The second time I saw him, in a completely different neighborhood less than two weeks later, we're both waiting on the curb for an opportunity to jaywalk in a way that will allow us to avoid getting hit by all the cabs he won't take. And so now I felt like I knew the guy a little so I cautiously approach. He knows he's been seen and recognized, but his reluctance isn't from the "I'm famous, you are a speck" school of thought, but more from the "I'm a speck and I hate how awkward I feel" school, which I can relate to. So I say to him, "Hey how are you? I really enjoy your stuff. I have an aunt who likes me to do an impression of that character you do. She'll go nuts when I tell her I met you . . ." [nothing] "How you doin'? You working much these days?" [generally affirmative guttural noises] "Okay well, didn't mean to bother you. Just wanted to say I like your work." We then jaywalked together and his head hung low. It was like he wanted the company but couldn't really get himself up to the task of just going with it. On the other shore, he turns to me and says goodbye, then hunkers a little lower in his overcoat, turning uptown on Broadway, and disappearing from sight for at least a month or two.

I think the next time I saw him was at a party with Bianca Jagger, who my boss had to identify for me, 'cuz I didn't recognize her as a famous person, and honestly, didn't think she should have been, based on what I saw; Bruce Willis, whose movies were possibly the main reason for my then-active hatred for all things bipedal; and the Venerable Anthony Quinn, who actually is one of the only people I've ever been starstruck about. Quinn may have restored my faith in humanity by showing up at that party that night. A legend he is. A legend, I tell ya.

That film job I had at the time was also the reason I got to meet Bernadette Peters. Well, I didn't actually meet her, but I was standing like four feet from her for several hours while she spoke earnestly to the cameras on the need for people to participate in a charity race. I was so scared of her, but not because she was a star, but because she was just fucking gorgeous! Susan Sarandon lost her place as my favorite older woman sex symbol that day. And let me tell you this. . . the cameras do not do justice to Bernadette Peters. She is one hot lady. Obviously takes great care of herself, and isn't an asshole in person at all. The crush is still alive and well almost 7 years later. Call me, Bern.

Jimmy Fallon of Saturday Night Live stopped me one Friday night on Avenue A to ask me where Ace Bar was, and I thought I knew him, like, thought I had run into him in business or maybe he was a friend of a friend or something, and I couldn't figure out where I knew him from, so he's trying to get to the bar, and I'm just standing there saying, "Wait a minute I know you. Where do I know you from? Who ARE you??!!!" Until he finally says, "Okay, I'm on Saturday Night Live." And then relieved to get that over with I told him I'd never been to Ace Bar but if he just picked up any payphone and dialed 411, there'd be someone on the line who could tell him where it was. He seemed way too annoyed with his own fame. I didn't really figure out his name till about 11:32 the following evening.

Ellen Cleghorn from SNL was snobby too. Get the fuck off the corner of St. Mark's and 3rd Avenue, bitch! Oh, now you all miss Queen Shenequa and you think that makes you better than me? What makes you think I won't cutchoo???!!!!

The other SNL member I met was very nice. I can't remember her name. She used to be on the Upright Citizens Brigade, too. I met her at a falafel shop on St. Marks and 1st Ave., and then two other times in the neighborhood. I think she thinks I'm stalking her. I am.

David Byrne seemed to get a secret kick out of watching me try to figure out if it was really him or just a guy who looked like him. He watched as I moved in extreme slo-motion through the following: chopping the forearm in three places with the edge of the hand then slowly slapping the forehead using palm-heel. This is a VERY difficult maneuver to do while trying to remain nonchalant. Next stop 42nd street. Let 'em off, people!

I once put my head through a painting of a vagina to kiss former-porn-star/author/cervix-exhibitionist Annie Sprinkle, which reminds me of the porn I worked on once for Nicholas Guccione, son of publishing magnate Bob. "Stay on that shot of her touching her asshole a little bit longer."

I met Genesis P-Orridge of Psychic TV/Throbbing Gristle on 5th Avenue in the lower twenties a year or so ago. He was very nice, despite the fact that he secretly mutilates his own gentle portions.

I almost overlooked David Carradine in a Hollywood hotel bar. He looked like any run-of-the-mill Hollywood down-and-out'er instead of the Kung-Fu Master he truly is. And who was that old whore drinking with him??

Even Tristan Trout doesn't know about the time I was backstage at a Ramones show in Austin, videotaping an interview between my alcoholic roommate and Joey himself. Unfortunately, I wasn't also audiotaping the interview.

Goldie Hawn & Kurt Russell were at a L.E.S. bar a friend took me to. They looked completely fabulous. (YAWN!)

Somehow I was able to sneak backstage after a Clash show in the early 80s (probably their last tour before they began selling out every show) and met the guys, but I didn't really have much to say except "Hey great show!" It made me an hour late to meet my stepdad who was picking me up. The very next year I was in military school.

There was a time when I was very good at winning radio station giveaways, before the days of automatic redial. That skill brought me one day to the reception area of Houston's KLOL radio station to pick up my latest booty - still one of my favorite albums - Supertramp's "Crime of the Century". So, as I'm waiting there, there's also these grungy-looking guys sitting there waiting for someone or other to attend to them too. I was way too stoned at the time to care who they were or to imagine what they might have been waiting for. But we were all stuck there for so long that eventually one of the guys turns to me and asks me in a British accent what it is I'm doing there, and I tell him about the record I won. And he asks who it is, and I tell him it's Supertramp, and he asks if I like Badfinger, and I say, uh yeah, they're alright, and he says do you want a Badfinger album to take home along with that Supertramp album, and then I probably hesitated noticeably and then said yeah okay, and the guy leaves. He comes back and gives me the record. I look at it. It doesn't have any songs I recognize. Thanx, I say. He says sure, do you want that autographed?

And finally, probably my favorite brush with fame. I used to run into this guy Richard all the time in Austin. He knew I was in the tv and film program at the University of Texas and I knew he had this little thing he ran where he'd rent a room and a 16mm projector and he'd show art films, like Pasolini's Salo. One day we bumped into each other and he's telling me about this little movie he's making and do I wanna come down this weekend and work on it or be in it? Now, what you have to understand about Austin is everyone has either a band or a film and at least 95% of these people go absolutely nowhere with any of it. So, especially because the guy said "work on it -OR- be in it", right away I put him in that 95%, but I figured you never know, lemme see. So I asked him "When's call time?" (when crew people are supposed to show up) and he says, "Well when do you get up?" I said, "Tell me when you wanna start and that's when I'll try to make it here." He says, "Look whenever you get up just come on down. It'll be fun. We're gonna be down here all weekend. So come hang out." So I figured the guy's a joke and I didn't show up that weekend. About 8 months later a new word snuck it's way into the vernacular and getting a call through to Richard was now impossible.