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.

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.

Ben Foster

So my wife and I decided to go downtown for a drink, which was a horrible choice by the way because apparently Sting is in town so there's nothing but douchebags out and about.

Anyways, she tells me she needs to run to the little girls room except how she said it wasn't cute or anything. She was gone for no more than a few seconds when I hear someone clearing their throat next to me. It wasn't a quick, normal throat clearing, but it was over and over, like they were obviously trying to get my attention. I look over and it's Ben Foster.

I accidentally said "Oh, shit." out loud, but only because he's scary, not famous.

"Hey, Nate. How's your night going?" He doesn't look at me when he says this, he just rubs his throat and then takes a sip of his beer.

It takes me a second to get the words 'pretty good' out, and the moment I do, he responds with 'that's good, man.'

Then he looks at me.

Super duper.

Then my wife came back from the restroom. When I turned to introduce her, he was gone.

She still doesn't believe me, but whatever. 

That guy is intense.