Ben Stein
On my last trip out to the wilderness in Northern Idaho, we stopped at a (more) upscale restaurant. By this I mean that there were only two TVs showing a lumberjack competition and a two-bit musician playing. Karina, by comrade in trapping, says "KATE! It's BEN STEIN!" Of course, my professor and the other biologist were confused. But there he was, a little man with big ears and a maroon shirt. Whenever we'd look over he'd lean over in his seat to look back, and he waved goodbye to Karina twice. I jept saying, "What in the hell is Ben Stein doing in Priest Lake?" I guess he must have gotten lost from Sun Valley or something. I wonder if he enjoyed being recognized.