Despite my own misguided perceptions, I think most would agree that I'm anything but famous. I don't have a paparazzi, I don't think I have any fans, and I don't have a DUI. Likewise, despite having numerous film credits for hits like "Day In The Life of G.I. Joe" or "10 Ways to Kill a Drug Dealer" or more recently, "Blaster Master,"  SAG refuses to accept me. Thus, in order to fulfill my overwhelming need to be famous, I took my talents to the one place where I can do absolutely nothing to be famous, yet still be treated like a celebrity— China.

Landing in Shanghai's Pudong airport, I didn't initially receive the rock star welcome for which I was hoping. I got off the plane and then was corralled into a long line with no photos taken, no autographs signed, and no babies kissed. Lame. Things began to change as I met my border patrol agent. She eyed me curiously, as if she recognized me from somewhere but couldn't quite place it— she probably saw one of my early movies. Then she took my picture and asked for my autograph and my rock star treatment began from there. Exiting customs, a massive crowd of Chinese people, all carrying signs in Mandarin waved and cheered. I couldn't read any of the signs because I don't speak Chinese, but I'm sure they were all there to welcome me and definitely not the people walking behind me.

Arriving at my hotel, I was immediately swarmed by a team of people offering to take my bags, lead me to check in, and offer some refreshing tea. This was the celebrity greeting that I needed. It helps that Shanghai is so inexpensive that you can stay in high-end hotels for the price of a Motel 6 in the US. The room itself had an amazing view and my bathroom had automatic blinds— all that was missing to fulfill my delusions of grandeur was for me to trash the place.

Walking around the city itself, everyone stared at me. I couldn't go anywhere without getting strange looks like, "What's the goofy-looking white guy doing here?" Indeed, even people driving on the road would crane their necks to look at me— I was so famous that people risked life and traffic accidents just to catch a glimpse of me.

I couldn't go anywhere without attracting attention. For instance, I was walking from one end of the Shanghai Railway Station subway stop to the other when I heard someone behind me yell "Hello!" At this point I had had so many random Chinese strangers say hello to me that I didn't even turn around; I was starting to develop my spacey and indifferent celebrity ego. The man again yelled "Hello!" but I didn't turn around fearing this wasn't a fan, but rather someone trying to scam me or con me in some way. I kept walking.

Then, from behind, a hand grasped my shoulder. I wheeled around to see a giddy-looking college-aged student and his girlfriend. My new number one fan again said "Hello!" to which I confusedly replied, "Hello, how are you?" This man grins at me says, "You... ARE - Cool!" Clearly, this guy was a huge fan of mine. I returned the compliment with, "you're cool too, dude." Overwhelmed by my famous aura, the man repeatedly told me that I'm "so cool, so cool," and his girlfriend told my girlfriend that she was "so handsome." Allowing these compliments to fuel my already-bloated ego and happy to finally meet some people who truly appreciated my work in the smash-hit "Ralph! Live," we parted ways and continued to our train.

As the days went by I seemed to grow in my fame. After a botched attempt to get drinks at the top of the Oriental Pearl Tower, I found myself in the somewhat lackluster Shanghai History Museum. A bit run down for my celebrity tastes and relying too heavily on wax figures rather than real artifacts, I wanted to make my trip to the museum memorable. In one corner of the museum there one of those "Old Time-y Photo Re-creators," where you dress up in outdated clothing and stand in front of a backdrop of 19th Century Shanghai. No one else seemed to be taking any photos so my girlfriend and I happily signed up and put on our costumes.

However, as soon as I had on my colonial Shanghai tunic and my girlfriend had her kimino, my fans started to show up to watch. For every photo that the photographer took, eight or nine iPhone cameras click photos too. More and more fans showed up, making it harder and harder for me to keep a serious face during this very serious and professional photo shoot. By the time the photographer began to make me do "serious" poses with pipes and guns— what else was there in colonial Shanghai— my crowd of giggling fans numbered over fifty. Eventually, we finished our photo shoot and my fans began to disperse. However, some of my true fans immediately mobbed my girlfriend and I, eager to wear the exact same costume we had on. It was as if Elvis had just taken off his jumpsuit. Then again, with an award-winning film like "Title Pending," I'd expect no less.

Perhaps the most memorable experience I had with my fans occurred in Fuxing Park. I was strolling down a park path, chatting and enjoying the afternoon. Elsewhere in the park, a group of workout enthusiasts blasted some kind of mix between C Pop and a communist anthem for their group exercise session. Unable to control myself, I couldn't help but dance along as I walked. Noticing my crude dance moves, two old men on a park bench laughed and beckoned me over. I guess they've never seen anyone as famous as I dancing in the park before. I walked over to them and in broken English they asked where I was from. Telling them I was an American, they pointed and laughed and then proceeded to talk in Chinese to me, so I did the same back to them. They didn't want any photographs or autographs, so we parted— they were still laughing at my dance moves.

Shanghai was a wonderful place; everyone was friendly, there was plenty of exploring to be had, and everything was relatively affordable. Yet, the true allure of Shanghai is the ability to fuel any delusions of grandeur I might have, and feel like a celebrity for a while. That is, you can still feel famous even if you aren't as "COO-L" or don't dance as well as your fans might think.