Friday, 11 March 2005 | Fan complex

I'm not sure how Joel recognized him; he was sitting far away, and neither of us had expected him to be there. "I think I just saw Dan Aykroyd," he said, and pointed to a man seated at the edge of the room, several feet below us. "There, in the corner." I squinted and tilted my glasses, neither of which gave me a definitive answer. The only thing that convinced me that it might in fact be Dan Akroyd, was that the suspect was wearing a black shirt and a red tie, which seemed slightly flamboyant for an unfamous man in his fifties, but fitting for a famous one.

I'd come to the event as a spectator, but Joel had come, in part, as a journalist. After Al Gore finished speaking, Joel announced that he was going to interview Mr. Aykroyd about his response to the presentation. "C'mon, let's go." "Really?" I asked. "You're just going to walk up to him and start asking him questions?" I didn't want to disturb the man, but my curiosity was more powerful than my discretion, and I followed Joel downstairs. I figured it was okay, since Joel was planning to interview the actor, rather than ask for an autograph or something.

Dan Aykroyd was talking to a group of friends when we approached. Joel said something to him that I couldn't make out, and the next thing I know, Joel is handing me a camera, and the two of them are looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to blind them with a flash. I conceded, and then silently shook Dan Aykoyd's hand. Instead of professionals—or fellow spectators, even—Joel and I had just identified ourselves as Fans.

Moments later, when Joel approached Aykroyd for an interview, I stayed behind, because I didn't want to be bothersome, and I wanted to somehow make up for my earlier Fan sin. So I stood ten feet away instead, and occasionally glanced over at them, mouthing words and nodding; they'd moved away from the crowd and seemed to be at ease. I wish I'd been around for that instead.