Ben Folds?

Not that many weeks ago, I sat in a tiny hole-in-the-wall diner near Rittenhouse Square with the Katherines. As we tried to chase away our Hoegaarden hangovers with powdered-sugar-and-maple-syrup drenched Challah French Toast and bacon, I turned to the Katherines and said, "Isn't that guy standing by the door Ben Folds?"

"I don't know what Ben Folds looks like," answered the Katherine to my left.

"He looks like that guy standing by the door...even down to the glasses," I yawned.

And he did. The olive green cap, dark-rimmed glasses and modern bohemian style of the way he tied his scarf around his neck all seemed to scream, "Yeah. I'm a hip musician."

I went back to smearing grape jam on my regular toast (because diner toast is probably the best food in the world). I silently cursed the fact that my red-headed roommate from Freshman year-who nursed an intense infatuation with the music of Ben Folds-was living far away in Pittsburgh and unable to help me determine if the man at the door was in fact Mr. Folds himself. I felt too silly to get up and actually approach this guy on the off chance that it was just some French guy called Peter who couldn't understand why twenty-something Americans kept coming up to him and asking if he was this Ben dude.

Two weeks later we find out that Ben Folds had a show in Philly the night before we possibly spotted him at the diner. So it actually could've been him....

And I wondered, why can't I speak to famous people? We're bombarded every day of photos of Jude Law at the drugstore, Julia Roberts buying cheese at the market, and Harrison Ford having a chat with the five other people that live in Wyoming. Magazines are constantly reminding us that "Celebrities are Just Like You!" I have no problem talking to people on planes or strangers like the German lady who sat next to me during the train ride between Marburg and Kassel; however, if Kate Winslet sat next to me at the airport I'd forget how to speak.

Yet when I have the gall to do something like stage door Eddie Izzard, all I can do is squeak out my name and add some cheesy sentence he's probably heard a million times before. Perhaps I was suddenly intimidated by the fact that I was standing in front of quite possibly the funniest man alive today. Perhaps I would have been less intimidated if he'd been dressed in women's clothes.

Perhaps....