Neil deGrasse Tyson

I do not claim to understand a lot about astrophysics. I do not claim to grasp even the slightest concepts of most of the stuff they talk about in science and whatnot.
But I have read a lot of stuff. If something interests me in the slightest, I usually never forget it. This explains why I'm so bad remembering the names of people I have met dozens of times and birthdays for family members and friends. I have countless little facts stored in my head about science and astronomy and comic books and movies. It's like autism, except I'm an asshole and I drink too much.
That being said, my Sundays are religiously spent on my couch to catch the latest episode of Cosmos hosted by the amazing Neil deGrasse Tyson because he talks about space and science and I like things like that.
If the topics discussed on this show were in some kind of basketball bracket office-pool thingy (I don't sports) then I would be at a 90% success rate of already knowing the basics about them at this point.

I can't name all 50 states. I barely understand how laws are made, even though I know I watched that cartoon about it when I was a kid. And, gun to my head, I would never ever be able to say the alphabet backwards unless I wrote it down first.

With all of that in mind, I am able to access and vomit up these random facts no one cares about at any point in the day, without fail. The only caveat being that I turn into a drooling lobotomy patient if someone asks me about something I know without warning. If I'm playing 6 Degrees of Separation and I'm working on John Malkovich to Macaulay Culkin, I'll be trucking along just fine and then someone randomly says 'Hey, what's the name of the actor who played Magneto in the new X-Men movie?'. You'll then need to give my brain fifteen seconds to rewire itself to that part of storage. Any other time I can spout it off no problem. Michael Fassbender. Sexy man. Great actor. Can't wait to meet him.

I'm rambling, so let's get on to the embarrassing part of my story.
Cosmos. Awesome show. Awesome host. I have always wanted to attend one of his appearances, but since they go for a hundred bucks or more and I don't even let myself buy brand name toilet paper, that's never going to happen.

So lucky me, I am strolling through some department store downtown, looking for cheap luggage (I think it was a TJ-Maxx, I'm fancy.) when I round the corner near housewares and almost head-butt Neil deGrasse Tyson in the chest. I'm not tall but I'm not that short.
The lizard part of my brain that is apparently from Canada instantly makes my mouth mutter a quick apology and I start to step around the man, when the semi-smart part of my brain says 'Dude, dude, dude, dude, DUDE!' and I say 'What?!' except I say the last part out loud and Neil steps back a foot or two, eyebrows raised and probably figuring out which Paula Deen frying pan to brain me with (that would be hilarious) if things get hairy.

Thankfully, since I've met literally DOZENS of famous people, I regain my composure fairly quick and manage to let out an actual apology for almost smearing my face across his suit. He waves it off, no big deal and asks how I'm doing. He seems so friendly and warm, his voice a comforting blanket coaxing me to let my guard down and say something ultra-tarded.

It does not fail.

"Cosmos. Space. Time. Timey wimey. Odd." These words fall out of my face before I can do anything to stop it. Neil doesn't respond at first. "Good stuff. I'm fan. Big one. Yep." That was a good finish to an awesome start. Neil nods. He gets me. It's cool.
"You like the show then?" He's allowing me the chance to make up for my face-hole noises. Nice guy. Should have walked away when he got the chance.
"Oh yeah. Like. Every day. Every Sunday, I mean. Unless I watched the show over and over again throughout the week. That would be weird. I don't. That's not me. That's not what I'm about."
Boom. Nailed it. My lizard brain and semi-smart brain are high-fiving the shit out of each other and my stomach brain decides now is a great time to tell me that we needed a toilet four minutes ago.
I will not be deterred.
"But yes. Sunday night. Me and the wife. We do. I explain things to her. Sometimes. She's not stupid. She's just... she like things. Other things. Twilight. I know, right? Horrible. I read too. Books. We have a bunch of books. I hang them on the wall sometimes. Made them into shelves. Shelves out of books. I've read a lot of them. I really have."

You can read?

And I'm supposed to be good at meeting famous people.

Neil smiles and I'm pretty sure it was genuine. "Well, it's always nice to meet a fan. You have a good day now, Nate."

"Thanks, Neil. You as well, wait... Do you know me?"

"Nope." Neil looks me right in the eyes and backs out of the aisle, disappearing around the corner.

A split second later the fire alarm goes off and I run to the exit, scanning the crowd for a tall, dark genius. 

I never saw him again.

