Celebrity look-a-like (it’s Schmeil Hatrick Paris!)

I am perhaps the least celebrity-obsessed person in this country. I don’t visit TMZ or watch “Entertainment Tonight.” I think “US Weekly” is the worst magazine ever created. I don’t know who Jennifer Anniston is dating and couldn’t care less if Brangelina’s kids got eaten by a mountain lion.

I’m not saying this because I work at in television and come across third-rate celebrities on a weekly basis–it’s because I think being famous doesn’t make you any more interesting than everyone else. George Clooney is a movie star: his talent is to speak words written for him by someone else. The only difference between me and him is gorgeous looks and a bazillion dollars (it’s like we’re separated at birth). I don’t need to know his view on politics, whom he’s dating, or what he looks like without makeup. Celebrities are just people and no more fascinating than my next door neighbor whose name I don’t know. I don’t care what’s going on in my neighbor’s life–same goes true for George Clooney.

That’s why I’ll never be one to go gaga when seeing a celebrity. I really don’t care what they did to become famous. To me, a celebrity is just a normal person with good luck and a better publicist. There’s not a celebrity on the planet I’d go out of my way to meet (although I would to spend a day with Bill Clinton, but only because I think it’d be a lot of fun: do you have any idea how much tale that guy gets).

That being said, I found myself in Hollywood recently with a friend driving down Sunset Blvd. A guy darted out in the middle of the street and jaywalked in front of us. “Hey look–it’s Doogie Howser,” I joked, mocking his Doogie-like appearance. My buddy laughed.

“Hey Doogie, I love you man,” I shouted out the window once the jaywalker made it across the street. The guy turned, looked at us, and gave a smile that could only mean one thing.

“Uh, I think that was Doogie Howser,” my friend said.

“I think you might be right.”

Immediately afterwards, I felt bad. I’m not one of those crazy fans who obsesses over a celebrity. If I was at a party and Neil Patrick Harris was there, I wouldn’t make the effort to walk across the room to shake his hand. To shout at him–be one of those a-holes–I felt a little bad about it. In my defense, who expects to see Neil Patrick Harris jaywalking across a crowded street? My behaviour was predicated on the belief that I was mocking a total nobody who looked like Neil Patrick Harris. Had I actually known I was yelling at the actual Neil Patrick Harris, I would’ve kept my mouth shut. If I tracked him down to apologize, would that border on stalking?