The Man with a Thousand Faces

I have a unique dilemma. Once a week, a perfect stranger will approach me and say I look familiar (and I don't mean the guy at Barnes & Noble who is trying to recruit you into his pyramid scheme/cult of selling/worshiping baby food). So the next 10 minutes is filled with questions like:

• Where do you work? (Cyberspace)
  
• Are you on tv? (No)
• Did we go to high school together? (No)
• Are we in the same counseling group for people who can't seem to get over the fact that Buffy the Vampire Slayer was canceled? (Maybe)

After the informal Q&A, the person still insists they know me from somewhere. I assure them that I really don't and they eventually leave, shaking their head like a confused motorist on a one-way, dead-end street.

This experience always leaves me with the feeling that I just disappointed the person (now I know how my Father felt when I told him that I when I grew up I wanted to perfect the "jazz hands"). I would feel bad that I didn't live up to this person's expectations. Maybe if I tried a little harder in pre-school, I would be the guy that this random stranger knows. Then he would leave our encounter with a new zest for life and I would get a warm-fuzzy knowing that I gave a fellow human being hope! (cue John Williams score) Hope is all we need! A new hope (not a phantom menace)! Hope is the wellspring that nurtures the soul!

Hope!

I want a taco.


Congrats Diablo!!!