A fascinating mèlange, eh? Never thought you'd see O.J. and B.J. together? Maybe these strange juxtapositions are what makes Celebrity Deathmatch so popular. (I've always wondered.) This list, for me, is a record of the moments I've been in the right place at the right time. These seconds and minutes have punctuated my life like snow days or birthdays, but are even more thrilling in their randomness. They're an instant adrenaline rush, a moment of irrational excitement.

Since I'm not one of those people who remain blasè in the face of fame, I inevitably embarrass whichever apathetic companion I happen to be with during these twinkling instants. I freeze and assume the visage of a devout Catholic in a papal presence. This comparison may seem excessive, but I've only ever seen echoes of what I must look like in the faces of those genuflecting toward Mecca or smooching the ring of the Pope.

And when you consider how celebrity-obsessed we are as a society, you'll see that this analogy is not so ridiculous. Like children of religious parents, whose heads are filled with Bible stories from an early age and who learn to covet certain symbols of their faith, many Americans from the moment they toddle, daily worship the illuminating light coming from the almighty big-screen TV. The love affair that began with Sesame Street continues with Teen Beat (or Tiger Beat if that's your thing) and pop stars and posters and Web sites and soaps and movies and tabloids and E! and awards shows and... and then you find yourself on a city sidewalk, standing next to God.

Sometimes you're overcome with devotion even if it's only an apostle. Point in case: During a visit to New York last fall to see an exhibit with some friends at the Whitney Museum, I glimpsed an MTV VJ--John Norris--amidst the Hoppers. Merely a minor celeb, Norris prompted Celebrity Glaze Lite--I stared at and followed him from a few paces behind as he moved from one objet d'art to the next; all the while I hid behind a statuesque friend in a futile attempt to appear stealthy.

A note on my condition at the time: Only in this lowest form of glaze do I still possess mobility. However, one aspect remains constant from Lite on up: I become oblivious to social graces. Motherly admonitions not to stare fly out the window. A note on what I'm feeling: It's not what others describe as thinking you know the person, or seeing a familiar face. The celebrity is familiar, but they're also glowing, as if you're watching them through one of those virtual reality headsets. And all you want to do is walk into the light.

After the episode inside the museum, while waiting outside for a friend to finish browsing the gift shop, who walks by but Lenny Kravitz, in full rock-star regalia, with a super-model-caliber woman on each arm. This merited Medium Glaze--I stopped in mid-sentence and stared at the star, tracking his hip-swiveling stroll down the block until he turned the corner and was no longer in sight. And then managed to stammer, "He's so... so short!" (See, celebrities in the flesh can offer up these surprises.)

An unprecedented day, and still more to come. Cosmetics shopping at Macy's. A stroll through Times Square. A stop at Starbucks to re-hep and refuel. And there bathed in light stands Ron Howard, leaning against a wall, his wife in tow, awaiting their Venti coffees of the day. My mouth hangs open, I stare shamelessly, and my boyfriend is mortified--it's his first time experiencing Heavy Celebrity Glaze, which comes complete with drool. But I will make no apologies for this behavior which society labels "uncool." After all, it's Richie Cunningham. The director of Cocoon and Apollo 13. The brother of Clint Howard, famously ubiquitous supporting actor!

Well, after this momentous weekend, I was happy to return to Philadelphia--not the ideal locale if you're a career celebrity spotter, but a restful place for the easily glazed like myself. Here, such local luminaries as Pat Croce, Patti LaBelle and a handful of restaurateurs, are the biggest celebs you're likely to encounter walking around Center City. Notable, but nothing to drool over.

If you're interested in compiling your own celebrity list-- here are some basic rules and tips:
1) Stalking or hunting doesn't cut it. It should happen much more organically than that. You can find out where they live or hang out, but then let them come to you. For example, if you hear that Ethan Hawke frequents a certain West Village coffeehouse, you can start going there until you see him, but don't grill the barrista for details.

2) It doesn't count if you see the person onstage at a concert or in a play--there should be some personal contact before they make the list.

3) Finally, if your numbers are hideously low, go to New York or L.A. or Montana for the weekend. New York makes it easy-in one day there, I felt like a permanent, albeit underpaid, extra.

If nothing else, your list is proof that God walks among us--and drinks corporate coffee and visits museums during regular hours and even pees in public bathrooms (someone I know once relieved himself next to Charleton Heston). Now that's a prize entry on any list.