Life: it's all about what you make the words mean.
Anyhow, it got me thinking about the times I've been mistaken for someone. There was once, about a decade back now, when I was standing in one of those corner bbq chicken and chips shops, and the guy behind the counter started talking to me about betting on the horses. I've never been into gambling--mostly because I'm terrible at it. Friends have told me that I'm a black hole of money when it comes to betting, and since I never have enough of it to go round, I never have much of an urge. In relation to betting on the horses, I've never done that once, not even on the popular Melbourne Cup, aka the Day Australia Gambles on the Ponies. But this guy, a big Romanian guy, if I remember right, talked to me as if I knew what the fuck happened in horse races, and after a while, he said something strange. He said, "Those tips you gave me worked out really well, mate," and I nodded, because I had been nodding throughout the conversation before, much to the amusement of Djae and Dee, but this one was a touch more specific, a bit more personal, and my interest was no longer polite, and a way to kill time. Instead, we were buddies. Mates. People who knew each other. And because of that, he asked me about my job, which I gathered was some kind of tradesman thing with boilers, another area I'm not qualified in; of course, at this stage, he was filling up my bag with extra food, and I thought if I said I wasn't who he thought I was, I'd lose that, so I said it was going fine.
I've had things like that happen occasionally. I'm sure I don't rate up there with the strangeness of Laird's, but what I do get, in addition, is the celebrity sightings and in particular, two:
The first of these has happened on and off for the last decade, easily, and also includes my one point in life where I could possibly have pretended to be famous to score a date with a cute girl. I didn't, mind, but this is mostly because I was caught off guard and it's, y'know, wrong. Also, I had no preparation time--I figure if you are going to pretend to be famous with a cute girl, you have to know the subject.
The subject you ask?
A man named Ugly Phil.
He's the white guy in the shirt I'd never wear.
Anyhow, I was in a record store when the girl approached me and asked if I was Ugly Phil. I laughed, and said no, and then she said, "It's not an insult, he's really not ugly."
However, in recent years, it is more likely that people will say to me, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like that guy from Mythbusters? You know, the one with the beret."
It's mainly kids who say it, and this probably reflects more on the Mythbuster audience and who I spent the majority of time with than anything else, but it's always strange to be told that. After all, I don't own a beret. Also, I have absolutely no science ability whatsoever, and if anyone asked me to disprove any kind of myth, I'd likely just have to make some new kind of one up, but make it sound realistic. I'm sure it'd take less effort, too.
However, I do admit, I am kind of envious over the handlebar mustache Jamie Hyneman has himself.
I bet he gets that a lot, though.