some people are happy without fame. Happiness is all that matters, right? Um. No.

I need a little something.

I don’t want to be Madonna- or Cher-famous. I want to be famous-lite, like Jim Gaffigan or David Sedaris. Someone who can still go to the grocery store and buy toilet paper without showing up on TMZ.

“Breaking news: Michael Buzzelli caught squeezing the Charmin!”

A few years ago, I ran into Hal Sparks in Santa Monica, Calif., and I thought, “How do I know that guy? Did he go to my high school?” That’s the level of fame I want. Where people wonder, “Is that someone I should know?”

Side note: Hal Sparks, host of “Talk Soup” and the real Zoltan (“Dude, Where’s My Car?”), recently sold his modest ranch home in Venice, Calif., for $1.6 million, but most people couldn’t pick him out of a line-up. In 2012, he threw out the first pitch during a Pirates-Cubs game at PNC Park. How cool is that? That’s the Goldilocks zone of fame – just the right amount.

The question came up recently because, over the summer, I made 62 cents on my romantic comedy Christmas book, “All I Want for Christmas.” Between May and July, I sold only one copy. Sad face.

Now, I did sell oodles of them over the holidays. And the pitfall of writing a book set at Christmastime is that no one wants to read it at the beach. But still: ONE COPY!

I bet if Hal Sparks had a Christmas book he’d sell more than one copy in three months. I picture him in a local Barnes & Noble making that Z hand formation and there would be a line out the door. I bet he would sell more than one copy of a book that took place during St. Patrick’s Day. Heck, he’d probably sell more copies of a book that took place on Jan. 27, AKA National Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day.

Actually, I bet that book would really pop!

Selling one copy of a book isn’t going to get me a Jaguar. The car … not the animal … I don’t want to be the Tiger King famous. I don’t like the idea of keeping animals around that can eat me. Pause for a moment of silence for Carole Baskin’s husband. I’m convinced that all that’s left of that dude was scooped up in some giant-sized kitty litter.

But I digress, like I do. I’m not ready to give up on being famous or famous-lite. I’m going to keep writing books, columns and/or letters to Santa – whatever it takes.

At this point, I’d settle for Sally Wiggin famous.