It can happen anywhere and you'll never see it coming. Maybe you're at a Starbucks in Montecito in Santa Barbara county. Or perhaps you're at Waffle on Sunset in Hollywood. Or maybe you'll be in Vito's on La Cienega in West Hollywood. It just happens.
Although, at Waffle something different happens. Silvana (@<a href="http://twitter.com/silvanagargione" target="_blank">silvanagargione</a>) and I are sitting at a table, we've ordered some tasty lunch treats, we're talking shop, catching up, telling stories abou ::pop::
Just like that it happens.
Although the pop also sounds a lot like a shatter.
Within the entire length of a nanosecond the glass of water in front of you, the one that looks exactly like the one in front of Silvana, the other glass of water dressed with a lemon slice, your glass of water pops - cracks - full-around the circumference and the top part of the glass slides off but stays propped up by the straw. Water escapes across the table. It just happens and as odd as it is, that is not what I'm talking about.
What happens is that subconsciously everybody in the greater Los Angeles area is constantly waiting to run into a celebrity. Maybe not literally run. Perhaps bump into or see. Just see. Constantly subconsciously waiting for a celebrity sighting. So they can Twitter it, blog about it, call their best friend from back home and gossip about it.
Sometimes this subconscious notion is so overpowering that people begin to see celebrities everywhere. Like, for instance, in the faces and mannerisms of everyday citizens. Yes, in the greater Los Angeles area and regions stretching as far as Santa Barbara, you are either a celebrity or a citizen. Eh, it could be worse.
What happens is someone (usually a complete stranger) says something to the effect of, "you probably get this a lot, but you look like that guy from..." and here is the kicker, they tend to forget the name of the movie or the TV show, but in most instances this sentence ends with "king of queens" or "the hangover." Sometimes I have to finish the sentence for them.
In every instance I have to tell said stranger the name of the person I am not. His name is either Patton Oswalt or (if I have facial hair) Zach Galifianakis.
Essentially either of these is a compliment in my estimations, as both Patton and Zach are incredibly funny and talented, but neither of these gentlemen are Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp. Catch my drift? These you-probably-get-this-a-lot moments teeter on the verge of being insults, mostly because it's an image-based inquiry. Alas, most people try and convince me that it's all in the face. In the eyes.
Whatever, the larger problem, understand, is that in the eyes of said stranger I just look like "that guy from that... you know.”
You see, no one ever remembers the names of the two guys I somewhat kind of in a weird light might possibly from some angle maybe look like. So in fewer words said stranger is actually telling me that I resemble a slightly unattractive, overweight person who made them laugh because they were incredibly funny but not quite memorable enough to remember their name. Swell.
I'm "that guy."
Someday somebody might tell you that you look a lot like that guy who once wrote a blog about how he resembles these other unremarkable gentlemen. I kid, surely they are remarkable. In any instance, if Zach or Patton should happen upon this blog, I just want to say, your language is offensive... and I'll be at the nearest KFC devouring a failure pile in a sadness bowl if you care to find me.