Far too many years ago, I was in a Mexican cantina (continuing my) drinking after my first Circus Mexicus. Stevie, then the Peacemakers’ lead guitarist, was sitting a few tables away. We were not yet drunk enough to approach him and engage in appropriate worship. And then our chance seemed to have passed, as he got up to leave. But on his way out, he stopped by the table, thanked us for coming to the show, and shook our hands.
Necessary hygiene forced me to actually wash that hand the following day, but it was a close-run thing.
Fast forward a couple of years, many Peacemakers shows later, and picture me staggering toward the exit of a Flagstaff bar after yet another tequila-drenched show. Stevie emerged from a side door, saw me, exclaimed, “Hey – you were in Mexico!” and gave me a full-body hug.
Necessary hygiene forced me to bathe within the next few days, but it was a close-run thing.
Fast forward to a May in Mexico. A few months before, having shed my early aversion to tattoos, I had gotten myself inked with the Peacemakers logo, and now no shit, here I was in JJ’s Cantina, meeting Roger Clyne in person and learning that he did, in fact, approve of my choice in art. I believe it was the alcohol that allowed me to remain conscious. Otherwise, I should probably have required an ambulance crew to remove me from the premises after having swooned. The coda to this is that when I saw him over a year later at the CD release party for No More Beautiful World, he studied my face for a moment, started mumbling about cantinas and tattoos, and then remembered my name. What prevented me from needing paramedics at that time, I’m not sure, but I do remember the room blurring a bit round the edges.
So yes, I have met actual rock stars, and been recognized by them, and so I know precisely how it feels to actually be recognized as a distinct entity rather than an amorphous blob fitting the description of “yet another fan.” This necessary context should help you understand why I was revisited by this feeling just this evening, when I perused the comments on this thread. And this on top of PZ responding to my pathetic pleas on Twitter and then linking to ye olde humble blog. To me, PZ Myers and Ophelia Benson are rock stars, all right? They are the Stevie and Roger of the blogging world.
There are only three responses appropriate to the occasion. One is to pass right out, but it seems I come from a line of females not prone to fainting no matter the provocation. The second is to give a somewhat-restrained “SQUEE!” and say, “Thank you!”
The third is to place your tongue firmly in your cheek, and enact the relevant scene from Wayne’s World:
I know I’m not the only admirer of the above celebrities who’s been treated as more than an interchangeable unit by them. So there’s just a few things to say: Thank you for recognizing us as more than amorphous blobs. Thank you for inspiring us. And thank you for providing Wayne’s World-worthy moments.