I suppose it sounds all too-cool-for-school (-5) to say that I don’t find fame inherently impressive. Sounds like something the jerk who won’t ever shut up about how he never watches television would say, you know?
However, it’s true. If you’re playing Bo’s-a-Prick Bingo, go ahead and put a marker on the “Isn’t Impressed By Fame” square. There are scores, perhaps hundreds, of first-tier “celebrities” I wouldn’t even necessarily recognize. That whole Affleck/Damon/DiCaprio crowd 
all looks the same to me (which was a real liability watching The Departed, I’ll tell you). There are six or eight trampish blondes I can’t ever keep straight. And I’d have a hell of a lot of trouble with most any famous musician under 30.
Consequently, I believe there are relatively few people who could render me starstruck. I can’t think of any actor who could. Kevin Spacey is my favorite, but I could shake his hand and make cocktail party talk with him. Sports figures? I can count the ones I’d even make an effort to glimpse on one hand.
So who could make me stutter? Stanley Kubrick and Ronald Reagan could have. Here are a few good guesses among the living:
- Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons, most likely. The founders of Kiss? Seriously? Standing right in front of me?
- I’d have a hard time with Tori Amos. I’ve admired her singing, playing, and songwriting for almost half my life. Little Earthquakes is an all-time top five album for me. Plus, she’s otherworldly sexy. We saw her at Starwood in Nashville several years ago, and her grinding on the piano bench singing and playing “Precious Things” was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in public.
- Alabama’s own Condoleezza Rice might leave me at a loss in her presence. I admire her intellect and substantial academic accomplishments. She’s also one of the world’s foremost experts on Slavic cultures, and a concert pianist talented enough to play anything (really). Plus, she loves football.
- Tracey Ullman would blow me away. If I had a fiftieth of her comedic abilities, I’d be the funniest guy in five counties. She has never not entertained me—and well—when I’ve stopped to watch and listen.
- And Pauly Shore, of course, for all of the obvious reasons.
There’s my off-the-top-of-my-head list. Anyone out there who would make you drool and/or babble?
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Now, are we talking strictly popular culture, or can I include my own geeky-nerdy ideas of fame?
If we’re going pop culture, I’d love to spend a little time with Billy Joel and probably Bono, though more for his humanitarian side than for his music. Sting, certainly. There aren’t that many actors who would interest me much, though it might be nice to talk to Jodie Foster.
If we’re venturing into Chili’s fantasies, though, I would go through a lot to get to be in the presence of Maya Angelou, Desmond Tutu or the Dalai Lama. Seriously; I could probably make coherent conversations with the pop stars, but I’d be dumbstruck with these folks.
Hmmm, maybe Kaki King.
Too, funny, Bo. When you started your list, Condi Rice just popped into my head, before I saw you had her in there. (And I sat in her special chair on Air Force One!).
I’m not one to be starstruck. On the few occasions I have seen famous people, my first instinct is always to leave them in peace. However, My sister and I did consider running Joe Thiesmann off from a restaurant in NOLA because we wanted the table. So much for babbling idiots.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t any famous people who make me all giddy inside. I adore Matt Damon, Robert Downey, Jr., Johnny Depp, Reggie Bush, Deuce McAllister, etc. But I would be able to have a perfectly fine conversation with anyone of them. Unless they were naked. Then I would have trouble.
If they were naked, I’d hope you would moved past the point where lots of conversation was necessary anyway. Allowing, of course, for the occasional, “you’re on my hair” and “yeah, baby!”…
Lea … you just made me choke on my water! Too funny … =D
At the height of my Duran-Duranieness back in 1987, I got within 5 feet of Simon LeBon while at Six Flags in Atlanta. I wish I could report remaining dignified and respectful, but the girl-gene that causes that ungodly high-pitched squealing kicked in and I pretty much made a fool of my myself.
Two years later I found myself on a flight from Memphis to Los Angeles. It was the morning after KISS had played there and who was preening up in First Class? Paul Stanley himself. He was hogging the aisle, holding his orange juice glass, and making damn sure everyone noticed him. I almost hauled my carry-on bag out of the overhead to get my camera but just couldn’t bring myself to pay off his ego.
Nowadays, I don’t know what purportedly famous person would make me go weak in the knees. Peta Wilson, perhaps, if she stayed in La Femme Nikita character. And I’d love a chance to find out if Simon LeBon could still make me squeal.