Right on Track

I really wish I had a scratch-and-sniff blog, because then I would be able to illustrate how lovely my weekend was simply by giving you a whiff of lilac or freshly-baked cookies. I didn't interact with either, but I don't think the scent of New Jersey Transit would inspire the right reaction.

After a fun friends-and-family-filled three days, I hopped on the train back to New York yesterday afternoon. Two stops later, I glanced up and immediately recognized the face of the gentleman sitting across from me: Willie Garson, the actor who played Stanford Blatch on Sex and the City. He was with a young boy, who I understand was his recently-adopted son. Mr. Garson at turns played with his son (it looked like they were getting along famously) and napped. Here he is napping...

Ha, you didn't think I'd be tacky enough to take an actual photograph, did you? I am not a paparazzo. And I am not an obsessed fan who submits distorted camera-phone pictures to Gawker or TMZ. I simply did what all respectable New Yorkers do -- surreptitiously glanced over once (so I could confirm his identity), and then respectfully ignored him for the rest of the trip.

Instead, this is my rendition of Mr. Garson napping on NJ Transit. I have omitted his son from this illustration since he's a minor -- and because I couldn't draw two people from the side view. Trust me, I tried.

He was sitting on two seats facing each other with a box on his lap. The green mark on the opposite seat was his ticket and the railroad track above him is actually supposed to be a luggage rack. I am not explaining this because it is interesting, but because I am pretty sure no one will understand my sketch otherwise.

However, being in the vicinity of a celebrity can be somewhat distracting. I was once in the student union at Columbia University when I heard a very familiar voice behind me. I was on deadline to complete an assignment, but was compelled to turn around. Lo and behold, it was Joseph Gordon-Levitt of 3rd Rock from the Sun. I enjoyed his work, but would hardly walk over and say that. So I turned back to my notepad, smiled a little, and returned to writing.

Hearing a well-known voice and not listening was impossible. It was like being unable to turn off a television. I had a deadline, so I left to find a spot without an actor nearby. This did not prove too difficult. Even Columbia is mostly filled with nobodies. Rich nobodies, maybe, but still nobodies I could easily tune out.

New York is filled with celebrities. An actor in the wild can be difficult to spot because they don't always wear sunglasses, they usually don't have an entourage and there are no roving bands of photographers (that I have encountered) pointed toward an obvious target that happens to be wandering around mid-town Manhattan.

And still you stumble over people. I once saw a man on Madison Avenue wearing khakis, sneakers and a baseball hat that made me think, "He looks like he's wearing a Woody Allen costume!" At which point I realized it was Woody Allen.

I spotted Conan O'Brien near Radio City Music Hall with a cute little girl riding atop his shoulders after what I assume was a taping of his show. He looked like any dad who is glad to spend time with his daughter. Only he was 7-feet tall and topped with bright orange hair.

I rode the 1 train uptown next to Willem DeFoe. He was wearing a black and red sweater, which I found very amusing. He had starred in Spider-Man, which filmed at Columbia when I was there. So when we both exited at 116th Street and Broadway, I immediately called my brother to tell him I had ridden uptown with Green Goblin, who was wearing a sweater made from the skin of his nemesis, Spider Man.

Sometimes you can stumble over a subway-riding celebrity and accidentally provoke them. Any New Yorker will tell you that seats are a precious commodity on our jam-packed rails. I was listening to my iPod and riding the 1 train when I saw a man shift in his seat as we neared the next stop. I thought he was leaving, so I started toward him in order to take his place.

He, on the other hand, stayed put and flashed me a mildly dirty look that said, "I don't care if you recognize me, please leave me alone." I looked closer and, with a start, realized it was my longtime crush, Neil Patrick Harris.

So in conclusion...

I adore you, Mr. Harris. But I just wanted a seat on the subway.