Michael Stipe is Stalking Me
For a long time, I thought I would never be exposed to Michael Stipe, that I was simply a minute too late and a pub too mundane to cross paths with him. The strangest of people would say they saw him; professors, columnists, even Carlos, my friend's gigolo Columbian roommate from freshman year.
In the past year, I've had three Stipesodes. One was a face-to-face collision (nearly) as Mikey was leaving Bombay, a vegetarian restaurant next to my apartment building. The last two have happened in the past two nights. The first of which took place Saturday at the 40 Watt, with Stipe really looking like he was in a music video (sans blue eyeband from whatever their last video was and stupid hat a la "Shiny Happy People"). The second being last night, at Hot Corner, a coffe shop. Buddy has style.
The only thrill is knowing that coincidence pointed its picky pistol at me. And that I may just be getting the same oh so sweet travel patterns as Herr Stipe.