I met and got Q's signature at a trek convention in Gulf Breeze.

I have two minor-celeb stories I can post here.

In 1996 I went with my then-boyfriend, who's a big seventies music freak, to see Susan Cowsill at the Bottom Line in downtown New York City. (Susan Cowsill used to be in the Cowsills, the real-life singing family on whom the Patrridge Family was based.) After the show Bill went backstage to say hi to Susan, whom he knew from his days as a music critic, while I lingered in the auditorium area. Most of the crowd had left when suddenly I realized I was hearing, coming from behind me, an absolutely unmistakeable voice: baritone, resonant, British. I turned around and standing a couple feet away was Paul Benedict, who was on the 70s sitcom "The Jeffersons" (he played Bentley, the British neighbor who worked at the U.N., if you've seen the show), and who's now a part of Christopher Guest's informal troupe ("Waiting for Guffman", "A Mighty Wind"). He noticed me turn around and recognize him and prepared, with some resignation I think, for me to either be a fan or abuse him. It turns out I did both. The trouble was despite the fact that I had seen him on TV hundreds of times I could not remember his name. I'm a visual person and a graphic designer and I had watched the show regularly and so I could see his appearance in the opening credits as they quickly spun out in my head, I could even see the font his name was set in--I just couldn't read it. He was staring at me now so I shook his hand and told him I enjoyed his work, and then stupidly, because it was frustrating not to remember, I admitted I couldn't remember his name. I'm not certain how he felt about this; in any event he chose not to resolve my problem by actually telling me his name. Instead, he patted me on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry about it." Then he turned and walked away. I was left standing there, interested that I had met him, but with an unresolved frustration at not remembering his name now compounded by the added-bonus amazement that he had chosen to keep the secret of his name to himself. Now, the coda to this is as follows: the very next week I went to see "Waiting for Guffman," in which Paul Benedict turns up in a role we were amused to see was listed in the credits as "Not Guffman" (if you've seen it, the guy the actors all think is Guffman, the New York agent). Had I run into him a week later, I could have at least babbled more intelligently about his most recently project instead of a 20-year-old sitcom--I could have at least said, "You're 'Not Guffman'!"

A year or so later Bill and I heard that Mackenzie Phillips, who was famous for being (a) the daughter of John Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas and (b) having been fired twice from another 70s sitcom, One Day at a Time, was going to be doing a show at New York's Town Hall (the site of the performance in "A Mighty Wind", by the way). Mackenzie's show was a revue in which she and three other singers would perform Broadway show tunes from the 70s. This sounded like high camp--failed sitcom star sings!--and we decided we had to go, expecting to have a good giggle afterward sitting around a table at a diner dissecting the performances. Imagine our surprise when the show turned out to be a lot of fun--all four singers were relaxed and confident, and they all sounded great, including Mackenzie. (She did after all sing in her dad's group during one of their comeback tours.) Now we had gone with a female friend of Bill's with whom he always engaged in a kind of rivalry of exuberance--they were always topping each other's acts of extroversion. As we were exiting the hall they were already daring each other to wheedle their way backstage, and before I knew it I was standing on the curb while the two of them worked their way through all the show's crew and hangers-on. As the master-stroke they charmed one of the other singers into giving them three passes to the after-show wrap party. The were ecstatic as they joined me, jazzed at their own chutzpah, and I somewhat dazedly followed them as we walked the few blocks to the bar where the after-party was being held. The entire lower floor of this place had been given over to Mackenzie and company. We stood a while at the bottom of the dark stairwell overwhelmed. It was this huge, cavernous space full of dark nooks barely lit by lots of small lights, filled with scores of people all dressed in black, talking in knots. The bar was lit from below as if all the alcohol came express from Hell itself. Eventually we began to move into the space. I could feel my friends' their exuberance seep away as if they'd spring a leak. We knew no one here--everyone was in groups chatting amongst themselves, and there was nothing really going on that opens up a crowd like music or dancing or anything. We stayed in a knot ourselves, keeping an eye out for anyone we recognized and talking quietly about the show, but at last we had to admit that our little attempt at party-crashing was a clinker. Nonetheless I refused to slink out with complete ignominy: one of the two of them, who had gotten us into this strange, sepulchral place, had to at least say goodbye to our host and provide some kind of cap to the evening. Their giddy excitement had flatlined, however, and they refused. I said fine, I'll do it myself. I turned and--perhaps emboldened by my bracing encounter with Paul Benedict--sought out the famous Ms. Phillips, my two friends in tow. I found her talking with some friends, smiling, a drink in her hands. As I loomed before her--she's not terribly tall--she looked up at me in surprise and took my hand mechanically when I offered it. "It was a really great show," I said. "You sang beautifully." "Thank you for coming," she replied, shaking my hand. She had absolutely no idea who I was but, because I was at the after-party, she clearly thought that I must be connected to her somehow, so she was gracious and polite. We exchanged goodbyes and headed quickly for the exit, my super-extroverted friends following mutely, amazed that I had been the one to shake hands with what had turned out to be that friendly and talented lady we'd laughed at for all those years.

One final bizarre note: An IMDB search revealed that both my celebrities have been regulars on the daytime soap "Guiding Light."

I know why Scooter posted that three days after the thread was created.

Took him that long to type it.

Cool story. Maybe later I'll post the story of how I was hit on by (and subsequently ran away from) the location manager for Dead Like Me.

