I don't do the "Spot-a-Celebrity Freakout"

"OMG! I just saw ..."

Whatever. They are just people, doing a thing to make a living. I don't want an autograph. I don't want an audience with them. I don't want anything from them, except for them to get outta my way*.

Usually.

There are a few of exceptions (in no particular order):

Winona Ryder (I confessed this years ago in a weekly newspaper column)
Hillary Swank (You read it hear first)
Kurt Vonnegut (he's dead, but I'd still love to bump into him on the street)
and
The Dali Lama (He's sooooo cute. Doncha just wanna take him home? OMG!)

Those are in no particular order.

In very particular order, there's just one celebrity on top of my "OMG!" list, light years from the crowd.

Janeane Garofalo. She's got it all. No shit. ALL.

OMG!

And guess who I saw in the Village yesterday!?!?!

OMG! Oh-My-BigGee-odd!

Janeane Garofalo -- stridin', talkin' gesturin' -- just like Janeane Garofalo. That sounds kinda ridiculous when typed out, but it isn't a given. Daryl Hannah, for example, required a double take. "Is that? Maybe? Yes."

Not Ms. Garofalo. Straight up, no doubt about it. In the flesh. Right there. Yessiree. Wow. OMG ...

The best thing about this casual brush with celebrity has to be that I didn't falter, trip, exclaim, get arrested, run into anything or even wobble. But I had a really good day.

Thanks, Ms. Garofalo.

And thanks Trader Joe's ... where I found a pretty decent $3 bottle of wine about 30 minutes later. Coincidence? I think not.





* Back in my first stay in New York City, I lived for a while off Union Square. I ran into Andy Warhol ... twice. Knocked him over. Come on! What the hell? Get outta my way, Andy. "I'm walkin' here!"

Here's a fun game called "Follow the ..."

It's harmless when you get beneath the creepy surface, but sometimes I play a game called "Follow the (insert occupation here)".

This sounds pretty easy. Pick a stockbroker. Follow the stockbroker. Game over.

But I like things to be more challenging so I modify the rules. I don't know what the person does when I start following. I just have a hunch.

"That guy's a college student."

"That woman works retail ... probably accessories."

"That guy's a dental hygienist."

Once I decide who that person is, I try to follow until I prove or disprove my assumption.

NOTE: The law sometimes uses the word "stalk" here, but I prefer to use "stalk" when the following lasts several days/weeks/months, which it never does, for the record. I wonder how many ADHD stalkers are out there anyway. Very few, I'm thinking.

I lose a whole lot more often than I win, but it kills a couple of hours. Yesterday I was feeling a little blue, so to give myself a little pickmeup, I needed a big check mark in the win column.

I played "Follow the dancer."

Soooooo easy. For those of you playing the home game, here are few tips. Duck feet + super posture + neutral expression = Dancer.

Two blocks after I picked up the target, she neutrally duck footed erectly through the stage door at Radio City Music Hall.

And the winner is ... ? ME! I did a victory lap and then had some Korean food from a street vendor to dampen the excitement a little. Worked like a charm.

Race in New York City

This is arguably the most global city in the world, with more measurable ethnic groups and countries represented. That should be enough to deflate the idea of "stranger" and "other". But race is always at the very tip of the frontal lobe, unspoken, but seemingly ready when the need arises.

Today, for example, I was walking across the street at Allen and Stanton. It was a fine morning. The sun was shining, but there was a cool breeze. I think I was even whistling. I had the light. I was in the crosswalk, and a man in a maroon minivan decided it was his road. I stepped back and knocked on his rear window as he went past.

"What the hell, man! I've got the light."

Apparently, his rear window was an extension of his personal space. (Understandable. We all know a man's minivan is his castle). He slammed on the brakes, came to a stop across two lanes of Allen Street and got out of the car.

"Why are you talking to me like I'm your son?" he shouted as he walked to the median where I was standing. He was cranky. And it was a shame. It was too nice a day to have father issues.

"I was talking to you like some son of a bitch who tried to run over me in the crosswalk."

"I don't give a fuck! I'll kill your ass if I want!"

At this point, a thought bubble appeared over my head. "Oh oh, not rational." (I think I even did the confused head tilt thing.)

"Qua?"

I'm quick that way. A guy abandons his vehicle in the middle of the street, during morning rush hour, after trying to run another fellow over because the other fellow somehow sparked a deep-seated father thing. That's all reasonable. Screaming "I don't give a fuck! I'll kill your ass if I want!" after having his thoughtless transgression of traffic rules pointed out? That's crazy.

Well, now we have a situation. He's sputtering something that sounds to me like ... "@&$#&@!", in heavily accented "fucking nutz" but fluent English.

"Hey! Hey! HEY!" I shouted. He stopped his fucking nutzing for a second, so I pointed behind him and said, "Your car is in traffic. Someone might get hurt."

He turned around, got back in the minivan and drove off, but before he did he shouted, "White fagot!"

White as charged, your honor. As for the fagot thing, well ... when I got up this morning I knew the full strand of pearls was going to be a little dressy for daywear, but I thought ... "what the hay? Be bold, girlfriend."

P.S. If you are reading this, Mr. Maroon Minivan Driver. It isn't always about race. Sometimes it's because you suck ... in a color-blind way.

like Earth friendly, only not. ...

Zen Burger, 465 Lexington Avenue, which pitches itself as Earth friendly with 100% meat-free burgers, will top that veggie burger with bacon for 79 cents.

"Any problem with that? Huh? Do ya, punk?"

Kinda.

Monday morning in Madison Square Park

Good Monday morning from Madison Square Park. Actually, I'm just outside the park -- which as an FYI is blocks from Madison Square Garden -- sitting in the median between Broadway and Fifth Avenue. Its a lovely little spot, with cafe tables, decent chairs, umbrellas and FREE wireless access.

The Flatiron building is 25 yards in front of me (facing Downtown). The Empire State Building is several block uptown. Traffic is rolling on all four sides. I may have the best seat in the house for a Monday morning city rise-and-shine

The air is cool,but not cold, so I don't know what that guy just now was thinking, walking his min pin with a spiked harness, red sweater and matching booties. Rediculous, uncomfortable for the animal and unnecessary. That kinda describes the 4-inch red heels, black bubble skirt and sweater vest I saw walk past a while ago. I don't know what she did for a living, but it made me a little nervous and I was just spying.

Apparently the thing to do at Madison Square Park is stand holding a map of the city while the person you are with tries to get a picture of you (where you are recognizable as you and not some random stranger) and the entire Flatiron building. There seem to be several ways to approach this.

One is to stand close to the street while your friend gets on her belly and shoots up your nose. A modification on this is to have your friend back off about 30 feet and then get on her belly and shoot so you are shown as a short, somewhat garishly colored light pole.

Another is to stand on one of the rock slabs cut from "Stonehenge, the Musical" on Broadway and moved to the Fifth Avenue side. This seems to work better, but you have to climb from slab to slab while your partner decides which up-the-nose shot is going to look best in the vacation slideshow on Flickr.

A tree? Really? In Brooklyn? No way?

I don’t understand things sometimes. (BIG UNDERSTATEMENT) For example, Betty Smith, author of “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn”, made the statement like it was a shock.

“Holy shit! A tree grows in Brooklyn!”

Fact is, there are trees all over Brooklyn. I’m constantly bumping into them. Hell, I have one right outside my window, blocking my view.

Just one more myth busted.