Most of us want to meet celebrities from time to time, have the occasional brush with fame. If you’re the type of person who has no interest in this superficial sort of thing, well, I commend you. But I’m sure you have plenty of other far worse character flaws.

Me, I really dig the whole meeting celebrities thing — from the initial “Hey, is that so and so?” moment to the “I can’t believe how bad his breath was” finale. Yes, I find it a complete joy and, quite frankly, also an utter joy.

Problem is, I inevitably ruin my celebrity meetings with inane behavior. No, I’m not one of those grown men who still asks for autographs for his scrapbook. My book is full.

Nor do I take the overtly fawning approach many people do. To this day, my wife can’t understand why she went out of her way at some event to heap affections on Shelley Long.

“I love you!” my wife remembers exclaiming. Shelley, apparently, didn’t even pretend to care. The joke, however, was on her, as my wife later realized that she doesn’t really love Shelley Long.

My more dignified approach has been to try to engage the celebrity in some meaningful, intellectual conversation. Like the time I asked Danny DeVito if he’d ever seen Bruce Springsteen play live.

There was a context. DeVito was wearing a baseball hat with the logo of his film company, Jersey Films. Springsteen, of course, is from New Jersey. That was my “in.”

“Mr. DeVito, did you see Springsteen in Jersey on his last tour?” I asked.

DeVito, in a hurry somewhere, politely replied, “No. Saw Bruce in L.A. But I’ve seen him in Jersey before.”

And then he was gone. Nothing too embarrassing, you might say, but I felt empty. First of all, I made two crucial mistakes:

1) I referred to DeVito as “Mr. DeVito.” That immediately equated me with those 10-year-old boys in the 1950s who used to hang around the lobbies of hotels where ballplayers were staying, staring up at every athlete, with wonderment in their eyes and saying, “Gee, Mister. Could’ja sign this baseball I bought with money saved up from my paper route?” Of course, the comparison isn’t perfectly apt. You can’t really stare UP at Danny DeVito.

2) I referred to Bruce Springsteen as “Springsteen,” not “Bruce.” A real fan says Bruce. And there’s the rub: I am a real fan. But does DeVito know that I saw Bruce three times in three different cities on his last tour? Sadly, no.

But even if I hadn’t made these mistakes, I was still just being a bother to DeVito. Yes, I’m sure on some level celebrities would probably miss it if fans never salivated all over them. But in the immediacy of the moment, they’re just plain annoyed by it.

So how do we ordinary citizens meet celebrities in a dignified and enjoyable manner? Folks, I hit upon the answer the other day at Borders Books.

I was in there because I don’t wear a watch and I needed the time. The first person I asked wasn’t wearing a watch, either. Then I spotted David Crosby in line to buy a book. I knew what I had to do.

“Hey, man, do you got the time?” I said to Crosby.

“Yeah,” he said, and he rolled up his sleeve, held out his arm to me (no track marks, btw), and, together — together! — we looked at his watch.

And it all became clear. Crosby, I could tell, was thrilled, feeling a high no drug had ever been able to provide. Instead of being pestered for an autograph or bombarded with a compliment, he was being treated like an average Joe. Celebrities love that.

As for me, I got what I always wanted from a celebrity — his undivided attention, his acknowledgement that I exist, and, simply, his time. Unfortunately, Crosby’s watch was an hour fast.

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(Mark Bazer can be reached at mebazer@yahoo.com.)

(c) 2002 Mark Bazer, Distributed by tribune Media Services, Inc.