My latest celebrity sighting. Being mistaken for an actor at Enterprise Rent-a-Car. A stage actor, though. That was new. The mistaken guy was an actor. Thought he knew me. I said no, I’m not an actor. You’re not just saying that? No, I’m not an actor. You sure? Yes, I’m sure.

At least he didn’t hound me for an autograph. But then he was in the business. It’s the tourists who want the autographs, especially in Hollywood. I’ve signed a couple there to get them to leave me alone. Wrote simply Brick. Brick! I knew you were him. Look, honey, it’s Brick. Who? You remember. The guy on TV.

I’ve never been on TV.

I’ve been mistaken for movie actors, television actors, a guy in a commercial, a porn star (in younger, far better looking times) and the bass player who’d just been on stage at the Playboy Jazz Festival five minutes before. Man I played good, the guy said, pumping my hand. Just like Jaco Pastorius. I thanked him.

I could have gotten laid by a woman at a jazz club who was convinced I was the bass player there, too, but she fell off her bar stool. The actual bass player, behind me, fled.

Now back to rehearsal.