Ohmigah! Ed Helms!

New York, it randomly smells like urine. That teaches you to be a little guarded when walking down the street or embarking on the subway, and it's a good metaphor for life here. You don't want to jump into something without giving the area a little preliminary sniff first. You are constantly reminded of others. You learn to move quickly away. All good things to keep in mind.

The urine smells (also applicable to blood spots and other assorted goodies) are worth enduring, because New York brings you to the party. It may or may not surprise you that my hometown is not where the eyes of the world are focused. There are no celebrities, although Duncan Hines (yes, THAT Duncan Hines) lived there several decades ago. His memory now lives on with the annual Duncan Hines festival/world's largest brownie/beauty pageant. (A winning combo.)

Taking advantage of all (the free things) New York has to offer, I wanted to find the Daily Show studio to ask about tickets, so when I caught Jon Stewart talking about it on the 3 a.m. Oprah rerun, I took a note. The next day I went down there and was making the rounds of phone calls to those at home who might care that I was right outside such holy grounds when who should walk out but Mr. Ed Helms. I was across the street and made a mad stealth dash to catch up to him, talking to my dad the whole time.

My dad is not like most men who work at NPR, in that he limits his wearing of sweater vests and doesn't eschew pop culture (there's something equally endearing and disturbing to have him ask about Outkast lyrics). He loves the Daily Show as much as I do (or did, in my previous cable-filled life) so I asked if he wanted to say hey to Ed.

It's the curse of my family to not put things in the mail. Gifts will be purchased, they will be wrapped, addressed and given the appropriate amount of postage, and they will languish by the front door awaiting the final shove into the mailbox. I mean, honestly, gravity does most of the work at that step. His Father's Day book had fallen victim, so I was hoping Ed could pick up the slack for me and deliver a personalized Father's Day message.

Problem was, Ed was on the phone, possibly arguing. I heard him say "We'll talk about it when I get home" as he lingered by the opening to the subway. Why Comedy Central would make a bit player in a basic cable show take the subway I have no idea. Ed talked, I stalled with Dad. Ed paced, I bought carrots from a vendor. Ed descended the staircase, I followed.

Now came the tricky part, how to not look crazy. I nonchalantly seated myself on the same car he did, choosing a respectful distance. Another man recognized Ed. When you spot a celebrity, try to not open with the line "My wife says you ruined our sex life." Ed made the best of it.

I then explained my idea, highlighting the fact that the present was purchased, but not mailed. Sure, Ed said, "But I'm headed to Brooklyn."

That's where I had been all day, and couldn't be further from my house.

"Hey! Me too!" I piped up.

"Where?"

The only city on the line that I knew was Williamsburg.

"Williamsburg?"

"Cool me too."

Ed was a great sport and made conversation the whole way, although I could see him eyeing the New Yorker he had in his backpack.

We got to the 'Burg and bolted upstairs, where he spent a few minutes chatting with my dad. I could picture him in his grilling apron, sitting on the couch.

"...She says she's bought one, but it's not mailed yet." Ed gets off and goes on his merry way, satisfied with a job well done.

I waited until he was around the corner to call dad back. He was over the moon. I wouldn't want to be my brother or sister trying to top that.

The only sour note was that my dad couldn't brag to anyone at work about it. They were all busy picking lint from their sweater vests to have ever heard of the show.