I think the closest celebrity encounter I've had in person was Toronto Trek 15, where I met Armin Shimerman, Andreas Katsulas, Tim Choate, and Rick "Conspiracy Guy" Wharton for about one minute each.

Online, however, I've chatted with both Rick Sternbach and Ethlie Ann Vare, former producer of Andromeda. And as Sa'ar mentioned, I shoot pool with him. (Hey, if I qualify as a celebrity, he ought to.)

A once-removed celeb encounter, also involving a very distinctive voice:

About ten years ago a friend of mine, who lives in what used to be called Hell's Kitchen in New York, rented "The Name of the Rose," the Sean Connery/Christian Slater movie based on the Umberto Eco novel about murders at a medieval monastery. In the movie, the part of the old, blind and venerable monk at the heart of the mystery was played by William Hickey, an old, wizened actor with a very distinctive, sinuously nasal voice. (He was in "Prizzi's Honor" and a lot of other movies.) The Blockbuster guy at the counter, making conversation, asked my friend what he thought of the movie and he replied, "I liked it, except for Bill Hickey. What a ham! They should give him the overactor of the year award."

No sooner had he said this than a voice came from the next person behind him on line--a very distinctive voice, a sinuously nasal voice. The voice said, "Oh, really?"

My friend turned around to see Bill Hickey standing behind him on line.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He burst out: "I knew you were there! That's why I said all those things! Ha, ha. Of course I didn't mean any of it, you were great."

Bill Hickey nodded and smiled thinly at him and my friend beat a very hasty retreat. And now, whenever he badmouths anyone famous, he always glances behind him.

Also, daughter of Michelle Phillips (the Mama who wasn't Cass), whom some of you might remember as Jenice Manheim in TNG's "We'll Always Have Paris".

Met and met.... most of my celebrity encounters are Scandinavian - former Swedish Prime Minister Olof Palme, with whom I've shook hands, Margarethe, Queen of Denmark, and Prince Frederik along with Mary (the former passed us in a car, the latter couple entered a restaurant where we were having lunch). I've received an e-mail reply from Scott Adams regarding a Dilbert idea I submitted, though...

...and for second-hand encounters, how's this one:

My father shook hands with Arthur Miller while he was in an off-Broadway production of "The Crucible", but more notably, he shook hands with Mrs. Miller....

...that is, Marilyn Monroe.

Actually stepdaughter. She was named for her birth mom, Susan Mackenzie. But the fabulous Michelle Phillips pretty much raised her.

Bio: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mackenzie_Phillips

By the way, I found the Playbill article on the show I saw and subsequently infiltrated: http://www.playbill.com/news/article/37289.html

Oops. :oops: You're right.
Cool! 8)

I don't think this counts, but....

I was in Gananoque, because I'm in a Pipes and Drums Band, and we were asked to preform in the Festival of the Islands parade...

Anyways, we were waiting for transportation back home, and while we were waiting, a McDonalds 'Go Active' SUV came up (McDonaldes was doing their 'Go Active' thingy up there) and the spawn of Satan (Ronald McDonald) came up and (without me approving) shaked my hand.

I met the spawn of Satan! AHHHHHHH! *sanitises hand*

I fine now, but HE is still out there, corrupting little kids, selling un-healthy foods for their 'Go Active' program, making salads with more sugar then the 'special sauce' (which is 1000 island dressing, by the way), he must be stopped! *slowly goes nuts*

I've never had a chance to meet anyone famous...I've never even been in the same physical area as a famous person. I would like to meet Utada Hikaru, though. I need to tell her how incredibly wonderful she is, and then smack her for trying to sell out to get fans in the US with her dreadful English language CD. Japanese Britney Spears, my ass.

Oh yeah, Rick Hansen. He came to my high school as part of some touchy-feely self-esteem development day. I got to converse with him for the length of a hallway, and made a point of mentioning that I was at Expo 88 in Brisbane, where he was the Canadian Goodwill Ambassador or something. He said something polite and then ducked into the staffroom.

My tally of holders of the Order of Canada met stands at three (one Companion, two Officers): my boss (newly minted this week), his old boss (the waterskiing chemist) and Rick.

I forgot this.

About a year ago I met one of the people who designed the London Eye, he was giving a lecture on something physics related. The reason I can't remember exactly what he was talking about is that the lecture was so dull that our teacher actually fell alseap. I talked to him a bit after though and he seemed a fairly nice person.

^That was me sorry.

No one.
:?
Boring or what.....

You can say that you know me, can't you? Unless you're going to make a distinction between "famous" and "infamous", I guess.

Well, if I wasn't I could say justa bout everyone here :mrgreen: :mrgreen: :mrgreen:

Today I shook hands or made fun of three Canadian political figures.

The Red Cross held a Hurricane Relief BBQ on Parliament Hill today, with MPs flipping the burgers. I walked past Stockwell Day and made fun of his wetsuit (the man can't cook a hamburger, BTW), and then wandered around for a bit. When the four party leaders showed up, I got caught in the media scrum and had a front row seat of them flipping (and sometimes dropping) the burgers.

At one point Jack Leighton, NDP leader, wandered by, and I yelled "Jack!" at him, leaned over the table and stuck my hand out. He shook it, and then wandered off.

Later, someone yelled at all the media to make way for the general public, so I took a step to the left, yelled "Paul!" at the Prime Minister and stuck my hand out. Paul Martin shook my hand in front of cameras. I feel kind of dirty now. Politicians are icky.

You touched a politician? Ewwww. That's just plain gross, Sa'ar. :shock: