Celebrity sightings are generally wasted on me. I don’t really watch tv. I enjoy movies, but really don’t connect actors/actresses to the characters they portray. All week long, as we worked behind the scenes, people would whisper, “Look! There’s the entire cast of the Daily Show! Look!” I would look, but not recognize anyone, having never seen the show. “Look! There’s the guy from Best in Show, and Mighty Wind!” Didn’t recognize him. “Look! The guy from West Wing!” Couldn’t even tell who they were pointing at.

There were a few people I did recognize, however. Larry King ran into me three times in the corridors behind the CNN filming area. After that whenever I saw him coming I gave him a wide berth.

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Maggie and I were returning from the bathroom and entered a secure corridor. Agents rushed towards us demanding, “Move to the side! To the side, ladies.” We did as we were instructed and watched Bono from U2 pass mere feet from where we were standing. For a moment, we lamented not having our cameras. Then we decided we enjoyed the moment much more being fully present instead of trying to take a picture.

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I entered the “secret” elevator. It was in a back corner, but conveniently located for moving thousands of signs from the 3rd floor up to the 7th. Bob from the Fleet Center was manning the elevator, which surprised me. There hadn’t been an attendant on other days. We chatted as I made trip after trip after trip. We stopped on 4th and a gentleman entered and stood next to me. I glanced over, smiled, and nodded a hello. He nodded back. He was strikingly handsome. Tall, dark hair, intense eyes. He looked vaguely familiar. The elevator ascended two more floors and he left, entering the VIP level on the 6th floor. Bob turned to me. “Who was that? He was in that movie, what was it, High Fidelity?” Oh. My. God. That was John Cusack. I never expected him to be so tall. Or so striking. He’s even more handsome in real life than in the movies.

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Still moving signs up to the 7th floor, I waited patiently for the elevator with my bin of John Edwards vertical signs. A group of three men and a hoochie mama walked up next to me, also waiting. I glanced over. She wasn’t tall, but you noticed her. She was wearing tight white pants, a low cut red tank, and everything else gold. Hundreds of thin gold bangles up and down her wrists. A gold lame purse. And gold wrestling boots, blinding as the light reflected off of them. Hmm. Interesting outfit. All hooch.

Later that evening the emcee introduced the Black Eyed Peas. And there she was, on the stage, belting out “Let’s Get Retarded,” jumping around and being all that.