There are certain celebrities, people, I become tongue tied and mentally impotent when we are face to face.
This affliction came into light a few years ago when the chance to meet Stevie Nicks arose. After waiting in a metal chair for seven long hours, she finally made her way to the stage to begin signing whatever was shoved in her face. The security team at Barnes & Noble, the epitome of a jelly doughnut and cola diet, were strict on allowing a hand shake and a question, followed by tossing your ass off the stage like the trash you are.
When it was finally my turn, she signed the album, shook my hand and stared at me. Awaiting whatever moronic thing or fan-lust compliment would fall out on the table with a flop. Much to my surprise, nothing came out. What can you possibly ask Stevie Nicks? Embarrassed, I hung my head in shame and shuffled off the stage.
My next celebrity encounter came while stuck in Baltimore around Christmas two years later. Snooping through mail I came across a local theater’s calendar of events. Wouldn’t you know, that night, Mink Stole, was putting on a Christmas special. If you don’t know who Mink Stole is please click here. I’ll wait for you…
At her show I got the chance to get on stage and get a present from her. A handmade present, mine a potholder [useless, the stove is dangerous and I never turn it on], that I lovingly keep in my freezer where it’s safe from all harm. At the end of the show my friend forced me to go up and say hello. Which was made even more difficult because John Waters had slipped in during the show and they were talking. This was worse than meeting Stevie because there were two of them and I idolized their filth. I can’t recall what I said, pretty sure it was something close to, “I’m obsessed with you.” They both shook my hand and then waited for me to slink away like a slobbering idiot.
Fast forward to last night and the Russian, Larrymore and I had tickets to John Waters’ Christmas Special. An hour of filthy dialogue that makes me think that I really need to put more effort into being verbally out of control. At the end, a Q&A where we should have asked questions. But again, what the hell do you ask the people you idolize? Rather than sound like a moron; there were many in the room [including a girl that asked about birthdays – I hate her], I kept my mouth closed. We didn’t get to directly meet John Waters, that cost more, but there were signed copies of his book in the lobby, which I happily purchased. I’m even happier with mine because the signature is flawed as the pen died halfway through…just like all good things.
Even though I can’t control my mind or force words from my mouth when faced with these people, I’m still obsessed with their odd creative works that only interest a niche group of people. The goal is to grow up [I’m aware by the world’s standards I’m full grown] and follow in their unusual footsteps. Hopefully by that point I’ll be able to talk.