I’m a celebrity whore.

I totally buy into the whole celebrity bullshit thing - for instance, did I see even half the movies that were Oscar-nominated? No, but did that stop me from watching most of the show? Of course not! But what really gets me going, what puts the ring in my ring-a-ding-ding, if you know what I mean (and I think you do), is celebrity sightings.

We don’t get as many celebrity sightings as our friends in LA, where apparently you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting someone famous. I mean, one of their bloggers is a celeb for God’s sake. So to me every NYC celebrity sighting is precious, like a subway that arrives just moments after you get to your place on the platform, or a 5+ block stretch of all WALK signs (or at least no traffic), or a New York summer day without infinity % humidity.

Yesterday I was able to add to a gem to my string of superficiality: Giovanni Ribisi. You may know Mr. Ribisi from his recurring role as Phoebe’s brother Frank on the now defunct Friends, as well as Scarlett Johansson’s husband in Lost in Translation, and some dude who dies in Saving Private Ryan.

Where? The Starbucks on 74th and 3rd. How’d he look? Goood. On screen he has a tendency towards baggy eyes and paunchiness, but in person he was as cute as can be, and taller than I expected. Who was he with? Some chick with giant shades and ugg boots. Actually I have no idea if she was wearing ugg boots, but she looked like she should have been.

Now who else, you may wonder, makes up my star-studded string of pearls (and how many metaphors can I fit in one sentence)? Why, there was Frank Langella at the Sharper Image on 75th and Madison the Friday before New Year’s. There was the woman who played Paul’s mom on Mad About You on 70th and Madison last month. There was also Ernie Aanstis on 3rd Avenue last summer, and there was Kevin from the first season of Project Runway last spring in the Flatiron District (he counts!).

But the pinnacle of my star gazing occurred Labor Day weekend, 2001. Picture it: Central Park, the last night The Seagull was playing. Somehow my co-worker had gotten tickets - having once worked for some blue-haired society lady who sat on the board of whatever - and all of her sisters bailed. So who better to ask than me, her random co-worker?

First of all, who was in the show: Meryl Streep, Kevin Kline, Natalie Portman (awful), Marcia Gay Harden, John Goodman, Christopher Walken, and last not but least, recent Oscar winner Phillip Seymour Hoffman. We were so close we could have spit on them. And I did, but just on Natalie Portman.

So we were waiting for the show to start when this woman in front of me said, “There’s Sarah Jessica Parker.” I turned around, expecting to see Miss Carrie Bradshaw on the other side of the theatre, perhaps standing on the stairs signing autographs. But she was DIRECTLY BEHIND ME. More specifically, one row away. I could have reached out and touched her tanned, bare leg (which I didn’t, you’ll be happy to know).

And not only was she tan, she was “George Hamilton tan,” as Matthew Broderick, who was to her right, put it. To her left was Mary-Louise Parker, then Billy Crudup (pre-the Claire Danes break-up), then Nathan Lane and Nathan Lane’s very pretty, very young boyfriend. Turning back around, I began to freak out.

“I’m going to die,” I muttered.

“Calm down, Doris,” my co-worker said. I could tell she wished she had brought her random neighbor instead, drug addict or no.

For those of you who care, Sarah Jessica Parker was in a strapless black dress and wore her hair swept up. Matthew Broderick looked just like he does in the movies, except that he had a lot of gray in his hair and was wearing horrible green pants, almost like scrubs, and white shoes. Nathan Lane looked super clean, like he had just showered, and Billy Crudup was hot. He and Nathan chatted during the intermission. “Get outta here!” Nathan Lane bellowed at one point.

And it didn’t end there! During intermission I saw Diane Sawyer, wife of the play’s director, Mike Nichols, who thought I was staring at her but really I was looking for Michelle Pfeiffer who, rumor had it, was in the audience too, and the guy who played Claudia’s gay violin teacher on Party of Five. Then my co-worker returned from the ladies’ room and anounced, “I just saw Rhea Perlman!”

Being excited by celebrity-dom may seem shallow to some of you. They’re not any better than you or me - of course, I know that! But only seeing them on the screen, small or big, or reading about them makes them seem unreal. To see them in the flesh is to confirm their existence on our lowly plane. Wouldn’t you get excited turning the corner to see Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or Elijah Wood (oh wait, he’s real)? Frank Langella or Sasquatch - what’s the diff?