Pride and Go Seek

The spotlight is a fickle flame.

Every day, new movies, tv shows, and music singles are released in effort to launch Hollywood’s next young face into mega stardom. It works out well for both parties. The studio gets to be the one who fondly gets looked back upon when VH-1 does their requisite “Before They Were Famous” special a premature 2 years from now. And the young face gets to become an old face, but making lots and lots of money in the process.

For music, look no further than American Idol. Last week Taylor Hicks won the big show, and will soon release his first single that will no doubt take the airwaves by storm. (Am I sarcastic? No-ooooh-oh!) Two years from now, we’ll you back on Taylor Hicks and mistake him for ESPN’s Pedro Gomez. You’ve gotta have staying power in this business, or two years from now your going to start defaulting on mansion payments, the police will put a boot on the landing gear of your private jet, and you’ll have to wait in line at Wegman’s like everyone else. (You didn’t know that famous people hover through line? Yeah, it’s one of the perks.)

Once the America popular eye passes you by, though, glamour is reduced to a magazine that your gravity-laden self can flip through while at that supermarket checkout. Some of the former famous take it in stride. Others can’t handle the lack of heat, and end up working in a kitchen. And then there’s that group of folks who remain shell-shocked, trying to pick up the pieces and figure out where it all went south.

Case in point: Waldo.

This guy is the perfect rags-to-riches stardom story. In his early twenties, with a newly-minted liberal arts degree from Brown, Waldo struggled to find a job in the early 90’s recession. All of his friends told him that computers or business would be the future, but he insisted on the comfort of poring over 19th century transcendentalist thinkers like Thoreau and Emerson.

Since Monster.com was still a decade away and peering the NY Times job ads only left Waldo dismayed and covered in printers’ ink, the man decided to get away from it all. He packed up his hiking backpack, donned his trusty wire-rimmed glasses and wool cap (Big Apple winters are COLD) and set out to see the world. (Little known fact: Waldo actually was planning to wear his kick-ass bomber jacket that his brother Iceman gave him as a graduation gift, but while lamenting the plight of the divine soul in Central Park a large dog chewed it to shreds. Needing warm clothing, he settled for the ugly candy-cane sweater his aunt gave him. This would become his trademark.)

For no real reason, this rookie world traveler with a mysterious funding source was able to travel the globe, seeing far off lands and meeting unique groups of people – really tremendous for an unemployed guy with a massive NYC monthly rent charge. He could be found at the beach, on the slopes, chilling with red dwarves, underwater, in the airport, at the fairground – you name it, that guy was there. And like Jim Carrey in the Truman Show, EVERYBODY wanted to see him. Hell, this phenomenon steamrolled to a point where Waldo would hike to a place where the tourists would dress similar to Waldo, but not exactly.

To date, I can’t explain the infatuation the world had with his one guy. Sure, you had to admire his zeal for life and his ability to blend in with local culture. I’m surprised the paparazzi never got a close-up – it was always large two-page panoramics, and that’s it. This man was a legend.

But where is he now?

It’s been 13 years since the height of one man’s captivating hold over the world’s eye. And like I said earlier, the spotlight is indeed fickle. For Waldo, the world traveler, is now hawking Xerox machines.

Coming to a Kinko’s near you: Taylor Hicks.