No Autographs, Please

I've never really met anyone famous. Sure, as a reporter I interviewed the occasional state governor. And I once had a ten minute conversation with guy who bore an uncanny resemblance to Ted Kennedy. But other than that, my unusual life experiences seldom involve brushes with celebrity (and when they have, I've generally relied on someone else to assign a name to the familiar face).

Perhaps my lack of experience is thus to blame for the surreal nature of tonight's bike ride.

I hadn't been out for a ride in over two weeks... in part because of vacation, in part because I've been tending to a not-so-bright cat. My temperament and energy levels require regular exercise (and sleep), and this lapse in both has made me rather cranky. And yet, for whatever reason, I was averaging speeds that are normally difficult for me to maintain in this (often crowded) bike path. I think I was trying to prove to myself that I could "go fast" despite my "recent laziness."

I was more than halfway done with my ride when I entered into a particularly busy patch of people. I slowed down a bit and kept my head up, weaving around one group of walkers and then coming up behind another cyclist when someone in the southbound lane caught my attention.

Is that... Hey, I think that's...

"SHAKE N BAKE!" I hear the cyclist in front of me yell, altogether confirming my suspicions.

(Shake 'n Bake is a reference to Talladega Nights, for those of you who haven't seen the move.)

"So that is who I thought," I said to the cyclist as I approached him.

"Yeah, I went to high school with 'em," the guy responded.

"Cool," I said, eyeing the clearing ahead and regaining enough speed to pass the-guy-who-went-to-school-with-John-C-Reilly.

As I continued on, I spent much of the remaining ride home thinking about who I'd just seen. My thought process went a little like this:

John C doesn't wear a helmet! Was he wearing jeans? He sure looked tired! I think that was a mountain bike, but I'm not sure. Man, what an actor. What's Eating Gilbert Grape. Magnolia. Good Girl. Yes! Good Girl. This guy's been in some of my favorite movies. Heck, he's a big reason I've enjoyed some films. I can't believe he hasn't won an Oscar yet. I wonder if he'd get mugged for autographs if he stopped his bike to rest, if only for a minute... Is he that famous yet?

And then, for the same reason I was initially excited to have just ridden my bike past one of my favorite actors... I started to feel a bit sorry for him.

Can he stop for a break? What's it like trying to work out in a city that isn't Hollywood (and so, isn't a place where people are surrounded by celebrities)? Sure, he doesn't draw the same attention as folks like Tom Cruise, Angelina Jolie and the like... but I suspect he has the occasional dinner interrupted. I mean, someone did yell at him while he was in the middle of the ride. Does he appreciate the recognition? Or resent that he can't ride in peace?

And then I started to think about a book I read a couple years ago that presents an honest view of man's daily existence. I consider this to be the shorthand version. In other words: much of what we do with ourselves — raise families, work, own cars, fight wars — is just our way of denying our mortality. Ditto with going to the movies, and obsessing over celebrity magazines. Sometimes when we fail to be great, we live vicariously through those that have... be they criminals, athletes, politicians, artists, writers or even... actors.

And that's when complete and total shame hit.

I was excited about the fact that I'd just ridden my bike past a man I recognized, though we've never met. What does that say about me? That I'm normal, sure. But also that I haven't really done anything great.

Will I ever finish that script? Publish a novel? See my photographs displayed at an art gallery? Probably not. I'm too... distracted... with work and the like to really focus on any of these things. But I also realize that if I shuffle off of this mortal coil having accomplished none of the above, I have only myself to blame.