I'm not sure if I'm truly a "fan" of anything or anyone if we go by traditional definitions of the word fan, that is. I will not follow a band around the country. I do not try to get front row seats so I can potentially be so "lucky" as to catch something the lead singer throws off the stage (like his influenza because what he threw was his sweat and spit). I don't go to book signings often even though I have my favorite authors; in fact, I rarely know when they come into town. I don't attempt to get tickets to ballgames when my favorite teams are playing. In fact, although I attended and graduated from KU and like their basketball team above all others, I never went to one game while I was there. Except for one Midnight Madness, which I left just before the team was announced because it was too crowded and loud and hot, I never set foot in Allen Field House in the 3 years I spent at the university. I celebrate their wins now with a smile and perhaps a little post on social media to announce "my" team's superiority. In the few times I've been in the presence of famous actors, I've never asked for an autograph or been so nervous I couldn't speak.
Here's the thing: I don't like fanfare. I am not comfortable in large, large groups where people are excited and excitable. I get a little panicky when surrounded by too much hoopla. I once tried to attend an all-day Jazzercise event (don't judge) because I thought I wanted to be an instructor. I signed in and then stood in the hotel conference room lobby for about 20 minutes with well over 100 other women, all who were eagerly awaiting the opening of the doors to catch a glimpse of one of the founders of the company. There were several mini booths in the lobby, some with items to purchase like "Jazzertogs" and healthy snacks and cookbooks, some with information about becoming an instructor, and some with women selling their own brands of fitness-related items and clothes. As it got closer and closer to the awaited time at which they would throw open the doors to the large conference room and begin the giant exercise class, I moved closer and closer to the exit. Women screeched as the doors opened, and I saw the stage in the front of the room with special lighting and a giant screen so the people in the back of the room could see the instructors, too. When I saw the stampede into the conference room, I turned around and walked out the door to my car. I didn't fit into this scene. I wasn't excited to see someone just because she helped find one of the most revered exercise franchises in the country. Really, I wasn't. I just wanted to become an instructor, and this is where the local instructor who had encouraged me told me to go.
Perhaps it was a mix of a little social anxiety and claustrophobia, but I looked at the others' excited faces, heard their squeals of delight and their joyous chatter - their true fanatic behavior - and I realized I wasn't one of them.
I've met a few celebrities, too. While it was really cool (and still is) to tell people, impressionable ones, that Adam Sandler was at my brother's wedding, and I got to have a conversation with him more than once at the reception, I didn't feel at the time that it was all that big of a deal. I mean, he's just a guy who makes funny movies and who spent time on one of my favorite TV shows (SNL). He grew up like any other kid. He farts just like anyone else, and his wife probably doesn't laugh every time he fluffs the covers. When we left the reception, we rode down in the elevator with him and his wife as well as his good friend and fellow actor Allen Covert and his wife. The elevator stopped to let more people in on another floor, and three teenaged girls stopped dead in their tracks when they saw who was inside. Their eyes grew huge, and one said, "You're - you're - you're that guy from the movies. Oh. My. God!!!" She squeaked, her friends squeaked, and I felt very uncomfortable for the Sandlers. They must get that everywhere they go, and I don't understand it. He's a chill guy, and he took their excitability with good humor, posing for a couple shots while we finished our elevator ride to the hotel lobby in Vegas. I don't know if I would be able to handle that sort of attention with such cool, and I'm sure he has days when he would rather stay at home than to have to deal with it. It's no wonder some celebrities would prefer to be called names by the paparazzi and entertainment media than to have to put on an appreciative smile every time they walk out of their house.
Celebrity just doesn't do it for me. I don't idolize anyone living or dead. I don't feel like anyone is any more special than the next guy. I'm no more special than my neighbor, and President Kennedy was no more special than him either. The difference between "us" and "them" is the amount of attention we get. And what is attention? It's simply other people looking one's way for a while until something else catches the eye.
Some reading this are going to think I'm lying, that I am a fan of certain people, and perhaps their sort of right. I do *love* Dave Grohl, and I did make it a point to go to his concert last year, and I was excited to go, and I enjoyed it immensely. But I sat at a comfortable distance, away from the floor and all the crazed fans. I jammed to the art and the artists. They were beautiful.
I appreciate art and the artist, but I am not fanatical about it. Perhaps I'm broken, too practical for any sort of fun, but I think fanatical behavior of any kind is just plain ridiculous. I'm happy when my team wins, but it doesn't make or break my day, week, month, year. I don't take special pains to see that game or watch that movie on opening day. I'm sensible to a fault.
