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I met Elvis Costello once. He was buying pizza at a pizza shop in the terminal of the Dallas/Fort Worth airport, about three people ahead of me in line. He was wearing his trademark specs, and carrying a big black doctors' bag with "ELVIS" in needlepoint on it. I figured he wasn't trying to be low-profile, so after he sat down at a table, I went up to him and said, "Excuse me, Mr. Costello, I'm sorry to disturb your dinner, but I'd sure like to shake your hand." He grinned at me, we shook hands, and I thanked him and went on my way. That's as close to celebrity-stalking as I've ever come.
Now... If Jessica Alba moved in next door to me, I'd go straight into full-on stalker buy-a-telescope-and-set-it-up-to-peek-into-her-bedroom mode.
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