“Actor Jon Hamm Gets Coffee in Westchester” — lohud.com
What a perfect headline — simple, direct, and so splendidly vacuous that you might think it was meant as Seinfeldian-style satire.
But you would be wrong.
There wasn’t much of a story at all; it amounted to a routine, colorless “celebrity sighting” at the popular Sunshine Coffee Roasters in Rye, which gladly accepted the free plug. The item was also a bit stale (a big no-no in the gossip world), having been published online 14 days after the handsome star had his picture taken with the beaming proprietor.
Predictably, critics piled on with the usual knee-jerk complaints about the sad state of journalism. One Facebook wag posted the comment: “Hamm in Rye, Hold the Mahopac.”
The writer Joe Queenan, who lives in Tarrytown, coined the term, “festive idiocy” to describe the celebrity worship that is allegedly practiced by our local press. Loosely defined, festive idiocy means gratuitously emphasizing the fact that a famous person lives in Westchester or once lived in Westchester — or once passed through Westchester. An example would be the long-running fascination with David Letterman, from his prolific run of speeding tickets to his $5 million purchase of an 88-acre North Salem estate in 1994. The now-defunct Reporter-Dispatch covered the house-buying story, and even included a list of Top 10 Reasons David Letterman is moving to North Salem — “No. 5: Can car pool to the city with Waccabuc resident Bryant Gumbel.” Queenan would sarcastically call this a “heroic attempt” of festive idiocy. (Incidentally, I’m a festive idiot for pointing out that Queenan lives in Tarrytown.)
There are a lot of so-called celebrities around here — Bedford, for example, is our Beverly Hills. We’re lousy with “boldfaced names,” and I confess I could walk past half of them on the street and be blissfully unaware of who they are. No offense, but who is Shaboozey?
In this post-analog world of niche entertainment, I suspect I am not alone. Here’s a test: Look up People magazine’s most recent list of “most intriguing people” and see how many you’ve heard of. I could only identify nine out of 25, and one of them was Travis Kelce’s mother.
Anyway, I have a general rule of thumb when it comes to celebrities. If I saw, say, Tom Hanks, in the meat section of the Bronxville Acme, I’d just leave him alone. For one thing, he might not be Tom Hanks, but just a guy who looks like him, and if I started in with “Wilson! I’m sorry Wilson!” or some other line from the actor’s many great films, then I’d look like a festive idiot 10 times over. I’m sure there are a lot of Tom Hanks look-alikes out there.
My son Jack happens to bear an uncanny resemblance to Justin Timberlake. Countless strangers have pointed this out, and some believe he actually is Timberlake. Usually, he discourages such notions but to a group of ecstatic Girl Scouts, he once said, “Shhh… don’t tell anyone.”
In another encounter, he agreed to take a selfie with a married couple from China. Things got a little weird. “The wife got very close to me,” Jack recalled. “She really got in my space and the husband said, ‘No! No!’”
I’d like to think there is a framed photo of my son hanging in a special place somewhere in Guangzhou and it is cherished by that couple who met an American celebrity and are lording it over their friends.
Predictably the instances of being told he is Timberlake’s doppelganger dramatically increased over the summer when the real singer-actor was arrested for driving while intoxicated in the Hamptons. Indeed, the story never seemed to die and even created a kind of Justin Timberlake Derangement Syndrome, expressed in an op-ed piece in The New York Times in which the writer Jennifer Weiner, after listing all of Timberlake’s alleged failings, bitterly concluded that his career would not be harmed.
“Canceled white guys rarely stay canceled,” she wrote, conveniently forgetting the career struggles of Kevin Spacey, Louis C.K., James Franco, and a whole host of others permanently consigned to Cancel Culture Hell.
Timberlake’s biggest worry might be that the young cop who stopped him later claimed he had never heard of him.
Such existential angst recalls the case of Chevy Chase who (festive idiocy alert!) lives in Bedford.
While driving on the Cuomo bridge in 2018, Chase got into a road rage fight with a man about one-third his age. Chase, who took a hard kick in the chest, reportedly yelled, “Do you know who the (expletive) I am?” It turned out that the young man did not recognize Chase, even after a Google search.
Loosely defined, festive idiocy means gratuitously emphasizing the fact that a famous person lives in Westchester or once lived in Westchester – or once passed through Westchester.
Chase’s catchline used to be “I’m Chevy Chase, and you’re not.” Sadly, on that day, he learned he wasn’t either.
Warning to Jon Hamm: Fame is fleeting.
The opinions and beliefs expressed by Phil Reisman are his alone and do not necessarily reflect those of Westchester Magazine’s editors and publishers. Tell us what you think at edit@westchestermagazine.com.
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