I wrote music for an album that was nominated for a Grammy Award.
Back in the mid-70s, I spent summers as a stagehand, working various venues in Philadelphia (my BIL was a professional stage hand and hired me in the summers during my undergrad days).
One day, Chubby Checker was set to perform a free concert at Penn’s Landing in Philadelphia, and I was part of the crew setting up the stage. During a lunch break, I wandered into one of the trailers and started noodling around on their Fender Rhodes piano, playing a few boogie-woogie tunes just for fun. I thought I was alone.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see none other than Chubby Checker himself, standing there with his manager. “You’re not bad,” Chubby said with a grin. “How’d you like to play in my band tonight? My keyboardist broke his hand and can’t play.”
I was taken aback and a bit hesitant, admitting that I didn’t know his music well enough to play. Chubby reassured me, saying, “Don’t worry, we’ll give you a cheat sheet, and we’ll keep your volume low.” Nervously, I agreed. How could I pass up a chance to play with the king of the twist?
Just before the show, though, the original keyboardist decided he could play with one hand after all. So, my big debut was called off. Even though I didn’t get to perform, it was cool to be asked to join Chubby Checker’s band, even if only for a day. I felt a little like Pete Best. 
I think that’s the plot of multiple sitcom episodes.
That reminds me of one of my most frequent recurring dreams: I’m attending a concert where I’m friends with the band. 10 minutes before showtime, they come to me and tell me “Our guitarist/drummer got sick and can’t perform. We only have you to stand in.” So I will be on stage, guitar round my neck or sticks in hand, the lights turn on, and I remember suddenly that I have no clue how to play the guitar/drums and don’t know the songs anyway. But I always get around by noodling on the guitar or randomly hitting the drum set. I have that dream at least once a month.
I’ve seen Luke Skywalker in his underwear.
The first car I ever rode in was donated to a museum. This is a fun story, my dad owned an auto body repair shop. Around the time I was born, he had finished restoring a historic Ford for a client, something to do with WW2 and France. So, instead of picking up my mom and me from the hospital in a normal car he takes this thing, a gorgeous black mid '30’s Ford convertible. Mom was pissed. The client eventually gave the car to the San Diego Air and Space Museum where it was on display, at least for a while.
I have a similar dream, but it involves sex, not a guitar/sticks. 
I already knew that Far Side cartoon, a friend sent it to me after I had told her the same dream.
You would have been more like Jimmy Nichol.
Adjacency wise, I was friends with a woman who as a WREN officer in WW2 was several times assigned to take dictation from Churchill, and once from de Gaulle (who was annoyed that a woman was doing it). If you know the supposed origin of the saying “Bob’s your uncle!”, she could legitimately say that “Bob” was her great-uncle.
This needs explanation.
What goes on between a man and his Jedi is nobody else’s business.
I’ve seen Sid Caesar in his boxers!
The truth is never as interesting as your imagination.
Mrs. Cheesesteak was working on a Broadway project co-starring Mark Hamill, and one day I was able to meet her down at the rehearsal hall. While there, Mark was on the other side of the room changing his pants, which goes uncommented on by theater people, but which also can be twisted into a cool fact about yourself.
Turns out, he does it one leg at a time, just like the rest of us. And, he is a genuinely good guy.
Betty White has seen me in my birthday suit.
Seriously. I was about twelve. My best friend’s dad played cello in the Pittsburgh Symphony. He played in the orchestra pit for a show Sid Caesar appeared in with Imogene Coca and other folks, none of whom I knew.
We got front row seats. After the show my friend’s dad took us backstage to Sid’s dressing room (my friend’s dad knew him well). The adults talked, laughed, drank, while we stood there. At one point Sid started changing his clothes. It was freaky weird.
Now that really needs explanation.
What were you doing in Luke Skywalker’s underwear?
Shooting a elephant in my pajamas…
That’s no elephant, that’s a space station! (Or a bantha.)