Sunday, May 18, 2008

A Small, No, Gigantic Restrospect.

Now, before I go into randomly exquisite detail of the Q Concert, today and yesterday I stumbled across some thoughts. I rarely get serious in here (I simply want to entertain, not complain from a high horse) so bear with me as I go off into a semi-meaningless tirade.

First off, I started thinking about how I had seen Kevin Jonas and basically screamed orgasmically for him from behind a gate. Two things hit me there: first, I had embarrassed myself in front of my “future husband” (more on that later); and secondly, why did that even merit a scream such as what I did? Truth is, it didn’t. Nothing from behind that gate was truly appropriate. After all, I don’t know Kevin Jonas personally. And then it hit me: Why the Jonas Brothers? Why any of those celebrities? If we were indeed created equal, why do we place people on a pedestal? After all, they are just people. What makes them so special? The money. The more money, the more popular, the better.

And then you see things in magazines like, “Celebrities: They’re just like us.” First off, no, they aren’t. And second, even the magazine writers are on a different plateau than the readers. I don’t know how life picks out a celebrity, but it clearly missed me. I know I’ll never be famous or marry Kevin Jonas, and I’ll rest on the age old thought, “A girl can dream.” Yes, a girl can dream. But even with dreams, you get a sense of disappointment. Any person who says they hole-heartedly knew something they dreamt about wasn’t going to happen lied. Because there always is that miniscule fraction of hope. Anything is possible.

To me, I feel something unknown separates us “normal folks” from the destined famous. I don’t have a clue what that separation is, but there is one. I mean, I know halfway in my heart that all those dreams I meticulously plan out won’t come true. And the other half keeps dreaming. I mean, I’ll probably end up maybe graduating college on time, and living in a guest room at my sister’s, and working at the Morning Call. Even that has a large sense of dreaming in it. More appropriately, I’ll graduate whenever and waste my degree working as a Superfresh cashier, believing that the story I’m writing then is the story that’s going to change the world. Everyone that reads this is probably going to say I’m being way too cynical. That may be true. After all, I am only 18 years old, and I should have the world at my feet, yet I’ve already resorted to a painfully dull future. Or people just refuse to believe the truth. Because to me, I bet people who are destined to be something big never get this down on reality. They just know it’s going to happen. Maybe that’s the separation.

After I saw Kevin, I texted the big screen there and got to see “Ali got to see her future husband Kevin up close!” scroll across the bottom of the giant screen in hopes of making at least one person out there jealous. And well, I had lied at least twice in just that one sentence. Was twenty feet and behind a gate “up close”? And really, is he my future husband? After all, I saw at least 100 marriage proposals to the Jonas Brothers on the screen that night. Me and 10 million other girls want to marry Kevin Jonas (There’s probably 20 million apiece for Nick and Joe) and who will be the victor? None of them. It’ll probably be some temp at a recording studio who, ten years down the road, rarely listened to the Jonas Brothers. Because, seriously, put yourself in their shoes: would you want to spend the rest of your life with someone who idolized you, and had your picture cover their room, and basically love you because you’re famous? No. In real life, kids, that’s called a stalker. And name one happy person who married their stalker. Yeah, I thought so.

And the truly romantics will point out too semi-glimmering examples (shining is just going too far): Katie Holmes and that waitress that’s with George Clooney. First, Katie Holmes: she had dreamed of marrying Tom Cruise as a little girl. Okay, that’s all well and good, but she is still a celebrity in her own right. And no one knows except her if she’s truly happy. Now, the waitress: just a normal girl who won George Clooney’s heart (for now). Alright, have you seen her? Fucking gorgeous. She models now. Ok, yeah, she was destined to serve cocktails. And I was destined to walk on Pluto. Plus, she probably lived some awesomely charmed life. Probably had it made in the shade. Not all celebrities did, but a damn good amount did.

I guess this all rolls down to escapism. We like to leave our mundane worlds to dream of an awesome one. When the going gets tough, we like to escape to our fake world, the celebrity world. I could use that as my excuse for what I did when Heath Ledger died. My Nana (God rest her soul, as well as Heath’s) was lying in a hospital bed, beginning her decline. I reveled in CNN, picking up every detail about Ledger to tell the set of people at bedside when they came out. I simply needed an escape for my mind. But what was everyone else’s excuse? I got at least ten texts that day from different people, saying, “Did you hear about Heath Ledger?” It was like a game that day: who could tell someone that didn’t know. I was excited when I found someone who hadn’t heard. Instead of feeling bad that a beloved actor had passed before his time, I joined the telling game. And plus, was Heath even worth it? Did he deserve 10 magazine covers just because a lot of people knew him? My Nana was known by many, and she didn’t get a cover, and I probably won’t when I die (never say never). Heath was just one of those lucky, special guys who happened to be a celebrity at the time of his death. Many famous people who die don’t get covers because no one cares about them anymore. Old news. There’s definitely a difference because a celebrity and being famous.

Now I know I won’t follow what I preach. I’ve accepted that. I won’t stop obsessing over the Jonas Brothers for a while (until another band takes my attention), and I most certainly won’t stop putting celebrities on a pedestal. Humans innately do it. We can’t not look up and see something above us, whether a person or a power. I guess through al of this, I see, once again, my chances at obtaining my dreams are slim to none. But I can still dream. I just have to be able to pull my head out of the clouds when needed. To quote an odd source for something like this, but definitely not for me, “Life’s what you make it, so let’s make it rock.” Ms. Montana has got it. Make your life as best as you can. Yet I add something: at the end of the day, make sure you’re happy.

Thus ends my rant. Onto funnier, shorter, and more hypocritical thoughts. :)

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