The Name-dropper

I was recently accused of being a name-dropper.

At first, I was confused.

I mean, I didn’t even know how one would drop a name. Were other people carrying around names? Lots of names? So many names that they were at risk of letting them fall through, or out of their hands?

And what were the names printed on? Index cards? 40 lb printer paper?

And then I wondered, is littering the real issue? Did they see me litter?

(I don’t litter!)

I spent way too many hours thinking about the logistics of dropping names, and thinking about which font I should use.

(Futura.)

And then I realized that dropping “names” was probably the new code word for dropping acid, or partaking in some other type of illegal narcotic.

But that made no sense because I don’t do drugs.

And then I thought I should probably just google “name-dropper” (rather than have an existential crisis).

This is what Wikipedia had to say:

Name-dropping is the practice of mentioning important people or institutions within a conversation, story, song, online identity, or other communication. The term often connotes an attempt to impress others; it is usually regarded negatively, and under certain circumstances may constitute a breach of professional ethics.

Okay, that is obviously not me.

I definitely DO NOT mention important people or institutions within a conversation, story, song, online identity, or other communication to try to impress others.

And I never breach professional ethics!

Also, I don’t know how to write a song.

I mean, yes… I did write a blog post about that time I received a letter from Steven Spielberg, and that time I attended Elton John’s Oscar Party, and that time I propositioned Jimmy Kimmel, and that time I was in a sketch with Amy Poehler, and that time I shopped for Danish modern furniture in Silver Lake with Thom Yorke, and that time I went to Sting and Trudie Styler’s auction, and that time I dared my husband to follow Emilio Esteves into the washroom, and that time I hung out with Elijah Wood, and that time when I sat in the front row at a Martin Short show and he gyrated in my face while wearing a nude bodystocking with drawn-on genitals... but…

Okay, I see it now.

Sorry.

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