And that was the third worst day of my life.

**EDIT**
Macaulay Culkin to Eliza Dushku to Matt Damon to Brad Pitt to John Malkovich.
If anyone can do it better, I really don't give a shit.

Nathan Fillion

I sent Nathan Fillion a tweet once, as a courtesy, seeing as how we share a name.

I have not heard back and I am scared to say anything further on the matter until I get word from him*.

In this picture I am Alicia Silverstone. Too afraid to say anything to those arms.

I imagine that when we meet it will be pleasant for all parties involved.

P.S.

Bring back Firefly!

*I kept looking behind me while writing this.

Morgan Freeman

I don't really have a lot of clothes that require dry cleaning, but from past mistakes I have learned that I am not smart enough to clean my own sweaters unless I want to go into business selling little argyle sweaters for dogs or Kate Moss.

There is one dry cleaner that I go to and I refuse to go to any others. Not because they are the best or the owners speak the most English, but because I can see them from my front door and I didn't feel like Google-searching dry cleaners reviews. Same reason I pay $2 extra for a 12 pack of shitty light beer than other people: I'm lazy.

I open the door on a lazy Tuesday afternoon and in the corner next to the shreds of decades old Newsweek and Time magazines with a few plastic lawn chairs is Morgan Freeman idly sipping on a coke.

I walk over to make sure I'm not just seeing things, but yes. It's Morgan Freeman. Just hanging out in a dry cleaners.

"Hey, Mr. Freeman. Are you picking up an order?" And in his worldwide recognizable baritone that is both comforting and yet a force to be reckoned with, he answers "No, Nate. I'm just wasting time."

"Wasting time at a dry cleaners? I think your options for time-wasting activities would be a little more exciting, no offense."

"Oh, none taken. I just like going to dry cleaners from time to time and judging people."

"I'm sorry, judging people?"

"Oh you know. A lady comes in. Picks up her clothes. Turns and sees me. As she gets that gleam of recognition in her eye, I look down at her shoes or her dress, or whatever, then back to her eyes and sadly shake my head."

"So the joy of seeing Morgan Freeman in public is quickly replaced by the crushing depression inflicted by him hating on your outfit?"

"Precisely."

"That's odd. Are you drunk?"

"No, why do you ask?"

"No reason. Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Freeman. See you around. Maybe."

"Aren't you picking up some dry cleaning?"

"I'm not gonna risk it. My day is going too good."

And just then, Morgan Freeman's eyes quickly glance down to my old pair of Wal-Mart jeans that don't fit right on my pale little chicken legs, and then back up to my eyes. His lips draw to a tight thin line and, almost imperceptibly, his head gives a little shake.

That was a shitty day.

"Maybe shop Target, you cheap sonofabitch."

Charlie Sheen

There's this little hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar I go to that's just up the road from my house. It's the kind of place where anything can happen, but usually nothing too bad or fucked up. Usually. I don't even go there to sing, it's just a nice place where everyone knows everyone. The karaoke list is huge too. Whatever.

So I'm hanging out one afternoon, wasting the day, reading a book, when someone places a dirty, shaken, vodka martini in front of me. Now, I'm usually a strictly beer and tequila drinker, but something about that kind of martini just makes me feel good. I might even pass up a free shot of tequila for a $10 martini.

Expecting to see someone I actually know holding the martini, I look up to see the casual, psychotically expectant face of Charlie Sheen. A cold chill runs along my spine and he winks at me then says "Hey, Nate. Thought you could use a nice drink to help that book go down smoother."

Letters and alcohol. Whatever, I can't read.

"Wow, um, thanks Charlie Sheen. That's awesome." 

"Anytime. I'll see you around." He gives me a thumbs-up and walks out of the bar into the sunlight.

The bartender comes over and says "What the fuck. I think he brought that martini in with him."

"Yea, I figured." I turn and dump the martini into a trash can and go back to my beer.

I don't go to that bar anymore.

