I have never wanted to be a celebrity. I suspect this places me in the minority. But being a celebrity just seems awful. You can't go to the grocery store without somebody inspecting your cart or disparaging your panty line. I first realized this when I was a little girl, and somehow had ended up working at a parade in Washington DC. I'm not sure why it seemed like a good idea to have little girls volunteering to seat members of the public. Like we had any clue what was going on, and would be able to tell anyone else? Or would have any authority when said members of the public didn't want to sit where we told them to sit?
That wasn't my point, actually, that was a tangent.
Anyway, it rained at the parade. We all got thoroughly soaked. And somebody saw us all bedraggled and sad and cold and decided to invite us into the VIP tent to warm up. There weren't any VIPs in it, yet. And Red Cross or some other helpful organization had blankets, so they wrapped us up and we were quite a bit less miserable. And then James Brady rolled into the tent.
James Brady had been shot, of course. I mean, not right then. Before the parade. WELL before the parade. He was in a wheelchair. And the press followed him in. He looked harassed. They were asking him pointless questions, just to make him stumble over words, as they knew he would. And he slurred out something for them. To make them go away, I assume, because he didn't look like he enjoyed being on national television with his wheelchair and his brain injury.
Note that since I was standing behind him, this was my one flirtation with national tv. Wet rat wearing a wool blanket. No idea why nobody has called my agent yet.
So that was my early experience with celebrity. Perhaps if my early experience had involved some sort of pampering and adulation rather than sodden misery and embarrassment for the disabled guy sitting next to me, I would think it was fantastic. But it didn't. And although intellectually I understand that some people want everybody to look at them, I have a very hard time understanding it emotionally.
Now, I wouldn't mind being somebody so awesome that people thought I should be a celebrity. On account of my new era moon landing, perhaps. Or my humanitarian efforts, which had ended world hunger, overpopulation, and religious differences. But I wouldn't want to actually BE a celebrity. I value anonymity. At least in a large community context. I don't mind being in a small community and having everybody know me, and knowing everybody. I like knowing that people know exactly who I am, that what you see is what you get. This is me. I don't put on airs, I don't suffer fools gladly, and I try to be nice to my fellow man. Also I don't wear makeup, and that right there means I'll never be on anybody's tv screen.
The idea of my anonymity so engrained in me that I am constantly surprised that people remember me. "Yes, Amy, I've known you for fifteen years." Oh.. gosh.. I didn't think you had noticed me.
I realize that having people remember you after you've been around for fifteen years is completely unlike being a celebrity. But in my mind somehow they're connected. Maybe I would make a good hermit. I mean, I'm crabby sometimes..
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