unknowable things

i stumbled across the blog of someone i really admire, and it got me to thinking about fame. it must be really weird to be famous, the sort of famous where you have fans, fan being short for "fanatic", since lordess knows, fanaticism doesn't usually turn out that well. ("Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!")

but there you are, the lights or the cameras in your face, and somewhere out past where you can see, evidently there are a bunch of people whose emotions you are, all unwitting, poking with a sharp stick. you don't know how your words or actions are gonna fall on their ears.

a friend of mine once dated peter buck from R.E.M. back in their mumbly jangly beginning days. she was hanging out with the band a lot, and i asked her to ask michael stipe for me, 'doesn't it bother to think that your lyrics often can't be heard or understood through the music?' he looked at her, puzzled, and said, 'why would i care about that?'

huh. so, like, artists make art for themselves, not necessarily to communicate with other people? that had not occurred to me. thank you, michael.

in fact, we're all famous: every day we are walk-ons, extras in other peoples' movies. and we just never know how our performance is going to be received. that kind or cruel off-handed remark, letting that old lady in the big caddy cut in front of you with a friendly wave 'stead of a scowl, smiling at a certain toddler, thanking the toll-booth operator, blogging your own wacky version of What Is True.... ripples, baby. we're all making ripples, all the time.