Like so many Americans, I have a long and glorious history with Flavor Flav. Mine began in 1991, when I saw Flav and the fellas from Public Enemy fight the power and bring the noise in Burlington, Vermont (meteoroligcally and demographically one of the whitest places in the country). More recently, I have followed Mr. Flav's antics on The Flavor of Love, but because I don't have a TV at home, I only see him at the gym, where the sound is always off. So as far as I know, in addition to being the father of seven, he has become our foremost silent rapper.
Last night, a new chapter of The Book of Me and Flav was written. Having returned from a wedding (way to go, Laura and Shane!), I was waiting for my luggage with Anita, my sassy Australian paramour. Behind us was a tiny man in a Reggie Bush jersey that came down to his knees. Anita noticed a camera flash and asked me if the tiny man's shirt had anything to do with our Commander in Chief. I was deep into an explanation of the difference between Reggie and George W. when someone said, "You got your claim check, Flav?" With that, the tiny man and his entourage of two college-age white boys decamped for the lost luggage desk, with me in hot pursuit. Here we were again: me and Flav. Alas, I was too meek to ask for a picture to capture the moment, but I can tell you two things about the artist formerly known as William Drayton: 1) He's even shorter than me. 2) He was in fact wearing his trademark massive clock necklace—this one was a simple white design appropriate for air travel. I bet Flav's never late for a flight.