I have readers in Canada and England, or at least I used to, so I think that qualifies me as international. However, am I truly the last? No, of course not. I was just engaging in some wordplay, Liz Lemon, because of today’s question:

Would you like to be famous? In what way?

Answer: Not really. I mean, I wouldn’t mind being a little bit famous, I guess, in the sense that some people who have never met me would know who I was–in which case, I guess, the internet has already made me and many others that famous–but I wouldn’t like to be famous in the sense that people would recognize me everywhere I went and take pictures of me and love me and hate me and make memes of me. That would be uncomfortable. I would rather be a famous recluse, except that then people would always be trying to draw me out of my shell, and that would be tedious as well. I think it is better if I just remain un-famous.

I don’t really have much interest in famous people. I used to, a long time ago. When I was a teenager and maybe a very young adult, I was somewhat fascinated by celebrity and thought it would be cool to meet a celebrity and that proximity to a celebrity made one cooler, although I doubt I would have admitted that I felt that way. I also probably wanted to be famous myself back then. But only loved, gentle readers, never hated! But that’s the problem with celebrity and fame–one cannot control it. Once you are famous, you pretty much don’t belong to yourself anymore. That’s kind of frightening, actually. So even though I think most celebrities are probably douchebags, and I understand that they signed up for being famous and they’re richly compensated for their troubles, blah blah, I do feel some pity for their peculiar sufferings. But not in any particularly heart-felt way because I haven’t been personally interested in any celebrities in a really long time.

Yesterday’s question about who I would want to have as a dinner guest reminded me that I don’t really care to meet any famous people. For one thing, what if they turned out to be big disappointments? What if the famous person I admired turned out to be a jerk in real life? I wouldn’t care to be disillusioned that way. Also, I don’t care about any famous people. There are entertainers that I enjoy being entertained by, but I don’t have any desire to meet them. What would I say to them? As I pointed out in yesterday’s post, given my social deficits, such a meeting could only be awkward for all concerned. Longtime readers with super-good memories might recall that a few years ago my husband purchased VIP tickets for Rhapsody of Fire, so we got to hang out with them before and after the show. That was my big brush with celebrity, and yes, it was awkward (mostly for me). Fortunately, my husband is good at making small talk with complete strangers. He is my social lubricant, in the same sense that alcohol is other people’s social lubricant. (That sounds vaguely filthy, but I’m sure he appreciates it, so I’ll let it stand.) I don’t ever drink alcohol, so I don’t know what would happen if I did, if it would help me socially or not. I suspect not, because the social awkwardness runs deep in my bones. Do things run deep in one’s bones? Am I mixing metaphors? Either way, I’m not keen to try the experiment. I’ll stick to hiding behind more socially-adept people’s skirts. (That is a metaphor. You are not to infer that my husband wears skirts. Not that he couldn’t pull that look if he wanted to. Well, probably he couldn’t. But he doesn’t want to. It doesn’t matter. I just don’t want you to get a mental picture you can’t unsee. Maybe I should be more careful with my metaphors in the future.)

Other brushes with celebrity I have had:

* A few years ago I went to a play with my dad at a theater in the Los Angeles area that I can’t remember the name of, and Garry Marshall was sitting a few seats down from us. I recognized his voice. I may not have recognized him by looks if he hadn’t been talking. I don’t really care that I was that close to Garry Marshall, and I don’t reckon anyone else does either.

* A few months ago my husband and I were eating dinner at Beast and we looked out the window and saw Carrie Brownstein walking down the street. At least we’re pretty sure it was Carrie Brownstein. If it wasn’t Carrie Brownstein, it was someone trying to look exactly like her and succeeding. It’s not important that I saw Carrie Brownstein walking down the street, although I think she is very funny and I enjoy watching her show.

That’s pretty much it.

I can’t think of any famous people I would like to meet. I can’t even think of any famous dead people I would want to meet. I suppose I prefer to keep my celebrities larger than life. They would not fit in my life.

So I turn the comments section over to you, gentle readers. Would you like to be famous?