starfucker.

Remember Claire Danes, of My So-Called Life and William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet fame? She is so much prettier in real-life than she is on the screen. Her skin is impossibly clear and milky, her eyes are huge and blue, and she looks great with absolutely no make-up on. How do I know this, you ask? I passed her on a stairwell at Moss in SoHo today. She looked me in the eye, smiled, and said, “Hi.” It was awesome. A few hours later, just as I closed the car door on the way to the airport, Kim the Lesbian from America’s Next Top Model walked right by my window.

I have an obsession with spotting famous people, and it honestly doesn't happen enough for my tastes. Really, though, levels of fame and/or recognition are completely subjective. For instance, when I saw Aesop Rock outside the Triple 5 Soul store, I started shaking and couldn’t really talk. The same thing happened with Christina Aguilera when she came into my place of employment on her Drrrty tour and also when I was introduced to Shepard Fairey in Vegas. It took me three interactions with Doseone (I swear, every time I’ve seen him play, at some point in the evening he ends up standing right next to me in the crowd) before I was able to tell him how great I thought he was. On the other hand, I’ve also been inches from Nelly, Will.i.am from the Black Eyed Peas, Gene Simmons, and Tommy Hilfiger, and felt nothing but slight annoyance that their entourages were getting in my way. My point is, I’m sure most of the people reading this couldn’t tell Shepard Fairey or Dose from Adam (snicker) if given the opportunity, and there are probably people out there that would trip over themselves to shake Nelly’s hand. It’s all relative, man. I guess I’m more impressed by people whose oeuvres I actually respect and admire (and yes, Xtina falls into that category).

On a vacation in Puerto Vallarta, my family happened upon Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins, and their brood in the airport. My sister and I, classy even at the ages of 12 and 16, gazed in awe at Louise and the dude from Jacob’s Ladder, while my mom chased them down the terminal and stopped them, just to commend Sarandon on the fact that she doesn’t shave her armpits. “I read it in People, and I just think it’s great. I don’t either.” I’ll leave you with that; feel free to imagine the astronomical levels of our mortification when she told us what she’d said.