October 1997: My first celebrity sighting in New York was Harrison Ford. I was walking to work. Wearing a sexy mid-life crisis hoop earring in his ear, he crossed my path. I dropped everything in my hands, and he half-smirked. Today: Some associates and I discuss the term "jumping the shark" which I'm told has been replaced by "blowing up the refrigerator" from the latest Indiana Jones movie. This provokes my question of how much "work" Harrison Ford has had. (I won't say how much but: TONS) My associates inform me that he and Callista live a block away from me. I snarf my Sprite. Now I can stop playing computer solitaire because I am so doing walk-bys. Maybe Harry will recognize me. After all, I still have my librarian look (now stolen by the Republican VP candidate). Maybe he'll let me advise him on scripts. Maybe he could read to me in that melodic voice. Maybe we'll ride on a magic carpet to Candyland and build a fortress of lemon drops and strawberry taffy. At least, that's what I'll see when he gets around to passing me the doobie he must have smoked to make Hollywood Homicide.
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