Below the belt, I’m guessing.

Unfortunately I went out of business, leaving the autograph-seeker alone in business on the field. When the Famous One comes to Boston now, he does not fly into that airport, but to another one, which is less convenient to his destination, but which treats him as he’d like to be treated, as a private person.

It must be hard. He has the kind of fame that gets its teeth in you and does not let go, thanks to commercial success that began in his youth and continues today. I recall an interview with another such famous cat, Paul McCartney, wherein he grew wistful about things he can’t do, like ride a bus. The poor guy can’t even have a marriage blow up in private.

I encountered a very famous actor at the first US Grand Prix at Indianapolis. I started to say, “Hey, I know you…” and he got “that look” (you know, “oh, no, a fan!”) and then said, “you’re a helicopter pilot!” (He actually is, as a hobby). He laughed and said, “Busted, yeah… thanks,” and we went our separate ways.

Who you recognize is a function of where you are, once you get past the thousand or so inescapably famous faces. I’m one of those guys who probably wouldn’t recognize Scalzi or ESR in the “wrong” setting, and I wouldn’t recognize Wil Wheaton at all (which I hope pleases him. I have no idea who he is, sad to say, even after looking at his blog).

I myself have been a “big frog in a small pond” in that my byline and face were ubiquitous in trade news (aviation) for over six years. Even now, I can fly into any airfield in the world in complete anonymity, unless there is an airshow going on, in which case I’ll probably get “made” and tagged by autograph hunters. Unlike the Famous One in my story, it doesn’t bother me — it’s only a shock once — although it’s very weird to see my name in an autograph book alongside names that are justly famous for actual accomplishments, not mere media exposure. Writing is strange in that it is a profession that can raise your profile into at least suborbital fame, without a concomitant rise in your income.

PS — I would second the recommendation posted above, to read Fry’s essay. It’s good and deep.

Yeah, but the first sighting went like this:

::notices hot chick walking arm-in-arm with goofy looking guy::

::says to self:: “How is it that guys who’re much goofier looking than me get such hot babes ?”

::couple passes by, then says to self:: “Oh. That’s how. The goofy looking guy was Lyle Lovett.” ;)

And John, my wife’s a plastic surgeon. We could rectify the whole “perky breast” problem in a day. Betcha be more famous then!

(And if you have to ask, “Who’s Dave Gibbons?”, that’s exactly his point.)

Wait a minute . . .

Just where are these famous young women with perky breasts but no hair?