1:22 am and I'm doing the Google thing for "celebrity weblogs". I don't even know why except that I've been reading Margaret Cho ravings and thinking "I like her even when she gets on my nerves, which is saying something." Because Margaret Cho is talented, hot, funny as hell and quite capable of getting all over my nerves for which I completely forgive her because, well, I love her anyway.
Not in a slathering, fawning minion sort of way. That's both embarrassing and scary. No, in a distant "I'd love to see her in concert if the venue isn't a bar or club or something where I can't breathe or hear," watch her videos and read her weblog and think "Angry cool bitch woman is happening here." sort of way.
I spend a lot of time thinking about famous people I admire, and a good portion of that thinking time is spent pondering the actual nature of fame and the cultural aspects of it and all sorts of sociological shit. I've written about it because it strikes me as such a weird, unreal thing, this modern fame construct.
You know those quizzes that ask you what famous people you'd invite to a dinner party, or be left on a desert island with, or whatever? Yeah, you know what I mean. I can never really come up with answers to those. Oh, when I was younger and hadn't thought about it so much I could spout off a list of names with a gleam in my innocent eye. But now I'm older and I think I understand more about the strings between people. I have no more time for unrequited love, onesided relationships, and slavering fandom. Oh, I still adore my favorite famous people. I just don't imagine talking to them.
After all, what could I possibly say that they haven't heard enough times to be bored by it..."I love your work..." or some inane question. I've come to the conclusion that for me to have any measure of intelligent conversation with someone I admire, I'd have to pretend I didn't know who they were.
I'd have to be a liar, in other words. Or at least I'd have to exercise incredible self control.
It's really the incredible imbalance between me and any person I admire. Nothing is equal. If I strike up a conversation with someone, say, in line at the grocery store, things are fairly equal there. But if I were put in a position of having to converse with, say, Peter Woodward or Sting or Margaret Cho, there's no way I could manage it without heavy amounts of babbling on my part.
I know too much about them, while not knowing a damn thing about them. I'm too interested, too eager. I've spent too much time thinking about them, wondering and talking and speculating, yadayada, reading the news about them, watching them on TV, listening to them. It's all one way. And I can't make myself imagine that, despite any interest I might have in them, that they'd have the slightest, tiniest interest in me. Especially since I'd be babbling idiotically.
I know. I've done it.
Again, there's the imbalance, at least in my head. Inside the little world I inhabit, I see this person as a One, while there are Many fans and admirers. So, this One has to do a number of things -- spread around attention, protect him/herself, present the right public image, and otherwise Be A Celebrity. It's not like standing at the cashier in Wal Mart waiting for the lady ahead to fill out her checkbook. No, I'm just a Many in this situation, part of a faceless group, a mob. a large and perhaps threatening THING.
And I'm concious of it to a ridiculous level. I don't want to be rude. I don't WANT to babble. I don't like admitting I want some of this person's limited time and attention while at the same time wanting it. I don't want to be remembered for anything bad, but I do want to be remembered, but I don't want to ADMIT I want to be rememembered --- you can see where this is going. Craziness. Overthinking to the point of breakdown.
I don't think I'm a bad person, despite my assortment of hangups and weird habits. I have friends who apparently find something worthwhile in my company. I can be funny, charming, compassionate, helpful, and companionable. I like to make others comfortable.
And I don't like to admit things about myself that I don't think are terribly admirable, no matter how normal, natural or Human they are. So I usually try to admire the people I like from a distance, respectfully and safely. Hell, even in the private and all powerful world of my daydreams, I'm so damned polite and self-effacing that it's almost pointless to HAVE a daydream about meeting someone famous. I figure the only way I could manage it gracefully is to be knocked unconsious and fall bleeding into the arms of the particular famous person I'm thinking about. Then the whole thing wouldn't be any fault of mine, and it's hard to be considered rude or pushy or any of the things I don't want thought about me in such a situation.
Which is still too pyschologically revealing for me to discuss comfortably. I've tried. believe me.
It's getting much closer to 2 am than I've seen in a while. I suspect that, since there should be housecleaning tomorrow, I should arrange to meet with my pillows and pretend, somewhere in my dreams, that one of those famous and beautiful people I so admire falls helplessly in love with me enough not to mind my complete inability to hold a conversation.