Star-struck

The following three individuals are the only three individuals whose presence I suspect, in a sudden chance meeting, would yield from me some sort of embarrassing yet mirthful case of being star-struck.

I permit you to speak

More than anything Steve Martin's verve would would send me into an embarrassing tailspin. Just the physical sight of him would send my brain swirling as I recall the history of what this man has accomplished, all done with panache and style. Were he to suddenly walk into my living room I would first apologize for the Navin Johnson shrine, and ask him to ignore the ostentatious display of LP covers of his old standup gigs. And my silver-haired wig. I would then probably start rambling about Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and Three Amigos and his vignette about smokers, entitled "The Smokers", where smokers are smoking; And then there's the one where he writes a fake news report about a shortage of periods and how he doesn't use a single period in the whole thing - oh man it's great. I'd just keep prattling on while he'd stand there like royalty, refusing to make eye contact,  and maintaining that s#&$-eating grin of which he is so adept.

Rick Steves is so high right now

Unlike Steve Martin, Rick Steves will not suddenly walk into my living room. Instead, we'll have a chance meeting in a town square somewhere in Istanbul or Oslo or Rhodes or Rome or Devonshire or not midwest USA. And like Steve Martin, Rick Steves has spent his life fully and with joy. Steves has done so by being a professional traveler of Europe. Our chance meeting would witness Steves being the first to extend a hand in cordial greeting; I would follow suit awkwardly because I would have just choked on my own sputum in excitement. My mind would be flashing through all those cataloged images of this man standing before fantastic sites during his travels, and in thinking of all the wisdom he's accumulated. I would stutter and spurt and making weird grunting noises because my brain would be short-circuiting, when all I'd really want to say is "Please tell me a story".

No, Triv, microphones are not for eating.

Mike Trivisonno is a local drive-time radio personality who is Cleveland through and through. He's also a fat, greasy old man with a big mouth and a temper. No Frills. No Patience. And although he would be the first to agree with this personal assessment I would never say it to his face in a chance meeting because I am afraid of Mike Trivisonno. I'm like the freshman and he's like that 20-year old senior that just can't quite get over that last hump. I would care about what he thinks of me. I would want to be measured in my conduct and want to say only the correct things; to stand upright and assertive. His positive opinion of me would be like a divine blessing, which I would accept it with loyalty with the hopes that he'd let me kiss his pinky ring.