This Sunday on the Oscars, you’ll see hundreds of people sitting in stands adjacent to the red carpet. They show up early to camp out and catch a glimpse of their favorite movie stars. I don’t think there’s anything too terribly wrong with that, although I’d rather just sit on my couch and see them up close on TV. While the stars obviously enjoy all the ego gratification that goes along with being gawked at by wide-eyed fans, three recent incidents make clear the cost of being a household name.

A few weeks ago, British police, on a tip from the F.B.I., foiled the plans of gangsters to kidnap Russell Crowe at the British premiere of Proof of Life. Sources close to the investigation claim that Crowe was genuinely spooked by the entire incident and a little reluctant to attend the premiere. You mean to tell me he couldn’t open up a can of whoop-ass on any would-be-attacker like he does in Gladiator? What a wuss.

In a scenario all too familiar for David Letterman, Brad Pitt, Madonna, and other pop-culture icons, Pamela Anderson woke up one Sunday morning to find a 27-year-old French woman in her house. The intruder told authorities that she was obsessed with Anderson and was promptly taken to Los Angeles County jail. Can you imagine any nightmare worse than waking up one morning to discover that the French have invaded? You walk into your living room to discover that it reeks of cigarettes, body odor, and pretension. Total heebie-jeebies.

Still, neither of these stories has anything on Gabriel Byrne’s predicament. Thanks to a company called UPOC, people can subscribe to a service that allows them to send instant messages to each other via mobile phones, pagers, and personal computers. Byrne discovered that he was a frequent target of a cyber-ring called NYC Celebrity Sightings that utilizes this service. This means that anytime he sets foot out the door, hundreds of people everywhere are contacted and informed of his whereabouts. How creepy is that?

I suppose such incidents raise a perennial question: Why do some people have such a hard time realizing that celebrities exist in the same human sphere as the rest of us—that they need their privacy, that they do the same damn mundane things we do much of the time? This, of course, may be impossible to answer, but it’s no more befuddling than the question that has really been nagging me: Why, out of all the celebrities in New York, would people become obsessed with the man who chose to star in such recent horrors as Stigmata and End of Days? Has Louis Gossett Jr. moved out of state? These people are showing a total lack of stalking taste.

Programming notes

The difference between the shows being bandied about for next year’s fall season and this spring’s midseason replacements is striking and bizarre. While all the midseason shows are far from huge successes, they all seem to be character-based shows with modest ambitions. Meanwhile, next fall’s programs all have the same earmarks of high concept that marred last fall as such a miserable failure.

It’s easy to gripe about the glut of bad television. All told, the networks have commissioned 120 shows. Even the best stable of writers would have trouble coming up with that many quality ideas. And as a result, many of the new offerings end up being pale imitations or rip-offs of previous hits. For instance, two shows seek to capitalize on the success of The West Wing by turning other government branches into melodrama: First Monday sends James Garner to the Supreme Court, and The Agency deals with the inner workings of the CIA.

Even the things you think would be promising are fairly derivative. GlenGordon Caron, the man behind Moonlighting—once one of TV’s best shows—returns with When I Grow Up. The plot involves investigators uncovering spousal infidelity...which is pretty much the same plot as Moonlighting. The one possibly bright spot would be the return of the driest stuttering wit in the world, Bob Newhart, if the show weren’t sullied by the fact that Newhart has to costar with Sisqo.

At any rate, here are some sleepers that may slip through the cracks before the big-budget junk clutters the airwaves in the fall:

♦ My Wife & Kids earns the rare distinction of being a Wayans comedy that actually made me laugh during the previews. The original breakout Wayans, Damon, plays Mom to the kids while his wife is a high-powered stockbroker in this suburban sitcom. The chemistry between Wayans and his costar, former Martin Lawrence TV girlfriend Tisha Campbell-Martin, should be strong. Let’s just hope the show stays above the gross-out humor of the last Wayans project, Scary Movie. It starts Wednesday, March 28 on ABC.

♦ This is one of those shows that I’m recommending with some reluctance: What About Joan brings the immensely charming and funny Joan Cusack to television in a show focusing on a group of Chicago high school teachers. But I think Joan, much like her equally talented brother John, is too engaging and talented to be confined to a TV show. That said, with the assured hand of James L. Brooks (The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Taxi, The Simpsons), the show could actually end up being genuinely good. It starts Tuesday, March 27.

♦ You’ve really, really got to hand it to FOX. More than any other network, they’ve gotten to the heart of what makes reality TV such a guilty pleasure. As tawdry as Temptation Island was, it hit all the right voyeuristic buttons: While you were afraid to watch what would happen, you didn’t dare take your eyes off the TV screen. Now Boot Camp may end up being the most delightfully sadistic thing ever aired on network television, as contestants try to survive military basic training.

Even if this show just ends up re-creating R. Lee Ermey’s rant at the beginning of Full Metal Jacket every week, it’ll be worth watching. My only complaint is that rather than a whole new cast of regular Joes, the show should be populated entirely by contestants from past reality-TV shows. Wouldn’t you love to see a drill sergeant cursing and screaming mercilessly at Puck? Oh, the mere thought warms the cockles of my heart.

Full disclosure

Every week, I sit at my desk and thumb though countless Web sites, digging up ridiculous, derisory items about the entertainment industry. But I’d be misleading you if I didn’t own up to my own attractions to this world.

So I’ll go ahead and confess: Like hundreds of others, I went down to the Belcourt on a cold Saturday afternoon last month and stood in line for two hours to offer my services as an extra in the film The Castle. The experience turned out to be far less interesting than I’d hoped. We were all essentially herded like cattle to the theater, where the production crew asked some questions, took our pictures, and shooed us along.

Last Saturday, my phone rang, and lo and behold, Dreamworks Productions was on the caller ID. The woman on the line wanted me to be a stand-in for one of the “lead actors.” Unfortunately, the job would require taking a leave of absence from the Scene for about three months and putting this column on hiatus, so I had to say no. (But of course.) It’s still possible that I might be called in for the occasional Saturday shoot.

So in the end, I guess we can all glean one thing from my experience: I look exactly like Robert Redford...only prettier.

Quotidian Challenge

“If you’re into evil, you’re a friend of mine.”

E-mail the origin of this useless bit of trivia to poplife the shame of your name printed in the paper and some free useless crap from the Nashville Scene!

Previous week’s answer: Theme from WKRP in Cincinnati.

Winner: Kristal Jones.