My Life is My Own

Tonight, I belong to the heat that is borderline uncomfortable. I belong to the soothing sound of my mother's furious typing, and of the pizza baking behind me in the oven.

I belong to the knowledge that I have a certain amount of power - a certain ability to make things happen. I don't know why this is so mind blowing for me, but the feeling that I can create long-lasting and worthwhile memories is soothing. I'm going to buy two tickets for Bo Burnham's show in Boston, tomorrow. The second is going to a person yet undecided... A weeklong roadtrip will likely be necessary to attend the show. I don't mind... Hopefully I'll be able to drive down myself, or I'll have to pick someone to come with me. Four pages of Google maps directions and a case of mixed CDs sounds good to me... And the camera. Always the camera.

I don't know why I've been so obsessed with celebrities lately. It's not because they're celebrities, but it's because I'm lonely and they're right in front of me, on my television or computer screen. The other day I came to the conclusion that it's stupid, a certain kind of attention they get. It's all the, "OMGZ You're SO AMAZING. Will you marry me?! I want to bear your offspring from my vajazzle'd ladyparts!"
Realistically, say you married the celebrity of your choice. For a while, I'm sure it would be like a dream come true, but then you'd get to know them. They'd become a person, instead of a patented and sold identity, and you'd have to deal with the multi-faceted glory of holy matrimony, in which you have been bound with a stranger.

Maybe Johnny Depp likes to smear Cheez Whiz on everything, no matter how long and hard you slaved in your thirty million dollar kitchen. Even if it's caviar. Even if it's penguin babies. Woud you still adore him because he wore eyeline in PotC?

And maybe Leonardo DiCaprio has a foot fetish. He wants you to put on nylons with the toes cut off, and just suck your feet. He won't touch you anywhere else, he'll just wipe his saliva all over your toes with his tongue. Unsatisfying? Maybe. True? Probably not.

My point (which I have strayed from), is that these people are not gods. They are people, too, and they all are likely deserving of the praise they get for their talent. Yes, they're good looking, yes, they're admirable... But there are other people who are just as deserving of attention, and the only reason they aren't getting it is because they are invisible to you. They are in a different city or country, busy with their lives and not being plastered on billboards or projected onto silver screens. These people are just as valuable.
YOU are just as valuable.

I don't want this to sound hypocritical, but it may. This next part, however, is what led me to this realization.

This last little while, I admit I've been internet-stalking Chris Lowell, who played Piz on Veronica Mars. He's obviously done other work, but that's where I saw him first, and Rogers Video doesn't carry the movie Graduation. Moving right along. I've been watching interviews and videos of his band play, and I must say that I have a bit of a crush on what I know of him. It's impossible for me to have any good idea of who he is, since we've never met, and it's pretty irrational to believe we'll ever have any kind of relationship (platonic, romantic, professional, etc) since he has no idea I exist. Aside from my rampant hopelessness, I think he's a really person. He loves to travel (spontaneously, I might add, which is my dream life incarnate), he's a spirited musician, he's a hilarious actor and amiable person (in interviews), and he's a passionate photographer. He would be a pretty bitchin' person to have in my life, especially at this time.

Anyways, now that I've gushed, fan-girl style, I want to try to prove to you that I am not a fan girl. I am not a fan girl because my name is Sarah, and while I acknowledge that Chris Lowell is probably a righteous dude, I am also pretty cool. Fangirl style is, "Chris! I would have sex with you! You are the best!" And they don't even pretend they have anything to offer the receiving party (except sexual acts and maybe sometimes baked goods). I, however, am going to write Chris a letter (don't laugh at me) briefly praising his widely broadcast-ed abilities, and then I'll follow up with, "this is what I can do". Maybe he'll get something out of it, if he reads it. Maybe he'll overlook it entirely and go on with his life - I don't blame him. As hard as I try to get his attention, he might not give any fucks whatsoever. That's just how it is when you don't know someone, and she seems to be one of thousands of girls who love you with all their less-than-threes. That's just how she goes.

So I guess for now, I'll just try to ingest some pizza. My throat is swollen due to some rebellious tonsils, and that makes peristalsis both challenging and painful. I think I just wanted to write this blog post because I'm feeling like I have a bit more of a sense of self. That part's pretty cool.