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When I was a freshman, my high school coach took me to the 8,000-seat gym at Elkhart Central High. We watched future L.A. Laker Rick Fox battle future Seattle Sonic Shawn Kemp. A beautiful, classic gym, the kind where the incandescent yellow light of the floor barely trickles up to the dark seating high above. Late in the game, my coach turned to this 15-year-old and said, "There's no reason …

I was 14 years old, waiting for a plane at the Martha’s Vineyard airport with my friend Rachel. It’s a tiny building, and there were only two other people in the place--a man and a woman chatting together about 20 feet away from us. The woman looked familiar.

“I know that woman,” I said to Rachel.

She was slender, with good posture. My mom was a …

It's hard to believe it was me, but I had dinner at Nelson Mandela's table along with Bob De Niro and others.

Then, out of nowhere, Muhammad Ali shows up! Two of my heroes! I would have never imagined it, but yes I was there.

It was a room of bigwigs and celebs, but no one could eclipse the light and force of these two men. Nobody — …

1990, Linz, Austria. Hitler's favorite city. The Ars Electronica Festival is on, and I'm bearing witness. It's post-performance, and I sit at a restaurant table with a large group of artists, musicians, scientists, technical types who blow things up, various hangers-on, and the people who love them.

Nature calls me, and on my way to answer I note that the men's room door is open; my eye is caught …

I used to be a DJ.

In December of 2000, I was hired for a party for the staff of the San Diego Sports Arena. My boss explained to me that I would have to be escorted by security to the backstage area, because *NSYNC was playing a show there that night.

Upon arrival, as I started sorting out what wires hook into what amp, a gentleman wearing …

It was spring in NYC, circa 1986. I was ambling down Broadway, heading to an improv class at Music and Art High School, when I stopped in some overpriced bodega around 70th Street to pick up a pack of gum. Standing at the counter, his dry cleaning slung over his shoulder, was Roy Scheider. It was a B-celeb sighting, even back in the day, but a sighting nevertheless.

Still, …

Over a decade ago, I worked for a production company in California that shot a lot of infomercials — the scourge and the glory of insomniacs around the country. Our work was seen by millions, drawn in by the promise of thinner thighs, fewer wrinkles, more money, and less body hair. In fact, my waxing infomercial _Sweet Simplicity_ was spoofed on a critical episode of _Friends,_ season 3, when Ross …

I was lying on a paper-covered table, my legs propped in sock-covered stirrups, when my doctor asked: “Has anyone ever said your lips look like Angelina Jolie’s? And is your cervix normally this red?”

Truth is, I wasn't so put off by her question. People have been wisecracking about my lips — the ones on my face — since I was a little girl. Back then, comments like …

He was, of course, kind and attentive. Or maybe his attention is what made him seem so kind.

“Did you see that?” a woman in front of me marveled to her friend, fingering the white silk scarf that she had offered to the Dalai Lama and that he, in turn, had placed back around her shoulders as a kind of blessing.

“He just holds your hands and looks …

This past October 15 would have been Mario Puzo’s 85th birthday. Not exactly common knowledge, sure, but in the years before his death I learned a lot of little things about the man who wrote _The Godfather,_ the book that begat the movie that begat more quotations among guys than anything short of the Bible.

See, nine years ago, I was assigned by an airline magazine to do a …

The pressure is always on when members of my _famiglia_ come to town. They want Mr. Fancypants to show them a good time, because they think I live a totally charmed life as an underpaid freelance writer. For a good vibe and great food, I like to take them to Babbo down on Waverly, with hopes that celebrity chef and owner Mario Batali will walk by in his orange clogs …

I was on a train from Naples to Rome, first class, when I saw a guy I vaguely recognized. For some reason, it came to me that his name was Jeff. I thought maybe he was married to a friend in New York or something.

“Excuse me,” I said (traveling in a foreign country gives you license to be bolder than at home). “But is your name Jeff?”
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Five years ago, I had a job working the night shift at a convenience store in a northern suburb of Chicago. I was reading a novel when the door opened, and in walked Christopher Walken.

You don’t spot too many celebrities in the northern suburbs of Chicago, or even in Chicago proper. Walken was my first. How was I sure it was Walken? No easy answer, but he is …

Mister Rogers stepped out of the passenger-side door of a white sedan that had pulled up in front of the building where I stood. I was smoking a cigarette at the top of a concrete stairwell, staring down below at a struggling bird that had broken its wing. It was my third day as an intern at _Pittsburgh_ magazine, which shared a building with the studio that filmed _Mister Rogers’ …

We were bamboozled into taking the job by a smooth-talking technical director with a pencil-thin mustache and a penchant for weirdness. How else do I explain my summer at the Cape Cod Melody Tent? Julio and I needed some legitimate theater work to put on our résumés, and the $50 a week they paid us was barely enough money to drink on. That is, once we figured out we could …

Almost two years ago, when the issue of stem cell research was the new JonBenet before JonBenet 2.0 became the new Iraq, I went to an event to raise money for the cause. Kevin Kline, the main draw of the party, was the featured speaker. Stem cell research was his issue, apparently; he'd been educating audiences about it everywhere he could.

The party, held in a loft in Murray …

During the summer of 1982, I worked as a lifeguard at the Rye Town Hilton in New York's Westchester County. Hotel guests were mostly a mix of business travelers, relocating families, and elderly Manhattan escapees. I spent my days lugging and positioning lounge chairs for old men with bad backs, and waiting for a chance to blow my whistle. Finally, I witnessed a violation of the clearly posted pool rules—one …

It was quite possibly the most hallucinatory thing I’ve ever seen, not counting my experiences on hallucinogens. Check that. It was _the_ most hallucinatory thing I’ve ever seen, including all experiences on hallucinogens. The sky was pulsing in great van Gogh swirls of nail-polish pink and glow-stick green. It was the northern lights, the aurora borealis, in full astral splendor.

This was in 1994, in Lillehammer, Norway. I was …

We were in the lobby of a low-slung brick studio in Burbank where George Clooney was to record the commentary for the _Good Night, and Good Luck_ DVD; I was there for _Rolling Stone,_ writing a story about DVD commentaries. He's not very tall for such a manly heartthrob, maybe five-eleven in his big clunky black shoes. But goodness, is that man ever tan. This was a Saturday, so he …

My freshman year of college, the Yale Political Union, renowned for hosting big-name speakers, invited Oliver Stone to address the group. Being the shy, hesitant type, I spent the whole dinner on the opposite side of the table from Stone, chatting it up, ironically, with the head of the Party of the Right.

Still, my roommate could tell that I wished I could say something to Stone, as I …
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