Wil Wheaton (Wesley Crusher, from Star Trek: The Next Generation[I refuse to abbreviate it, lest I seem like a Trekkie, or Trekker, or whatever they call themselves]). Met him at a Star Trek convention my cousin dragged me to because she was to scared to drive in city traffic. He was uninteresting for the most part, but what was cool was that after the convention, he sat in the lobby with his friends, making fun of the con-goers.
Tracii Gunz, the guitarist from L.A. Guns. Met him while drunk at a hair band show in S.F. in the early '90s. Uninteresting, and pretty stupid, too.
Jose Canseco, Mark McGwire, Ricky Henderson, Eck, most of the Dream Team A’s from the late '80s. My uncle worked as a security guard in Blackhawk, a ritzy gated community where a few of the A’s lived. Got to meet a lot of them at games, got a few autographs, too.
Tupac. Met him while I was working at a movie theater, back when he was just a kid performing w/ Digital Underground. He was a really nice guy, I talked w/ him for a few minutes about his then-group, who I am a big fan of. What a waste of life.
Mike Patton from Faith No More (and the geeky guitarist, too). Met them at the movie theater I worked at. Both were gold-plated pricks. For some reason, a lot of Bay Area celebs came to the theater I worked at in Hayward.
But the clincher, the all time celebrity of celebrities that I have ever had the pleasure to meet, is Joe DiMaggio. I was working as a busboy, after the '89 quake in S.F., and DiMaggio came into the restaurant I was working at. My boss came running into the back, yelling that Mr. Coffee was out front. Took me a while to figure it out, but when I did come out, the only thing I could say was <<<tiny, insecure voice>>> “can i take your plate, Mr DiMaggio?” He was very kind, and polite, even though he’d just lost his house in the quake. Didn’t get an autograph or anything, I was so dumbfounded. One of my coworkers did, and he said he was thinking of asking if Marilyn gave good hummers, but I talked him out of it (by threatening bodily harm). I could meet the Pope, Jack Nicholson, Ghandi back from the dead, and I would say, “Huh! Big deal, I met the Yankee Clipper, and got to wash his plate. Screw off!” (Although, I probably wouldn’t tell Jack to screw off, out of fear for my life.)