This is the Year!

"It’s been said that in Chicago there are two seasons, winter and construction. For Cubs fans, there is only one, and it always comes next year"  – Rick Talley

Well, it's the next morning, and while there's a thick layer of fog outside, my head is clear enough to remember:

The Cub won the World Series yesterday.

It wasn't a dream, or a fantasy. Last night, after 108 years, the Cubs actually won the World Series, after a game (not to mention the series itself) that probably nearly killed the legion of Cubs fans watching.

Throughout the series, people were sharing stories of the role the Cubs played in their lives, which has had me me thinking about my own. And it's not really that exciting, or harrowing, and I know what I'm feeling probably doesn't even come close to rivaling what other people I know feel right now.

But you know what? I'm gonna share it anyway.

I'm not a sports fan. This is fairly common knowledge to people who know me. I can recognize that the Hawks are good, but can't say I've watched more than a few minutes of a game. My interest in the Bulls started and ended with their 3-peat run, and an impromptu celebration parade in my best friend's front yard. And I hate, HATE football. Unless it's fictional football, with Coach Eric Taylor and Tim Riggins via one of the best shows ever created, Friday Night Lights.

The exception was, and has always been, the Cubs.

I tell people that I was born and raised a Cubs fan. I do not think I am being hyperbolic with that statement.

My dad is one of the biggest Cubs fans I know. He grew up on the north side of Chicago, and is one of those people that definitely bleeds Cubbie blue, through thick and thin. Winning or losing, he loves that team, and always has faith that next year could be the year for them. (Well, Dad -- THIS YEAR was finally the year!).

I remember going to Cubs games at Wrigley with my dad when I was little. It was the glory days of Ryne Sandberg and Mark Grace, Harry Caray announcing. I remember deciding early on that Ryne Sandberg was definitely my Cub (and person who played a sport) ever -- nevermind the fact that I wouldn't actually realize his name was "Ryne" and not "Ry-AN" for too many years. Needless to say, seeing Ryne Sandberg at the World Series game this year was pretty exciting for me. Or, at least, 7 year old me.

Wrigley Field was also where my significant near-sightedness was found out. My dad, in an ongoing (and probably, fairly often, failed) attempt to explain to me what was going on, pointed me to the scoreboard and asked me to read something off of it. I couldn't. I wasn't just being stubborn and difficult -- I just literally couldn't make out the numbers on the scoreboard. I had hidden this fact well in school, where I regularly borrowed my friend's glasses to see things on the chalkboard. The Cubs had me found out, though, and at that game I was busted.

It was these early experiences that I think solidified the Cubbie blue running through my own veins. Even if I didn't understand the game, or it mostly felt boring to me, the fact is those early years at Wrigley with my dad left a permanent mark, even if I didn't, or don't, always seem to show it. The honest truth is this: The sight of the Cubs logo always makes my heart beat just a little faster.

There's something about that red and blue "C" that wormed its way into my heart early on in my life, and won't let go. And there's an energy that surround Wrigley for me that is sort of indescribably. When I go to Wrigley, there's an excitement that flutters behind my breastbone rivaled only by events like concerts I've been highly anticipating. That love of that field transcends whatever players call it home any given year. Wrigley is its own entity, a glorious symbol of all of the hopes and dreams and camaraderie it has housed over the years. It's a special place.

People will call me a fairweather fan -- my dad would probably be one of them -- and maybe they're right. The thing is, despite my ignorance of most things sports-related, the Cubs are always at least on the peripheral for me. After watching the playoffs this year, I can tell you the names of some of the Dodgers, and a LOT of the Indians. But, even in the years when it seems like I'm not paying attention or watching any of the games, I can ALWAYS name a handful of Cubs. Even though I'd be hard pressed to name any other baseball player on any other team. The Cubs are always on my radar, whether it appears that way or not.

I'm not going to claim to be the die-hard fan like so many people I know and love. I get it, I haven't earned my stripes in that regard. Fine. I could watch every single Cubs game from now until forever and still wouldn't be in the exclusive club my brother and I are in together when it comes to the Cubs. I'll probably always still say stupid things and share my commentary about people's looks or attitude (I still stand by the fact that Contreras is fiery, and I like that about him). If that makes me a lesser fan, then so be it.

