Matt, I've met you uncomposed, and your doofushooditude quotient seemed small.

I don't get why people would be nervous to talk to Tim. He's just a dude sitting in his jammies, smoking and surfing the 'net.

Which is EXACTLY what I plan to do with my evening.

We have so much in common.

My track record of having intelligent conversation with people I admire is not good. I did once have a lovely evening with Berke Breathed, marred only with the introductory, "Oh my god, I love Opus, and I'm sorry I violated your copyright to make the posters." On the other hand, I ate dinner with Robert and Gini Heinlein and I'm not sure I managed to get out both nouns and verbs. Usually I end up saying something like, "Boy, I like your stuff" or "Sorry about that cancellation" and then shuffling off.

Matt, I've met you uncomposed, and your doofushooditude quotient seemed small.

Ah, but you've never talked to me on the phone, a method of communications that I believe should be reserved for 911 calls and reports of impending family funerals. I'm definitely not at my best with a handset at my ear. But thanks for the kind words.

I was also helped immensely by thinking of you as a friend, and thus someone I need not be nervous around. Joss, on the other hand, if he remembers me at all from PBPs probably thinks of me as that guy that dodged handlers from an assisted living institution to babble at him incoherently.

If Tim and I could have coffee and cigarettes, I could talk. I'd spend a bid-for phone call either hushing my kids, or yelling at them to get off the extension.

Joss, on the other hand, if he remembers me at all from PBPs probably thinks of me as that guy that dodged handlers from an assisted living institution to babble at him incoherently.

Joss, on the other hand, if he remembers me at all from PBPs probably thinks of me as that guy that dodged handlers from an assisted living institution to babble at him incoherently.

Well, to be precise, he probably remembers you as that incredibly handsome guy who dodged his assisted-living handlers.

I freeze up something awful. I will freeze up retroactively, even: I did fine my first few weeks of my sophomore-year poetry class, knowing my professor was much published and everything, precisely until I found out that she'd written one of my favorite childhood books, a book that had even been read out loud on Captain Kangaroo. Such celebrity! I didn't open my mouth in class for another month.

Actually, I don't think celebrity alone is enough to fluster me. Any geekiness I've shown when talking to actors is my own true personality showing through, not nerves-induced embarrassment. It may be because sex appeal is a big part of their mystique, whereas I'm not resistant to the more cerebrally based admiration of writing talent.

I made a huge fool of myself talking to Nathan Fillion last year and Tricia Helfer this year. I did better with Adam Baldwin (because I'd already cried on Tricia Helfer.)

OLN had this "Ride with Lance (Armstrong)" thing you could win during the Tour de France. It sounded really cool but the whole idea of a world class cyclist being forced to ride with me for an afternoon sounded really unappealing.