Feelin' ways about stuff

I felt my age yesterday when I revisited a Miami high school that could be a real life version of that school from Fame. Just with better weather and nobody running around in leg warmers and leotards and randomly breaking into song.

No worries. I'm not a dirty old man who hovers around teenagers. I was there working on a story about a group of kids who designed such an impressive set of artistic, futuristic, furniture that it is on its way to Basel, Switzerland, soon to be displayed in the summer at Art Basel, one of the largest, most hoity toity art festivals in the world.

I like to think I'm a youngish hip guy still. I mean marriage hasn't completely left me in need of hip replacement.

But as I tried to connect with these kids once more to let them know that I too once frowned a lot and felt things about...other things, they just gave me that look, the same one I used to give my parents. While I am in theory old enough to be their dad, these kids could have cut me some slack, 'cause in generational terms I'm closer to them than their folks.

No dice. I'm thinking if I'd worn black jeans and black t-shirt I might have gotten in. That appeared to be the uniform for the artistic kids, whose company I really, genuinely enjoyed. One of those little brats cool kids even commented that my nicely tailored, cream colored, side-vented, single-breasted, peaked-lapel suit, purple pocket square, and sky blue windowpane shirt - that's right; I can dress myself, dammit! - reminded him of an "old" video he'd seen of Miami Vice.

Still, kids don't know everything. For example, they didn't create the first cussword substitute with "fudge it." When I was sporting my Member's Only jacket, you didn't make your swears obvious then either. Like, you wouldn't say that something was effed up. You'd say "that wangs chung!" Get it, like the band? That way you confused your parents and managed to criticize something you didn't like.

In the words of Michael J. Fox's coach in Teen Wolf, "There are three rules that I live by: never get less than twelve hours sleep; never play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city; and never get involved with a woman with a tattoo of a dagger on her body. Now you stick to that, and everything else is cream cheese."

Bet those smart Fame kids didn't know that.

We are (potentially) famous!

What's crackin' people? Almost time to head back to work.

Before I forget, I haven't forgotten that I said I'd reveal the name to my Web site. But I'm a little indecisive right now and still stuck between two names. I'll try to choose by the end of business on Monday.

Moving right along, I was just lounging and thinking about how loose a definition we've put on fame nowadays.

Sunday evening NBC aired a two hour Guinness World Records special, culminating with a live stunt in which a motorcycle rider, sped his bike through a makeshift tunnel ringed in 1,000-plus degree flames. He made it. He broke a world record for something like longest ride through a flaming tunnel.

I guess I understand people getting titles and fame for unbelievable acts.

One guy was a stunt man who got up on a 300-something foot platform and jumped onto a giant airbag. He didn't miss the bag and splatter on the ground! Or land on his face or his head. He set a record.

Another guy smashed more watermelons with his head in a minute than anyone else, assuming someone else somewhere has tried the same while a stopwatch ticked off the seconds.

A group of guys competed to see who could suck the longest spaghetti noodle into their noses and stretch the noodles intact out of their mouths.

And another guy shoved six swords down his mouth and twisted them around before yanking them out. NBC called him a sword swallower. But the swords didn't come out the other end, so as far as I'm concerned he just tasted 'em and spit 'em back out.

All stupid? Yes. But all qualified as wild and crazy acts, worthy, I guess, of a mention in a book and on an occasional TV special about odd records.

What got me though were the people on the show who "won" titles for things they allowed to happen, things that didn't require any proactive effort or even oddball talent.

There was the woman with the longest beard, who after proving she was born and still is a female, had her unusually long beard measured. She won a world record for not shaving or plucking or waxing or electrifying her chin hair.

There was the guy from India with the world's longest fingernails, and the other guy with the world's longest hair. They hadn't trimmed in 50 and 40 years respectively.

Should there really be trophies handed out for not grooming? In theory, someone, one of you perhaps could go without deodorant for the next year or so and win a title for strongest B.O. by someone in your town. Not me, of course. I treasure my sweet, sweet scent way too much.

Time for me to sign off. I'm going to go work on my world title for most consecutive years - 2.4 and counting - a guy named James Burnett has slept in this house.

See you in the record books.