I went out to a bar last night with my friend C and my cousin N. Nothing particularly swanky. A dive bar. The kind of bar where, if you go up to the pool table and plug in some quarters, you'll be approached by a guy named OP challenging you to a game (I held my own). Not too bad.
After a few beers, the three of us got to talking, and I threw out the following nonsense theoretical question: Given that he is presumably more famous, richer and successful with people of his chosen gender of interest than you will ever be, would you want to be Steven Seagal? -- accepting that you would have to live your life as the washed-out star of such horrible action movies as Fire Down Below and Under Siege 2 (tagline: "It's exactly like the first movie - but on a train!").
We debated this question for a little bit (general consensus: "No. Why the hell would I want to be Steven Seagal?") before being interrupted by an onlooker. Apparently, said woman's boyfriend used to be Steven Seagal's chauffeur, and she proceeded to regale us at length with a story of her boyfriend getting pulled over for speeding only to be waved on when the officer realized who his passenger was.
I suppose this made us something like three steps removed from Mr. Seagal, so not the most direct connection. But still. Strange coincidence.