On My Door - Paul McCartney

Paul McCartney knocked on my door today.
He was wearing a t-shirt with a hand
making a peace sign on it.
I invited him in,
but he said he couldn't stay
and that he had pretty much just stopped by
to see if I was planning to eat in or out that night:
"Well if you're not coming out
I'm gonna head on," he said.
My mom told me that he had
stopped by earlier to see if I could play,

but he didn't mention it.
He just walked back to his limo
and tapped on the roof
as he got it.

On My Door - My Cellphone

My cellphone knocked on the door today.

I knew that I had left it somewhere,

but I honestly couldn't remember where.

Luckily, I didn't have to remember,

much less say, where I left it because

I opened the door and there it was.

Truthfully, I saw what it was before

I opened the door because the door

has glass windows with blinds,

and the blinds were open.

I was still pleasantly surprised, though.

The blinds cut the view into

more manageable slices, and my

excitement at being reunited

might have seemed less than extreme.

But seriously, seeing the cellphone

before opening the door only

heightened my sense of relief.

On My Door - Madonna

Madonna knocked on my door today.

The storm door was not shut all the way,

and so she opened it and knocked

on the actual door. This situation resulted

in a much louder knock than my household

is accustomed to, and thus the dog went nuts.

Maybe in his mind Madonna's knock

was equal to a murderer trying to break

into the house and murder all his food.

I had been expecting Madonna, so I felt bad

making her wait outside in the cold

while I put the dog in the bedroom.

I managed to get the dog under control,

pull on some jeans, and finally, to answer

the door. But my guilt was tempered

by the fact that she was an hour early.

On My Door - Michael Jordan

Michael Jordan knocked on my door today

in the most serious way anyone could.

My utter speechlessness was met

with a look that said,

"Yes, I know you're surprised because

a world-famous person is at your door.

I get this any time I talk to people."

I tried to play off my astonishment

as though I had become instantly jaded

to the cult of celebrity.

But on the inside I wanted to ask him

to stick his tongue out and take a picture

with me. Before I could ask him

what he was doing at my house,

he held out a package of Hanes tagless t-shirts

and said, "I heard you don't do well

with tags in your clothes or lines in your socks."

I accepted the gift with a knowing expression,

and silently saluted him with the package.

I think my quietness pleased him.

On My Door - Hillary Clinton

Hillary Clinton knocked on my door today

and rang the doorbell at the same time.

I thought it was the UPS courier

for obvious reasons,

and so was surprised to open the door

and see Clinton instead of a brown-clad person.

She was on the phone, listening to someone talk.

She looked up to make eye contact

and acknowledge my presence, raising her free

index finger as if to say,

"I'll be with you in just one minute."

I was thinking,

"You knocked on my door and rang my doorbell."

But she took much longer than one minute.

In fact, she never got off the phone. Eventually,

she just went back to her car,

between two secret service men,

and was whisked away down the street

with a half-hearted sense of urgency.

On My Door - Anderson Cooper

Anderson Cooper actually used the door knocker

to knock on my door today.

He kept knocking once the door was open.

"Anderson...Anderson."

He made eye contact with me,

but kept knocking.

I was trying hard not to be the next one

to speak. I thought,

"Surely he'll stop when he's satisfied

and come in the house."

But it was as if he had heard my thoughts

and had it in his mind to be contrary.

He stopped knocking,

took one step forward,

then spun around and bolted down the steps

and across the street at a dead run.

I couldn't see him once he turned the corner

at the end of the block.

On My Door - Andy Warhol

Andy Warhol knocked on my door today.

He began to speak before

I could get the door open wide enough

to see who it was. I interrupted his already-running

harangue with a non-plussed,

"Oh, Andy, come on in."

Only, he didn't want to be invited in.

He wanted to have a vigorous conversation

with me in the house

and him on the stoop.

Well, he didn't say this exactly,

but it was obvious from his posture

and demeanor.

So we talked like that,

me and Andy Warhol,

for probably twenty minutes before I said,

"This is ridiculous, Andy."

And do you know what he said?

"Why?"