I'm slowly regaining my balance, clawing my way back from "coughing up a lung" mode to "composing something of interest" mode. I searched high and low for something to comment on, and found my muse in Searchie (so far as I'm concerned, Ms. LaFemme, a comparison to Siouxsie Sioux, Peepshow-era, is indeed a compliment (said album being my fave Siouxsie effort)).
I've only once been mistaken for a celebrity, and that was as I was leaving Germany, of all places: the woman who took my boarding pass confused me with a star in one of the national soap operas. I can only assume this is a flattering comparison, because I've seen no pictures of the actor in question. The girl asked me a few questions, and quickly realised her error when she heard me butcher her native tongue in response. Darn it all, but if I'd only been more fluent I might have conned my way into a first-class return to Canada.
The only North American celeb comparison I've received is with folk-rocker Steve Forbert. That was 15 years ago, when my hair fell past my shirt-collar and I kept a clean chin -- no-one would think to make the comparison now, when my scalp and my chin sport hair growth that's more or less the same length. And if I'm not mistaken, I've probably got a few inches' height advantage on Mr. Forbert. But he's a smart-looking cad, and quite the talent to boot, so if you feel compelled to point out the similarities, I'm fine with that (I wouldn't deign to speak on Mr. Forbert's behalf).