I haven't seen the show yet, but that doesn't really matter.

It's one of those reality shows. I can't remember what it's called, but it's the one about the people trapped in the elevator going to the top floor of some tall building. At each floor the door opens and someone gets booted out. "Thirteenth Floor," or something like that.

I feel like I've seen it because there is one guy in the elevator who looks exactly like me. I know this because I am constantly approached by strangers who think he IS me, or vice versa. They tell me this by repeating what I assume is this guy's "catch phrase," kind of a "woo woo woo" with the right fist pumping in the air as if sounding a horn on an 18-wheeler.

Everywhere I go it's "woo woo woo" from passersby, then some thumbs up and the occasional request to pose for a snapshot with the kids. I guess my character is a popular one. I should probably get someone to tape the show for me.

You'd think this would bother me, but I'm actually used to it by now. I long ago accepted that I have the sort of generic appearance that causes people to mistake me for celebrities. I'm kind of a blank canvas, there for people to project their famous-people-sighting fantasies on.

It started in the early 1970's, I'm told. My mother once informed me that I was often mistaken for the kid in the Oscar Meyer commercial, the one who sang the "My bologna has a first name, it's O-S-C-A-R" song, but I guess I was too young to remember.

In the late 70's it was Gary Coleman. Or, more accurately, I was Gary Coleman, as far as many people were concerned. It got so that my trips to the mall were just a perpetual string of "Wha' choo talkin' bout, Willis"'s. I learned then that celebrity was not for the timid or those who valued their privacy. This early case of mistaken identity was puzzling at the time, but when I look back on old family photos, I guess I have to admit that I had some pretty chubby cheeks as a pre-teen.

The year 1979 found me, in the eyes of many, as a dead ringer for Mr. Furley, the new landlord on Three's Company, played by Don Knotts. I don't know why no one ever confused me with the Don Knotts from the Andy Griffith Show reruns or from those movies he made with Tim Conway, but I can only guess it's because the role of Ralph Furley was so much different than any of his other characters.

I was thirteen at the time, going through all the changes a 13-year-old boy goes through, so it was tough to constantly be hassled for autographs and behind the scenes trivia questions. What's Jack really like? Did you kill the Ropers? What are those last words in the theme song that I can never understand?

[For the record: "You'll see that life is a ball again, laughter is calling for you! DOWN AT OUR RENDEZVOUS! Three's Company too!"]

The 80's are a blur of celebrity mistaken identities: One week I'm signing autographs as Bob Saget, the next people are coming up to me saying, "I pity da fool!" Then the next week I'm Max Headroom, or ALF, or Cliff Huxtable, Daisy Duke, Hong Kong Fooey, Remington Steele, or, thanks to Nick At Night, Quincy, Jimmy "JJ" Walker, Fred Mertz, Fred Sanford or Rerun from "What's Happening?"

For three ugly months people were sure I was the cute one-eyed dog from "Tales of the Gold Monkey." I signed autographs "woof," and people walked away beaming, excited to tell people the news.

The next decade was a carbon copy of the previous one. This is why I always have a pen with me.

In the last month alone I have been hounded as Jennifer Lopez, Abe Vigoda (again, thanks to "Barney Miller" reruns) and some WWF wrestler whose name I never quite got.

I gave up disguising myself long ago. It just makes things worse. If I go out in dark glasses and a ski cap I'm Johnny Depp, running for my life from throngs of teenage girls. A prosthetic hunchback and a limp and I'm Marty Feldman. A welding mask and I'm Jennifer Beals. I'm probably the only person in the world who can wear the Groucho glasses/moustache disguise and actually be mistaken for Groucho, who has been dead for over 20 years.

Yeah, I guess I just have that kind of a face.

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