At the beginning of every year, we end up taking stock of what happened or didn’t the previous year. Am I rich yet? Am I famous yet? If I were to stop contacting the world, would the world stop contacting me?
No, no, and probably…
I have to admit, as much as fame is attractive to me, I sometimes worry about little things that are involved. Like the couple names that the press gives to celebrity couples. Like Bennifer or Brangelina or Mellorge (did you hear George Lucas is marrying Meloday Hobson?). Anyway, my name is Phil. My girlfriend’s name is Agnes. “Phagnes” just doesn’t really do it for me, you know?
Sometimes when people find out what I do for a living they say, “Wow! Are you famous?” To which I humbly answer, “Duh!”
Fame is so elusive these days anyway. Mainstream fame doesn’t really happen anymore. People are only famous in their niche and to a particular audience. Amanda Palmer is famous in indie music and music marketing circles. Jeff Kurtti is famous among Disney fans. Marge Pavlik is famous to quilters in Wright County, MN. (If you don’t know, you betta find out, Son!)
I am famous to people who ask me if I’m famous. See response above.
But mainstream fame doesn’t happen that much anymore unless you wear a meat dress (see Lady Gaga), beat up your pop star girlfriend and then get a tattoo of her on your neck (see Chris Brown), or just do something incredibly stupid in the public eye (see any Justin Bieber recording).
So when people ask if I’m famous… I mean, do women sometimes run up to me on the street, screaming my name, and flash their breasts at me? No. Well, just that one time. But she had a shopping cart and no teeth. Weird how she knew my name.
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