Brief but important update.
One thing I love about living in NYC is the celebrity sighting. Just walking down the street, you get an odd feeling that you know that guy/gal, and why is he so familiar? As is often the case with me, the pieces fall together after you're several paces past the time when you could say something without looking like a total spaz.
All that is left is to bug your eyes and do a doubletake in the style of a Tex Avery Cartoon.
This exactly what I did when I saw Droopy in Columbus Circle.
Sightings of mine include:
Phillip Seymour Hoffman.
Oscar the Grouch. Surprisingly polite, actually.
Mary Louise Parker. I nearly had a heart attack this time, because I love her.
But not as much as:
Elizabeth Stamatina Fey.
So yeah, I've had a good run.
But I got one more to add to the list on Monday. I was heading from my place of employ to a class I'm taking about Comedy writing for TV.
I was just about to go underground to wait for a train when my Spidey-sense started tingling.
I was looking at a middle aged man with a salt and pepper beard and couldn't place him for .034 seconds. Then it hit me. Every available detail about his life in my vast cinematic trivial library head except his name.
ARGH. Come on Brain, think. Nikita, Leon, Mission: Impossible, Godzilla, Ronin, Pink Panther, Da Vinci Code, for the love of God, he's the only french actor anyone has ever heard of (No, not Gerard Depardieu).
I would feel foolish approaching this man and fan-geeking out without being able to adress him properly, so I let the moment pass. Then I stood on the platform for another few minutes. It was when I stepped through the doors onto the train that my neurons finally aligned and the name hit me.
Ok, fine. I'm probably more excited by that than anyone reading this (except maybe Honus), but the man is awesome.
That's all I had to say. It was actually longer than I expected.