I have an autographed picture of Jimmy Stewart in my bathroom. I know that hardly sounds like a place of honor but it is in the same bathroom with my Peter Jackson autograph so please accept that only the most important stuff that I couldn’t fit on other walls in my house are found in that bathroom.
The autograph came with a certificate of authenticity so while I don’t know for a fact that it is real, I’m confident enough. It is either an autograph by him or by someone who has spent a lot of time learning to copy his signature. One has to admire that amount of effort.
I can’t communicate with Stewart’s spirit because psychics aren’t real. Also, Stewart was a lifelong conservative so he might resent ending up in some liberal atheist’s house just to verify an autograph. Given all of this, I’m going to live my life as if the signature is genuine.
It makes me sad, though, that the picture of Stewart isn’t joined by pictures of Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn.
If that was the case, I’d have the three leads of Philadelphia Story on my bathroom wall, and boy would that be something.
I’m not saying that to brag. I mean, if I was trying to brag, I wouldn’t admit that I look at this poster every time I poop, would I?
OK, fine. I’m bragging just a little bit.
I’m not a big memorabilia collector. When it comes to autographs, I place far more value on a genuine interaction with another human being than I do on their signature. Still, it’s pretty damn cool that I got to see an advance premiere of Return of the King with Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens and Peter Jackson and Peter signed a poster for everyone in the room.
The story is a lot more interesting than the autograph, actually. I could’ve forged the autograph. It could have been stamped on by a printer.