I grew up under the impression that my father knew a lot of famous Hollywood celebrities. The list ranged from A to non-existent in terms of Dad’s terms of endearment. If you know my father’s name, you can visit his website and see the pictures he put up of him with all his friends, an amazing feat given he’s not friends with many of those people anymore. At any rate, as I had what the pop psychologists called “daddy issues,” I made sure that while approaching famous people I pretended like I just didn’t care.
One day I found out Dad had reconnected with an old college friend– a famous man who has produced/developed a famous television show for the past 35 years now. I flipped out, getting shrieky and girly, stating, “[name sanitized] influenced my humor from a young age!”
My father, confused, said, “I’ve never heard you act this way before.”
I was immediately calculating how to ingratiate myself in the company of this man, who my father had lovingly called “The Great Appropriator.” But if your father doesn’t like you, you cannot, as I stupidly did, say, “Tell him to exploit me!” Dad chuckled, changed the subject, and ignored me.
Anyway, enough pop (psych) talk.
Last night I broke a lot of rules. I skipped the hour long finale of “Keeping up with the Kardashians” in order to see the Corin Tucker Band, whose singer was a founder of Sleater-Kinney. When Sleater-Kinney broke up, The Gemini found out before me through ONTD. The Gemini wasn’t a fan but had surely seen all my away messages declaring lyrics of feminist rocking, as well as having to witness my making multiple official statements concerning the nature of how much it “sucked“ that despite attending a women’s college, “girls here listen to Ani Difranco more than they listen to Sleater-Kinney, and Ani Difranco sucks.”
“That band you liked broke up, I think?” she said.
“Um, Sleater-Kinney or whatever?”
The heavens had broken. I then flung myself onto my bed and pondered my own misery and wondered if I had to drop out of school and start a cover band now.
So, seeing Corin Tucker of Sleater-Kinney in her new band was a big deal. I don’t know how “Keeping up with the Kardashians” ended, and I can’t report back on anyone’s vaginas or photoshoots. But I can tell you I made a fool of myself fawning over a feminist rock idol.
I can say, though, that when I realized Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth were in attendance at the show, I, who had been up at the front of the stage during an opening band, flew back to the table my friends were at, panting, saying, “THURSTON! KIM!” J Mascis of Dinosaur Jr. was also there. It was surreal. It was kind of like a dream come true, and I couldn’t manage it.
But Kim Gordon saw me flying across the floor like a little fangirl, and she cut me a look, as if to say, “Baby girl, take a Valium.”
Here’s Corin Tucker singing her song “Miles Away,” which I deeply suspect is about what happens when loses Edward Cullen. Not that I know anything about that franchise or anything.
I also broke my “no band photography” rule. As a girl who has appeared at a certain band’s concerts enough that the girlfriends of the bandmates now recognize me, I have made a rule to not look like a groupie, not look like a fame whore, not look like a starfucker. Even if I made a career out of being those things, I can promise you I wouldn’t own it. It’s embarrassing, and then all of a sudden you get known not for who you are but who you know, Biblically or otherwise. No sirree, no way.
You may be blogging about your love of fame, but you better, god damn it, use a psuedonym.
Thanks for not judging me or anything,