anyway.

I'm watching Firefly again (mostly to settle an argument). It brought it to mind.

That hat, sir, is not funny.

It is very fine.

A couple years ago Jonathan Pryce of Brazil fame stopped me on the streets of Brooklyn to ask me directions. I recognized him, but I couldn't tell from where. Assuming it was some nerd event—because I could recall him wearing his Pirates of the Caribbean garb and concluded he was probably a LARPer—I was like, "Hey there, how's it going? What's new? Good to see you," and trying to avoid revealing that I couldn't remember his name or how I knew him. He was very cordial and in the end I couldn't help him, because I'm useless with directions. "Good luck. See you later."

Several blocks away I realized my mistake, and suddenly became intensely embarrassed. I'm not entirely sure why.

I was fairly music ignorant growing up. When I was 19 an older gentleman came up to me while I was on break at work drawing a picture of a goblin about to swallow a baby elf. He laughed and called me weird and then smiled. Everyone around me burst out laughing. I didn't get it. Looking back I could see how it would be amusing to have David Bowie calling someone else weird.

Wow, man. Bowie.

At first I read the above as "Malcolm Sheppard." I was like, WTF why does he have an imdb page.

I saw an immigrant guy on a bike stop Bowie on the sidewalk.

Bowie was like 'sigh/ here we go again/ what will this one want?'

But the restaurant delivery guy just wanted directions to Spring Street.

Bowie was grinning ear to ear afterward.

Once, as a young kid searching for a role model, one day while sulking angrily at a bowling alley a fellow with a foot tall orange mohawk walked in, and I decided then and there to be that guy, in any way possible.

That fellow, as it turns out, was Tim Armstrong, then of Operation Ivy and later of Rancid. I still often think to myself, "What would Tim do here?" Which explains my pentient for yelling and drinking beer. One of my better life decisions.