• First kiss (kind of) — Johnny Lydon (aka Johnny Rotten) at the Keystone in Palo Alto.  A teenaged me jumped on stage at  a P.I.L. concert in this tiny Palo Alto club in the early 1980′s and gave him a timid little peck on the cheek.
• Observations on the Pot, as reported by the Kettle — Sinead O’Connor outside of the Stone in San Francisco, also in early to mid 1980′s.  Both of us waiting out front for others.  I asked her about the small round button that she wore that said “Bono has short legs.”  She shrugged.  “Well, he does…”
• My White House connection — Leon Panetta, in Sacramento, St. Patrick’s day in early 1990′s.  As part of a college project,  I went to the state capital to do research on environmental policy bill, and spoke briefly with then Senator Leon Panetta.  In the middle of our brief conversation, I noticed that he wasn’t wearing any green.  So I pinched him.
• Fame!  I want to live forever…! — That guy, the one who played the high school principal on the 1980′s TV version of the movie Fame.  (I don’t even know his name.)  Yeah, that guy.  I gave him a tour once of the the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose.  $3.33/hr to give a up to three 1-hour, 1-mile long tours to up to 30 tourists at a time.  Not a horrible summer gig, but that was as close as I got to rubbing elbows with the famous.
• Big Man with a Horn — In 1992 or 93 I was snowed in at Dulles Airport on my way back from New York to California for winter break, and I spotted Clarence Clemons walking through the baggage claim area.  When I was much younger I used to love going to airports, because I was always convinced that I’d run into some uber-famous person with their entourage.  I’m not sure what this was based on, since all my airport experiences included mostly lots of chatty Filipinos and balakbayan boxes.
• Danke Schoen! — On one of my first solo airport trips with two young children, I found myself struggling a little getting through the security checkpoint.  I was pretty focused on trying to get baby Kai out of his very comfortable, but slightly complicated baby sling, when a nice man stopped to entertain Colin who was fussing in his stroller.  The helpful stranger was, of course, Wayne Newton.  Did I mention we were at the Las Vegas McCarran airport?  There.  It all makes sense now, right?
• Dude.  Cover Up. — Speaking of Vegas, my mom lives across the golf course from Tony Curtis.  Who, rumor has it, likes to go skinny-dipping in his pool.  He’s like a million years old.  Nice guy, I’m sure, but really…
• Awkward. — When I was nine plus  months pregnant with Colin, I swung by a car-seat installation safety check at the Toys R Us in Emeryville.  While waiting my turn in line, I noticed a little someone had swung by for photo ops.  Normally I wouldn’t go for this type of thing, but it was Ponch, for god’s sake, and I’m only human.  Now many have commented that there is an undeniable chemistry here captured in this picture of me and Erik Estrada.  And I can’t deny it.  But no matter how many times I tell Erik that I think of him as just a friend, I’m not sure the message is getting through to him.  Erik, if you’re reading this, please stop texting me.  You know I care about you, but we have to draw the line somewhere…

What was that I was writing about yesterday?  Something about wanting to raise the bar for this blog?  About wanting to get away from meaningless drivel…?