Photo Missed Opportunity

Another Hollywood adventure.

Misadventure, really.

This is what I get for allowing myself to be in a situation where I am on the wrong side of the velvet rope. And placing myself in the middle of the populace. The autograph-seeking, camera-popping, Doritos-munching public.

Those of you regular readers have already been subjected to my tales of unrequited (albeit harmless) affection for Valerie Bertinelli, going back to the days when Norman Lear came out with a new sitcom every week. And, after a long absence in which she had a kid, got divorced from Eddie Van Halen, and apparently ingested every jalopeno cheese popper west of Utah, Valerie has made a comeback as Jenny Craig's new spokesperson. A shrewd marketing move for an actress well aware that, even in her most adorable phases, good roles are harder to come by at the age of 47.

So, she shitcans 40 pounds, appears in a series of TV ads that also feature the House formerly known as Kirstie Alley, and, voila, Valerie Bertinelli is back. And she documents it all in her new autobiography. And the publication date comes replete with all the required promotional appearances on TV. The Today Show. Oprah's cluckfest. Larry King's nightly attack of flatulence.

And, conveniently, last Saturday's book signing at Barnes & Noble in the Grove shopping complex.

Admittedly, I have never been a book signing groupie. There are people out there amongst the great unwashed masses that will show up to see anybody wield a black magic marker across a title page. In my history, I had only done this once before. Audrey Meadows had written her memoirs and I could not resist the opportunity to shake her hand at a Fifth Avenue book store. As a matter, her hand almost came off with the slightest of motion, and I was none too surprised when she died a year later. But, other than that bone-dismembering experience, I have remained on the sidelines of most book signing events, and have preferred to enjoy multiple layers of bemusement while watching John Q. Idiot line up to meet C-listers like Marilu Henner.

Until last Saturday, when the specter of actually seeing Valerie Bertinelli in person was just too much for my normally snobbish self to endure.

My friend, Djinn from the Bronx, had told me about this event, and was a none-too-willing accomplice for the afternoon. Indeed, after once watching her drool buckets at the simple notion that Pierce Brosnan had actually eaten at the same restaurant table one night earlier, it would be fun for her to experience somebody else in the role of celebrity ogler.

Folks show up early for these things, as I soon discovered. You buy your book and get your wristband and then get herded up onto the dreaded line. I couldn't get a feel for the demographics of the people around me. It was clearly a mix of young and old, which I found fascinating given that "One Day at a Time" has gotten virtually no spins on TV Land or Nick at Nite. One woman right behind me had a baby in the pouch draped over her shoulders and I chided her for the cheap shot of bringing a cute little newborn that could potentially upstage any quality time I would be spending with Valerie. While the line was not particularly long, everybody had their recently-purchased books in hand. My guess is that several of them finished reading the book before Valerie even got there. Let's face it. It's a good read, but it's not "Crime and Punishment."

She was perfectly on-time and I was impressed by that. Of course, there was the requisite time that needed to be spent with the assembled paparazzi, who obviously were taking a day off from following Britney Spears into a CVS pharmacy. Weight loss or no weight loss, Valerie looks gorgeous and I silently start to hate my parents for never possessing the good sense to move next door to her family in Los Angeles years ago. She also shows up with an entourage that includes her boyfriend, several publicists, and her parents. The boyfriend is a ringer for an older Chris Daughtry, and he is completely bald. I curse my parents again for the good hair genes they have passed on.

While the posted signs clearly said there would be "no posed pictures," the very first goofballs on line break that embargo and hop behind the autograph table to beam right alongside Valerie. Snap, flash. One guy shakes her hand and then she tells him to go use a hand sanitizer. Hell, if she shakes my hand, I will lick it hoping that the two of us could share a rare disease together.

Since picturetaking has made the cut and is apparently being relished by our star, I quickly try to learn how to use that device on my new cell phone. While everyone else around me is enjoying the moment, I am beating myself up mercilessly for being so technologically inept. And with a full head of hair to boot.

Just as we were going to be at the head of the line, Djinn from the Bronx and I got to interact with the entourage. I was extremely noble and chatted up the boyfriend who actually laughed when I mentioned that, given the weight loss topics in the book, it was kind of ironic to make the people on line stand amidst all the dessert cookbooks. Djinn gravitated to the older age cells and engaged Valerie's parents in some repartee as if they were church visitors during coffee hour. At the same time, I feverishly worked out with her how we were going to manage the whole photo op moment. But, I inwardly worried. While I was a tech mess, my friend was not much better. Neither one of us is destined to be on the next space shuttle. Nevertheless, our turn in front of the signing table came.

Djinn from the Bronx went first and commented to Valerie how she and I had been fans for so long. Valerie asked how long we had been friends. As Djinn started to answer, I started to make a funny noise. "No, no, no, we don't go there." Valerie laughed heartily. Oh, wow, I thought. We have made a connection.

Then, Djinn assumed the role of my pimp. She said to Valerie, "Well, actually, the real reason I'm here is because of him." Meaning, me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen of Barnes & Noble, the geek stands before you. I asked for a picture with her and she willingly complied. I raced to kneel down next to her behind the table. Djinn grabbed the cell phone.

"Nothing is happening."

She tried it again.

"It's not working."

I tried to show her how to do it. Even Valerie took the cell phone and looked at the make in order to provide some advice. We tried again.

Nothing.

Suddenly, I hear the words of Secur-o-Guard behind me.

"Okay, folks, time to move it along."

Oh, my God! I am now every idiot that I have ever detested in public. If the picture ever took, it would be a chronicle of my last living moment. We tried one more time. It finally snapped. I grabbed my book and thanked Valerie. I leaned over to discuss a little business.

"When you're looking for a sitcom, I have two great ideas for you."

Valerie gave me a prefunctory "that's great," but my comment would have merited a lot more weight if my first name was Phil and my last name was Rosenthal.

And that was that.

Of course, since you're not seeing said photo posted here, you obviously can guess the unhappy ending. Djinn never saved the photo and the moment was lost. She was extremely apologetic, but I was too busy being angry at myself for the other 123 reasons. And I remembered a missed photo opportunity some years ago when my writing partner and I had a malfunctioning camera when we had met Michele Lee on a radio show. That snafu actually was a great way to jog her memory when we contacted her later on.

I read most of Valerie's book on Sunday and I realized I do have an interesting idea for her. And that I would try to pitch through the more appropriate business forums. So, perhaps, at some wrap party down the line, I will get the second shot at that picture together.

And, since she still goes to a Jenny Craig center right down the road from my office...gee, I could stand to lose 25 pounds.

Dinner last night: Sandwich and tomato soup.