The thing is...I've watched every single game for the last few weeks. I've been a nervous wreck. I've allowed myself to CARE in a way that I don't usually when it comes to sports. I let that wall between me and a bunch of athletes come down, and man...it was PAINFUL, and EXCITING. I got superstitious, and paranoid, and had so much anxiety during last night's game I thought I'd pass out. The elation I felt when it was all over was incredible. I wanted to hug ALL THE PEOPLE AND THINGS! I could't stop watching the post-game footage. It was amazing, and it made giving up my normal live and TV up for the better part of a month completely worth it.

And if it hadn't turned out the way it did last night? It still would have been worth it. Because the Cubs are worth it. There's a reason that logo stirs the blue running through my veins. Yeah, it's an especially exciting time to be a Cubs fan -- but the thing about being a Cubs fan is that even when it doesn't feel exciting to be one, the loyalty is there. And the belief that they can and will do great things again.

So, GO, CUBS, GO!

Thanks for providing the backdrop to so many moments in my life. And thanks Dad for making sure the Cubs got in my blood early on. Even though you don't think I'm listening, some things manage to worm their way in every now and then ;-).

"In order to cure a feeling of malaise, you have to throw light on it" - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Sometimes, I'm here because I just feel the need to write or have something really specific I feel the need to write about. Today, I'm here because I just feel kind of...unsettled.

I think I may have written about this before, but do you ever find yourself in the middle of a couple of days where you just feel kind of blah? I've been like that the last couple, and I always hate this feeling. It seems to come out of nowhere, and it has me doubting myself and things in my life. 

Today, it feels the same and different than in the past. The same because I remember the feeling, and know it always manages to pass. Different, because my life in general feels on the cusp right now. I'm in this place where I know I'm about to head in a different direction and I really don't know how it's going to go. 

It's different today too, because on top of the general feeling of malaise (by the way, I just looked up the definition of malaise? It pretty much is EXACTLY the blah feeling I described: "a general feeling of discomfort, illness, or uneasiness whose exact cause is difficult to identify" Why does such a cool-sounding word represent something so crappy and uncomfortable?), there's guilt, too. And just discomfort in general. Yesterday, instead of spending the day with two of my best friends, our plans fell through and part of the day ended up being really crappy. And when the super crappy part of the day hit, for a few minutes, I felt like I didn't really have anyone I could talk to about it, for a number of reasons. And it was a crappy, scary feeling.

My life has changed a lot in the last year. It's about to change even more. Everything that's happened has made me learn a lot about myself. And sometimes doubt myself. There's a lot I've lost, but it's also made me realize how much I have. I have a great support system of friends and family, and amazing coworkers. But on days like today (that damn malaise firmly set in), it all feels so precarious. What if I say the wrong thing and push someone important away without realizing it? What if, on the flip side, I'm too NEEDY and push someone away because that's weird. And then, because I'm me, when I feel weird or uncertain or in need of reassurance, I don't shut up. I want to keep some thread of connection. 

Which is why I'm here I guess. Writing emo blogs is cheaper than therapy? I know the malaise will pass, and the doubts and fears that are so present right now will fade. Not that they won't resurface again, but they'll take their place in the background until the next "blah" few days roll around. There doesn't seem to be any magic cure for days like these, and tomorrow I could wake up and everything will look and feel different than it does today. But today, nothing was on TV, and I couldn't focus on my book, and my mind swims with regrets and wishes. Which brought me here, to write about it. And (probably against my better judgment) share it. 

I'm sure the cloud will lift soon, and I'll look at this post and wonder why I felt the need to be so publicly whiny. But for now, here this is. And hopefully between this and cuddles with this adorable face....

 

I can start to feel like things are back on track. Hopefully I'll be back soon, with a sunnier post. 

"Everybody's Working for the Weekend"...On Life and Figuring Out What to Do with it....

