Conceive of it.
Haha! You f*cker! Ok. A couple years ago, I was in Toronto for a big book festival. I was running late for my event, as I'd met up with some big city friends for far too many pints. Anyway, this book reading thingy had a few authors on the bill, so I thought no problem I'll just chill out on the second floor by the bar and try to find a seat after the intermission. So, I'm slamming a few shots and a few generous pours of wine, and the door to the upper boxes (loges) opens up and out of this door comes a very recognizable Wallace Shawn walks out flipping open his phone to take a call (apparently his wife is an author!?). Across 30' of space, leaning aslope on the bar, I yell "Wallace Shawn: in Toronto: 'Inconceivable!" The bartenders are in stitches, but he looks at me with a here-we-go-again stare, gives me one of those 'hey, how you doin,' his two fingers doing the 'let's-wind-it-up' circles and goes back to his call. Shitty aside, but I was most amazed that in my depths, I could come up with not only his name but come up cracking wise. I'm sure he has no memory of it.
