A few years back, I had the “honor” of appearing on a singularly god-awful Canadian basic-cable panel show called Switched, which covered the campiest recesses of television’s past and featured living exemplars of that cornball history like Erik Estrada and Jimmie Walker. Estrada wasted no time making his presence felt. I was only on set for a few minutes when, apropos of nothing, he grabbed me (we still hadn’t been formally introduced), wiggled his hair as if it were a toupee (a party trick he seemed inordinately fond of), and quipped to a crew member, “Hey man, I’ve had a toupee for 20 years now, but I’m still trying to convince my buddy over here [pointing to me, a mere human prop] to take the plunge.”
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