I’m not one. I haven’t met many famous people, but those I’ve met I didn’t feel particularly overwhelmed by. They’re just people. They’re rich and so can afford to do spectacularly stupid things, but they’re still people. I’d probably freak out a little bit if I met someone like the Dalai Lama, but beyond that I think the insanity that surrounds the famous is kind of stupid.
But. See, so I’m going to meet Neil Gaiman next Tuesday. By “meet” I mean stand in a line to get a book signed, and probably have the opportunity to mumble something polite and forgettable because he meets a bazillion people on these tours and I’m just the bazillion and first human staring at him like he has eyes on stalks and babbling inarticulately about how I love his work and desperately trying to remember what I do to get my face to act normal so I don’t make him think I’m a crazy stalker lady.
Neil Gaiman has been my companion since high school. His stories literally changed my life. They opened entire universes like giant, mythical, sexy orchids in my light starved brain. I wouldn’t be exaggerating when I say his stories saved me, a time or two. I was kind of a messed up kid and his stories made more sense than life did, and I thought, “Someone gets it”. And that tiny feeling of not quite so alone was all the lifeline I needed I guess.
He’s magic. Nope, you won’t convince me otherwise. He’s always been magic. And people freak out on him ALL THE TIME. I don’t want to be a person who freaks out at him. I want to be…well, lets be honest, I want to be memorable. You can’t help but want to be memorable to someone whose work moves you so very much. But I’m a pragmatic gal. I’ll settle for not coming off like an epic goober.
I must stand face to face with a magic person and behave like I can string coherent sentences together. Right.
I admit, I’m a bit daunted.
I want to give him a present. Is that stupid? He’s probably got a basement full of random shit his fans have thrown at him over the years, so I feel like what’s the point. But I kind of want to anyway.
It’s hopeless. I’m just going to stare at him and drool, aren’t I.