I remember, from a very young age, having a strong desire to be a teacher when I grew up. I loved school, loved learning, and could think of no better job when I was a grown-up, than to have a class full of my own students. I would read books to them, and grade their math worksheets with my red pen, and it would be wonderful. At home, I would line my stuffed animals up in my bedroom and read stories to them, or lecture them on some important topic (I chose my stuffed animals because they were generally far more cooperative than my young siblings who had no respect for my authority). At my grandma's, I would dress up in her old work clothes and heels, take the math workbooks she had sitting around, pack them up in one of her old briefcases, and head off to "school" where I would run the perfect classroom (sometimes made up of my siblings and cousins...sometimes made up of invisible students who, once again, were often much more well-behaved. Or, if not well-behaved, were poorly behaved in the way I wanted them to be), and then go "home," kick off my heels, and get to work grading those math worksheets. 

As I got older, and closer to actually having to select a career in the real world, my game plan didn't change much. My love of music and MTV drove me to a brief love affair with the idea of becoming a radio DJ (a VJ seemed like far too much pressure, though being a part of TRL was really the dream). That dream lasted throughout my freshman year of high school before I came back to reality, and back to the dream of teaching. 

I was always a good student. I got excited at the start of every school year to go back-to-school shopping for brand new, crisp notebooks and folders, the best (and often most colorful) pens and mechanical pencils. Each year was a fresh start, and the first day of classes and meeting my new teachers was always exciting to me, along with seeing friends that summer had separated me from. I loved some classes and teachers more than others, obviously, but I never hated school. I loved learning, and the satisfaction to be gained from getting a good grade on a paper. My parents never pushed me, I always pushed myself. I was never, ever the smartest person in class, but I was still kind of a nerd, and I was okay with that. 

I majored in English and Secondary Education in college. I had always been an avid reader, who had always LOVED books. I remember a lot of trips to the library as a kid with my dad, where I would browse the Babysitter's Club, Goosebumps, and Fear Street books to see if there were any new ones I had missed, before following him upstairs where he would look for a book or two before we checked out our latest finds. 

This love of reading is what led me to major in English, while that childhood dream of becoming a teacher, and my own single-minded drive made the teaching thing a given. Having been on the accelerated track in high school, my major was chosen before I ever took a single college class, and all throughout my time getting my BA, I never considered an alternate career path. Teaching was what I had always wanted to do, and it was what I was going to do. The only other thing I really wanted to do with my life was to read all day and get paid for it, and that seemed an unlikely career path. 

My favorite teachers in high school were always the ones who were passionate about what they were teaching, regardless of the subject. My least favorite subjects were always history and science. And yet, a fair number of my absolute favorite classes in high school (and even one notable one in college) were history and science classes, because I had amazing, fun teachers, who loved what they were teaching, and what they did. As a result of these incredible and dedicated teachers, I envisioned following in their footsteps: I loved reading and literature and discussion -- I would take that love, and teach books I loved to students, and get them excited about reading and English, and I would make a difference. I got excited about the book discussions I would have with the students who would one day be in my classes. 

Fast forward to the real-life scenario, senior year of college: Teaching was not what I had envisioned. It wasn't that I hated it, it was just not really about the things I wanted it to be about. Teaching was about preparing students to do well on a standardized test, and teaching what you were told to teach. There was little freedom, and I found myself at the end of this (so far) lifelong dream, realizing it wasn't what I wanted for my life. Teaching is an amazing and admirable profession and teachers do wonderful things, but it did not appear to be the thing I would spend the rest of my life doing. 

That dream came to an end about 10 years ago now (how does time go by that fast?!). Now, I am a librarian. A profession I had never really considered during all of those years in school, and yet the profession, I think, that I really belong in. I had a conversation with a co-worker recently, where she said that, based on her interaction with me and my knowledge of music, movies, and books, this profession seems made for me. I think she was right, even if it took me a while to realize it. 

I still love to read, and spend a HUGE portion of my life reading and watching TV. And there are so many people who go "Oh, you love to read! It must be so great to work at a library. You probably get to read all day!" Yeah....not so much. 

