brushes with fame

This past week I have been stalked by a Famous Artist. I don't know who he is (ok, this is a lie - it's a small town so a little research led me to this conclusion), and I only know he is a Famous Artist because I've twice sat next to him in the Art Museum cafe during my office hours. Both times, professor-types have come up to him and discussed his visit - it became immediately clear that he was in B-town to give a talk, and also that he was much admired. It made me think about how many writers have come through town, and occasions that strangers have interacted with them in my presence in a way that made me want to say, hey, don't you know this is ________ (Mary Gaitskill, Charles Baxter, Toi Dericotte...), and how on this occasion I was the dummy sitting blithely at my table reading submissions while Famous Artist guy sat around being famous. So, I thought it was funny that I ran into him twice at the cafe. And then I ran into him at the union parking lot. And THEN he almost hit me with his car. This is totally unrelated (don't think it an unkindness born of the car incident), but I have to confess that something about him reminds me of Wallace Shawn.