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On assignment at a preview for film critics, I waited in the lobby until I saw the talents move toward the screening room. After watching a short film (a 10-minute short about the impact of Sept. 11 on a lonely elder) with these folks, I left quietly and found the correct room, breathing a sigh of relief.

Only seconds later, I felt that tingly frustration, "Damn it! Why didn't I say something to Tim Robbins? Maybe I could have booked an interview with him for the Daily Bruin or jump-started my non-existent acting career."

We've all met stars before. You know how it feels to become the awkward, green-eyed monster when your idol stands before your eyes. At that second, they have some mysterious power over you, not because you recognize them, but because you never thought you would see them except on the big screen. After all, it's easy to idolize someone from afar. Try doing it when you can smell their perfume.

You rehearse the lines you'll say to them, you script the compliments you'll give them, and you even practice that smile just so you don't screw up your one minute of that someone else's life.

A popular solution to making the moment last is bringing a note pad and pen for an autograph, evidence that you've been touched by an angel. Yet, in that room with Ryder, Robbins, Del Toro, Penn and Spade, I doubt getting autographs would have helped me make it last. I am supposed to be the press (journalism, not clothing), which means I'm above being googly-eyed, slobbering over the latest Hollywood bimbo. These stars arrange to be in rooms together because they don't want people staring at them, yelling, "Oh my God!"

Among themselves, they can act normally, dress down, and blend in. I heard Ryder praising the new Wilco album. Penn was busy bringing more chairs into the room, and I decided to help him out. Del Toro came in with jeans and a cheap cap over his long, uncouth hair. This is where they can be un-celebrities. If I had blown my cover, I imagined security guards dragging me out with the words, "Sorry, no non-stars allowed."

That day, walking out of the celebrity-infested room, I felt glad I made the conservative choice. I kept my reserve and acted cool under the heat. I maintained a personal feeling of acknowledgment of their achievements while knowing that I'll have my chance to do the same, to make my mark on the world. I don't want to be a star but I do want to see celebrities with the confidence that they are indeed no better than me, perhaps only a bit more well-known.

Of course, part of me regrets not making a splash, but I realize I was out of place in that star-studded room. If I were in a room with well-known journalists, I probably would splash around my small-time journalism credentials, a la the Daily Bruin. In fact, I've spoken with Los Angeles Times writers with the confidence that I am their colleague, an insider.

Whenever I see a star, I freeze up like everyone else but I don't force myself into the attention-seeking fan role. I merely look, smile and know the person I just saw was just a person, not a god. Their image is the product of Hollywood's factories, er, I mean studios. Enjoy the actors for their skill, their artistry, their talent, their charisma, and not just because they're on the cover of Entertainment Weekly and you're not.

However, on the off chance you see Jennifer Connelly, please let me know. I'd like to be there.