Joan Allen

Christmas of 2006 I found myself wandering around a Virgin Records Superstore in god-knows-what-city. It had been 3 days since I had been back to the hotel where I was staying with some friends from Denver, and I wasn't even sure if they were still here in town. But for some reason, none of this seemed to matter to me, and I was desperate to find some album in the store. I think it was a Weird Al's Greatest Hits or some shit, I don't remember and details aren't the biggest parts of my stories, so get over it.
I'm in the Jazz section which is also fuckin' weird cause I hate Jazz. I need more stability than that in my life, I guess. I turn to find my way back into a section that's more my age range, I see Joan Allen casually reading the back of a Pat Metheny CD case.
"Holy shit." I accidentally blurted out. Her eyes flicked up to me, there was an almost imperceptible twitch at the side of her mouth, then she looked back down at the album.
The gentleman that I am, I quickly offered an apology and was about to continue on my way, but she stopped me by saying "What are you sorry for, young man?"

Meow

My mind was spinning, my palms were sweaty and I was pretty sure I wasn't even drunk, but out of my mouth came "You're so goddamned hot, and this store is so goddamned shitty, it just caught me off guard. Sorry, Joan Allen. I don't usually cuss this much." Bullshit, I thought.
"Bullshit." she said.

We both laughed for a second, then she said "I'll see you around."

I have no idea what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

Kevin Spacey

So I'm walking around London on Ufford St trying to get back to Blackfriars Rd when I come upon a man jiggling the handles of every car he's passing by. I stop and light a smoke (this was back when I smoked, but I can't remember when) and wait for him to notice that I'm watching him looking for an unlocked car that is obviously not his.

He doesn't notice me and passes within 2 feet of me. Finally, two cars down from me, he stops and looks back. It's an obviously inebriated Kevin Spacey. Not surprising, really, considering the Old Vic is somewhere around here. His head bobbing in the haze of whatever he was drinking (I'm no pro, but I think it was absinthe mixed with Jose Cuervo), he looks in my general direction, gestures to the current car he is trying to break into and mumbles something about his dog was in the car, so he needs to get her out.

I smile and nod politely then continue on my way. I hadn't taken more than 3 steps when I hear the smashing of a car window and turn to see Mr. Spacey frantically crawling through the newly opened window.

I DID IT!! I DID IT ALL BY MYSELF!!!

I wait for a minute and smoke the rest of my cigarette. When it was clear that he wasn't going to accomplish much else inside the car, I crept over to the window and peered in. He was passed the fuck out, head in the backseat, feet resting on top of the steering wheel. There was no dog in sight.
I made it back to my hotel in one piece and American Beauty was available to rent.

London was nice. The food, not so much.

Ryan Gosling

So thanks to this website, a lot of famous people and celebrities have been seeking me out on their own in order to change how they might look or sound on the internet when I inevitably write about it*.

I was sitting near a Jamba Juice one day, not drinking Jamba Juice but reading a beer, I mean a newspaper, when Ryan Gosling comes sauntering up to me. Sauntering is a perfect word for how he walks. A better way to describe how he was walking would be to say 'Ryan Gosling was walking over to me when he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and then realized he was Ryan Gosling and his legs did too.'

Anyways. He's getting pretty close to me and I see him beginning to realize that he's here to talk to me, not to keep looking at his reflection, so I did the only thing I could do; I jumped up and ran like I was being chased. Ryan Gosling began to run after me and I could tell he wanted to yell something to me, but then probably remembered that he can't form his own opinions unless it's right after he became famous for The Notebook or if someone asks him about his abs or grinning.

I got away but my wife still talks about him and his movies or face or something.

This is the worst picture of Ryan Gosling I could find, and I bet people will fucking love it.

* Not true at all, but that would be pretty awesome, right?

Harrison Ford

On a beautiful Tuesday morning last summer I was heading into my local coffee shop and there in front of me on his way out was Harrison Ford.

Before I could even think, my hand shot up and in the blink of an eye his hand was up and connected with mine in the perfect high-five.

It sounded like a cannon slapping a face in the middle of a concert hall.

Boom. You're welcome.

Everyone in the coffee shop turned to look in awe. I bit back the tears because it hurt my hand like a sonovabitch.

And without a word, he was gone. 

My coffee tasted like shit, but it was a good day overall.

Sean Penn

So I'm at a bar and it's super busy and I elbow my way up to the front so I can signal to the bartender. I nudge the guy to my right a little too hard and his drink splashes on his hands.
"Hey!" He yells, "Watch out!" And it's totally Sean Penn.
I say "Hey, Sean Penn. You were awesome in that one movie where you were like Forest Gump except twitchier. Sorry I spilled your drink."
"Thanks, man, it's cool." He smiles and wipes his hand off with a napkin then turns away to talk to his friend.
I get my drink and walk away.