Being a librarian isn't about getting to read all day. The only time I get to read at work is maybe 30 minutes or so on my lunch break. Maybe. But, working in a library is great because it lets me work alongside people who love reading and movies and music as much as I do (okay, maybe most of them don't appreciate the Real Housewives franchise on the same level, but I can forgive that. Or hope they can forgive me for my not-so-guilty pleasure). I get to spend my day with people who are, for the most part, just as excited about reading, and entertainment, and learning as I am. We share the things we love, and try to make our library a better place for the people who visit it. 

And you know what happens when we make the library a better place? The world gets a little better. Maybe only in our corner of it, but you know what? Given the state of things right now, anything that makes people's lives a little less crappy is worthwhile. 

And I get to teach! No, not in the formal way I would if I had a classroom full of students in front of me. I teach in an informal, more subtle way. I help people figure out how to attach important documents to send to a prospective employer, or help them figure out how to access their e-mail so they can stay in touch with relatives who live far away. I help them discover just the right book or movie they need, or how to look for what they want for next time. I point them to classes or books that will teach them how to use that new smartphone or tablet they just got as a gift and can't quite figure out yet. I help those high school kids find those books they need for class, that their English or history teachers tell them they have to read, and will eventually discuss with them. 

Being a librarian was not the career path I had expected when I was growing up. Since I was that little girl who read to her obedient stuffed animals, I have learned that you can't always anticipate where life will lead you. Best laid plans, and all....But, if you're really lucky, and you let it, life will eventually lead you where you're meant to be. 

Right now, I feel like I am where I'm meant to be. I'm reaching people in the way I always wanted to, even if it's not in the way I envisioned. And you know what? That's okay. So I'll go on reading, and sharing, and let life (and the library) lead the way....

Growing Up Is Hard to Do

As a child, I remember being terrified of being an adult. I'd remember talking with friends or other kids at school about the day that we would, eventually, be bigger! More grown up! We'd have freedom, and wouldn't have to follow our parents rules anymore!

While some of that did sound appealing on some level (especially if parents were really cramping our style at the time), and though I did go along with these conversations ("Oh yeah, it will be SO AWESOME living on my own when I grow up!"), deep down  I actually wanted no part of it. The idea of NOT living with my parents was so scary. How would I do things?! There's no WAY I could live on my own -- feed myself? Take care of myself? No thanks. I'll continue to talk a good game, but I have it fine right where I am....

And then, one day...I was moving into my dorm at college. It was only an hour away from home, but for the first time in my life I was actually NOT living at home. I remember staying there that first night, terrified of adulthood all over again, wondering how this was going to be. How would I get along with my roommates? Again...how was I even going to feed myself?! At this point in my life, I had spent plenty of nights away from home, visiting friends at school, spending weekend with my boyfriend in his dorm room. I was enjoying the independence that adulthood offered, but there was still a comfort in waking up in my childhood bedroom on weekends, flipping through TV channels until I decided it was time to get up and maybe talk to my family. And, being an adult myself now, I had the freedom to pretty much come and go as I pleased, which was something my teenage self hadn't necessarily been granted.

I handled dorm living well enough. The setup of my dorm was perfect for an introverted, selectively social type like myself. I was in a suite with 3 other girls. We shared a kitchen and living space, but each had our own rooms, and two bathrooms to share between the 4 of us. I realize this is not the typical living situation for most people who go away to school, but I also don't know that I would have ever lived in a dorm if it hadn't been a dorm like the one I was lucky enough to stay in. I loved having my own room, and when I wasn't in classes or with friends, I was pretty much in there. I still have really fond memories of waking up in that little room and watching Ed or Adult Swim either early in the morning or late at night before I went to bed. Spending endless hours on AIM, and scouring the itunes playlists of my fellow University Center cohorts (the ones who left their playlists public anyway). I'll never forget the day I was on the Hanson message boards, chatting about the band, and discovered that another die hard fan literally lived, like, a floor above me. She and I are still friends today, and that chance chat online led us to see concerts together, travel to Tulsa to experience Hanson Day together, and just hang out and share music and life in Chicago.

