It’s New York City, You’ll Never Know Who You’ll Meet

“Oh. My. God. I just, like, walked into George Clooney. George. Cloooooooney!” Rebbecca was so excited she nearly tossed her venti caramel machiato onto my white winter coat. “Aaaaaaaaaaand I got his autograph! Swooooon.”

I looked at Rebbecca with envy. For someone that’s spent 25 years living in and around star-studded New York City, I never meet anyone famous, let alone get their autograph.

Actually, that’s not true. I have “met” famous people. I once practically crashed into Tino Martinez, one of my all-time favorite Yankees, walking to MoMA. Even though my latte splashed on his running shoes, I never thought to ask him to sign the baseball and glove I keep in my purse. My celebrity encounters, like probably most people’s, are generally awkward and typically fall into one of the following categories:

1.Famous People I went to School With — Columbia is a magnet for famous people, but my grade school boasted a few future celebrities… too bad I didn’t get them to sign my yearbook.

2. Famous people I’ve tripped or nearly tripped — Vera Wang, Fern Mallis, and Ronan Tynan of the Irish Tenors would be included in this large group. (A subcategory of this might be entitled “Famous People I spilled Stuff On”)

I was once an extra in a Joan Rivers TV show. My Fanatic fan ways may prevent me from ever having a viable acting career

3. Famous People I could have Met — This list could go on for ages, but my favorite is James Franco. I was a graduate student at Columbia at the same time Franco was getting his MFA in the Columbia School of the Arts. Later, my time at MoMA coincided with his own MoMA appearance. I frequently saw the car that brought him places, but I never once encountered the over-achieving Hollywood Renaissance Man in the flesh. Meanwhile, one of my college fencing teammates not only met him, but had coffee with him. She was thin, blond, leggy and two-faced — some girls have it all.

4. Famous People I Met, but Surely Creeped Out with My Over-Aggressive Enthusiasm — Joan Rivers and Sloane Crosely. My “Oh my god! My mother and I are just like you and your daughter! Except, my mother’s had hip replacements, not cheek replacements, so she can move her face,” and “I want your career, in fact, I want to be you,” were met with fearful eyes that read: I’m going to need a restraining order against this girl.

Famous Athletes I've Met, but Pretend to be one of them...the exception is Evan Lysacek. He's just too pretty.

5. Famous Athletes I’ve Met, but Don’t Ask for an Autograph from because I’m trying to pretend I’m one of them — Given that I’ve grown-up in the company of Olympic medalists and that I once considered myself an Olympic contender, I try to act unphased by their achievements even though I’m in awe beyond awe. The exception to this is Evan Lysacek. I shamelessly had a friend ask Evan if I could take a picture with him.

6. Famous People I’ve met But Didn’t Realize They Were Famous Until I Went Home and Googled Them — Most recent example: at my favorite lounge, the cocktails are pure perfection and staff is family. My friend and I wiggled into an open spot at the bar next to an older gentleman with white hair and a familiar face. The head bartender kindly introduced us to the man, his friend Jeffery. Jeffery asked us if we had tried the cherry garnish — it was the best cherry garnish he’d ever had. Later, after some computer stalking, we found out his friend Jeffery was the legendary Jeffery Steingarten. Iron Chef America groupie fail.

I’ve Always Had a Thing for a Guy with an Oscar

My Dear Readers, a few weeks ago, when I wrote about Richard Armitage, “Spooks,” William Blake tattoos, and my un-concealable nerdiness, I told you that I don’t have celebrity crushes, that “I can’t be bothered wasting my time fantasizing about the perfectly formed pectorals of some actor I’m never going to meet.”

Well, after some consideration and reflection on my younger years, I realized I lied to you all.

It’s true that Matt Damon’s marriage to Luciana Barroso ended my daydreams about wooing and wedding one of Hollywood’s leading men — I’ve come to accept that not everyone is a Katie Holmes (thankfully?). But such was not always the case…

J.T.T. my 12-year old crush

I’m waving the white flag. I surrender. I confess. I wrote a love letter to Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

and to Jordan McKnight… even though I couldn’t even  hum a single New Kids on the Block Song.

Once I moved out of my tween years, I went starry-eyed for Hugh Dancy and Hugh Grant while Russel Crow gave me palpitations (I always had a thing for fellas with an accent).

In early college, a friend and I would burn up study sessions planning how we would meet Ryan Gosling (hers) and Matt Damon (mine), win their affection, secure ourselves as Oscar dates, earn many-carat engagement rings, and live happily ever after. (Don’t judge too harshly… they were advanced calculus study sessions…we deserved the distraction.)

And then came December 9, 2005. Matt Damon got a Mrs. and I got a reality check. Now, rather than embodying the objects of my affections, hunky actors only typify my real-world “type.”

So if you know any “Richard Armitages” or “Gerard Butlers,” please, please send them my way.

Just in case you thought otherwise, Richard Armitage further proves I’m a Nerd

I just started watching season 7 of BBC’s “Mi-5” (“Spooks” to the UK audiences). It’s a pretty fantastic show, with a cast of characters who are smarter, more badass hybrids of James Bond and Jason Bourne. Fellas, you’ll love it.  Characters come and go from season to season, the wingmen go missing and the Alpha-1s get blown up. So it goes. Luckily, with each loss comes a new face. This set of episodes introduces Richard Armitage as Lucas North, a recovered field agent who spent the last 8 years in a Russian prison. And boy, oh, boy! How lucky we are to have Lucas North.

Now, I have a bit of a crush on Richard Armitage. He was a stellar Mr. John Thorton in the adaption of Elisabeth Gaskell’s “North and South” (easily the most romantic on-screen kiss in history).  You should know by now I don’t hide the fact that am a sucker for those 19th century Brit-Chick-Lit heroes…

For the record, I don’t gush over celebrities. I can’t be bothered wasting my time fantasizing about the perfectly formed pectorals of some actor I’m never going to meet… but of course that doesn’t mean I can’t admire said pectorals when they’re flashed for audiences on the boobtube…

I had nothing to do with that caption...

And yet, when Richard Armitage took his shirt off in episode 7.1 of Spooks, I totally missed the opportunity to drool. I was distracted by something else:

Is that a tattoo of William Blake’s etching “The Ancient of Days” on his chest?

Of course. Leave it to me to look at a semi-naked man and think masterpiece of Western Art.

And still they wonder why I haven’t found a rich husband…