My dad is a ghostbuster

I saw Dan Aykroyd IN THE FLESH this evening, and I'll never regret another thing in my life knowing my one goal has been fulfiled.
Sad thing was, it was kind of like seeing my dad. He's fat. He's old. He had a leather jacket on, but like your fat dad who shows up to pick you up from grade 8 in a Hypercolor t-shirt, it just doesn't work. Or I guess it does. I'm not a fashion critic.
Anyway, I'm not one to fall for hero worship. Anyone who knows me knows that if I have heroes, they probably have proton packs. But I don't really seek out my heroes and pester them. But, for Ray Stantz, I figured, "Hey. Sure he's just a person, but he's also a Ghostbuster. And I've never seen a Ghostbuster." So I stood in the cold for half an hour to see a guy who looked like my dad, Alec Baldwin, and every other 50-something in North America who weighs more than 200 pounds.
It was a minor thrill to see Dan Aykroyd. According to a man who later assaulted a woman for butting ahead of him in line at the blues club where Aykroyd was appearing ("don't touch me, you fucking asshole," she told him) ...Aykroyd is on tour promoting some brand of tequila. Throw in two old Blues Brother songs (there was naught a Belushi to be seen or exhumed), and a friendly, dadlike walkby by Aykroyd on Halifax's main street, and you've got a ... well... I can't say disappointing... lame... evening.
So, thrillwise, seeing Stanz walk by would be up there with seeing Egon brush his teeth. Or Peter Venkman buying groceries. Or Winston Zeddemore having a manicure. Or little Dana Barrett ... whatever. Buying a knish. Someone cool doing something boring is still someone cool.