So, yeah, I realized I could live on my own, but actually doing it was the start of actually, really, and truly becoming an adult. And you know what I've learned? It's not really all that it's cracked up to be. I was right to be scared of adulthood. The thing is, as a kid I never could have anticipated the things I should really have been scared of. Feeding myself really isn't that big a deal (most of the time, at least). It's everything else -- bills, and work, and....life. I think about all of the things my friends, co-workers and family members deal with daily, ranging from the really exciting and life-changing (marriage, the births of new babies, exciting new job opportunities) to the really tough, but no less life-changing (divorce, depression, unemployment, illness). Life is tough, and it doesn't seem to get any less tough the longer you live it.

Another thing I've realized as I've grown into adulthood, is I never actually feel any more like an actual adult. Even though there's really no denying I am one anymore. I kind of still feel like a 16-year-old at heart, and sometimes it really amazes me that people allow me to be in charge of things now! What are they thinking?! The biggest difference between me now and high school me is probably the fact that living life has taken away that sense of invincibility they always talk about teenagers having. At 16 the entire world is in front of you, the possibilities are endless, and nothing will stop you. By 30, that perspective has changed. There's still plenty of the world in front of you, sure, but reality has reigned you in a bit. Experiencing life has taken away that sense of invincibility you once felt. You realize everyone is vulnerable, and life can be really hard, and you were right to be afraid of it as a child (if you were like me at least).

It's not all bad though. The joys in life are really amazing. Celebrating huge milestones with family and friends, like marriages and new babies being born is so amazing and exciting. Even after the longest, worst day, I come home and see Cassie, and forget about it all for at least a few minutes. Even the obstacles life has thrown my way have their good sides -- you realize who the people in your life you can count on are. You learn to love harder, trust better, and lean on the people who really matter. And how to be there when they need to lean on you. Sure, making friends as an adult is harder, but the friends you keep and the ones you make seem to matter more.

So is life hard? Hell yes. But I think about where I am, and overall, I'm doing alright. I've learned things will never be perfect, and to think they will be or can be is to set yourself up for failure and disappointment. But I have an amazing family, great friends, and a job I really, really love. The rest will fall into place. And until it does? The teenager in me has some shows to binge-watch to keep me busy :)

"Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate" - Emily Dickinson

I'm baaaaaack. Only about a year or so after my last post, during which I'm sure I promised to make more of an effort to make an appearance here. Fail, again. Shocking, surely.

It's been quite a year since last January, that's for sure -- though I'm not going to talk about that. I'm actually writing today thanks to a couple of interactions with co-workers -- one current, and one former. The first was a conversation at work last week, that stemmed from quite a strong reaction on my part to Zayn Malik's comments about having wanted to leave One Direction essentially from the start. Anyone who knows me at all knows I can be vehement about my convictions particularly when they come to my opinions regarding pop culture, and the topic of Zayn's talking shit about the entire reason he's famous was no exception. A co-worker commented on my strong feelings about pop culture, and how I should share them. 

Another former co-worker suggested, via a comment on my Goodreads page, that I should start a blog to talk about what I'm reading, since I'm not exactly shy about my thoughts about books either :)

While I do find it hard to think that anyone else really cares what I have to say about either of these topics, it doesn't actually stop me from talking about them all of the time. When it comes down to it, I lead a pretty boring life overall, but I really do love my music, movies, TV, and books. There's not much I know, but pop culture is one of the things I really enjoy, and I'm okay with embracing all thing pop culture in my life. There's nothing more exciting to me than getting to discuss a favorite TV show or the latest great book I read with a friend or co-worker. So I figured, what the hell....maybe I'll try to blog about some pop culture stuff I've immersed myself in lately. 

Thinking of something to write about is tough, because I'm kind of all over the place with what I read and watch at any given time. I'm usually reading two books at any given time (one physical, one audiobook), and my TV watching is all over the place. There's not usually a rhyme or reason to what I'm consuming at any certain period of time. 

That being said, as I finished Tyler Oakleys book Binge today, it dawned on me that I've been reading/watching a lot of stuff lately about real people, particularly those in the limelight (because why would I bother otherwise?). And one recurring theme in all of those things I've watched is this, pretty much: Fame can and pretty much does suck. Like, a lot. 

