I looked in the mirror this morning and realized that a recent spike in weight had suddenly given me a strong resemblance to Glenn Beck, who is not looking particularly well these days himself (as Colbert noted "the chins-to-Beck ratio is awfully high"). This is about as terrifying a thought as one can have in the morning, and so in my depression I gave up on shaving or combing my hair for the day and ventured out into the world in full "don't mess with me, compadre" mode.
I was searching for a book at the library a few hours later when another browsing gentleman caught my eye and walked up.
"Hey," he said, "do you know what famous person you look exactly like?"
Please don't say Glenn Beck. Please oh please ohpleaseohplease...
It turned out I reminded him of Neal McDonough, who is, in celebrity terms, the single best possible celebrity comparison for me, or rather, for my ego (by the way, I once met McDonough, who, though very polite, is absolutely terrifying in person).
The guy in the library turned out to be a bit of nut - he was taking out "Charmed" companion guide, which is the literary equivalent of giving up on your life - but we had a lovely conversation about the merits of the new "Street Fighter" movie, which I have not seen but know more than enough about movies to fake it ("the action sequences were great, but Chris Klein is just a terrible actor, right?" "Totally!"). After about 15 minutes of truly breathtakingly geeky conversation - it is not often that strangers expect you to know intricate details of the behind-the-scenes habits of the actors on "Smallville" - my new friend wandered off and I went off with a bounce in my step. It's not every day you remind someone of a clear-eyed six-foot bodybuilder. At least, not if you're me.