beneath my dignity to climb a tree

The problem. Err. One of the pitfalls of growing up is that it can make you world-weary. You see things. You learn things. And you start to think that you know it all. Not because you do but because, well you've seen a lot. You've got the gist of the way things work, and, how much more could there possibly be?

The RM likes to joke that someday Hugh Jackman will become a widower or divorcee. And then he will meet me and we will marry. Sounds great. But here's the thing, besides the utter unlikelihood of Mr. Jackman becoming single, I am a total dork around anyone remotely famous. Tongue tied and pathetic.

Closer to the realm of reality, I stumbled upon this wikipedia category:People from Brooklyn. That's right it's a list of wiki-worthy Brooklynites.

Which got me another inch closer to the realm of reality and thinking about some of the Brooklynites whom I admire, like Zefrank, OddTodd, Jonathon Coulton, and Joe Piglet of the Stockyard Stoics. Sometimes I fall into a daydream that one of these days I might run into one of them when I stop at a donut shop for a krueller on my way back from a long day at the laundromat.

In younger days, this reverie would end with in some steamy torrid love scene or a creative collaboration that brings us both fame, wealth, glory and the legendary cultural political influence that could change the world for the better. *yep*

However, now. These daydream scenarios are always interrupted by the rattle of the rocks in my head.

In reality, I would probably gape and stare a little and then slink off with my donuts. Because while I love their work, what do I really know about these people? The fact that I like their work does not mean that we have anything to talk about or that we share common interests or any of the usual things that help you make friends. It doesn't even mean that they are nice people. What would be the spark, the hook that would lead to more than an awkward hello?

Let's say I did make an attempt to interact -

Me (through a mouth full of Krueller): "Hi, I really like your work."
Famous Dude: "Gee thanks, so do I."
Me: *smiling like I have rigor mortis*
Famous Dude: "Soooooo ... do you want something or are you just going to blush and sweat and smile at me with donut all over your face?"
Me: "Uh, that one time, when you, like, played that song? And you were all dancing at stuff? Oh, Man! That was the best."
Famous Dude slowly backing away: "Yeah. Right. Uh, look it was nice running into you. Glad you like my work. Maybe I'll see you around."

And *zoop* he is gone.


Especially since my limited social skills have greatly atrophied. The best I could hope for is to remember the manners my mother tried to teach me and offer Famous Dude a donut.