I mean, I totally get that for a famous person to whine about being famous kind of makes them seem ungrateful (the same thing that I just bashed Mr. Malik for earlier in this post). But I'm not talking about celebrities ungrateful for their fame. And it hasn't struck me as whining. Some of the stuff I've been watching in particular isn't even coming from the celebrity's viewpoint - it's an outsider's view of the effects fame had on them. 

This first hit me a few weeks ago, after watching Love & Mercy, followed by the documentary Amy the very next day. They were both really good, engrossing things to watch, but left me feeling really sad. In the cases of both Brian Wilson and Amy Winehouse, fame brought them a lot of trouble, particularly in terms of the people who surrounded them and were there to "protect" them. Their intense fame led to isolation, which ultimately led to people in close proximity to them who took advantage of that isolation and need for protection from the outside world, and only led the to further trouble. Brian Wilson's story was so heartbreaking (at least as portrayed in the movie, which I realize probably isn't 100% accurate), because he really trusted the doctor who was "caring" for him, and who clearly didn't have Wilson's best interests at heart.

Winehouse's story was even more heartbreaking, since you could watch the trajectory from a girl who just loved to sing, to having fame thrust on her so suddenly and at such a young age, to spiraling into the depths of addiction. What was especially awful in her case was the fact that her own damn father didn't have her best interests at heart -- he knew she was his own ticket to fame and notoriety and he took full advantage. It wasn't enough that the entire world wanted something from her, even at the moments when she truly seemed to want to get better, he just wanted to get famous and benefit from his daughter's fame. 

Then you have stars who are famous on a slightly lower level than Wilson or Winehouse, like Tyler Oakley and Felicia Day, whose fame stems mostly from their work on the internet, which both of their books (Binge and You're Never Weird on the Internet (Almost), respectively) address. Online fame is a strange and new kind of fame in the present day, since the internet itself hasn't really been around all that long, and the rise of social media is even more recent. YouTube (and other internet) fame is an even more relatable kind than that of famous actors or singers, because when you watch a YouTube star, you really do think "hey, that could be me." I mean, Hannah Hart is famous for her videos of literally "cooking" largely inedible dishes while drinking. It's such a simple concept, and it's really hilarious. 

What makes internet stars even cooler, I think, is that they have a platform that allows them to make a real difference when they want to. What Tyler Oakley and Hannah Hart have done for the LGBTQ community, and Felicia Day's contribution to and embracing of nerd culture, is remarkable. These people represent everyone, and allow viewers to really feel like they're not alone -- they're heard, and these stars represent them, in a way that the worldwide humanity efforts of big stars like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie don't. I mean, honestly, all you have to do to see the power of fame used for good, particularly on the internet, is follow John and Hank Green. Every year, they host the Project for Awesome, which raises silly amounts of money for charity and really seems to make a difference in the world. 

Anyway...I've gotten a little off track. The point is, this internet fame is a new brand, but doesn't seem to be without it's pitfalls. Oakley and Day both address the insanely hard work that led to the fame they ultimately received, but never totally expected. They both address the way this made them feel like they were burning the candle at both ends, losing sight of themselves in the midst of their fame. I think a unique thing about becoming famous through YouTube videos is that you are your persona, but you also aren't. YouTube personas are carefully crafted, and marketed with intention. Yes, Tyler Oakley is being Tyler Oakley in his videos. But that's not all of who he is, or a true picture of who he is. It's a weird kind of fame, and one that seems to make those experiencing it feel guilty for not wanting all of that attention at a certain point. After all, those fans who watch your videos and support you are the reason you have that attention, and the exciting new opportunities in front of you (like, in Tyler's case, interviewing One Direction!). How do you say you need to take a step back and take care of yourself for a few minutes? Luckily, Oakley and Day both experienced dark days and seem to have come out on the other side -- for now, at least. 

Another thing that came up in Binge was Tyler Oakley's love of and relationship to One Direction turning sour very suddenly, on the basis of a tweet. His response to a tweet by Liam Payne suddenly turned him into an enemy of the band as far as the fans were concerned, and ultimately led him to feeling the need to flee the internet for a few days, as tags like #WeWantTylerOakleyDead began trending worldwide. Day describes a similar experience in her book, addressing the dark side of the internet when they don't agree with you, and mob mentality takes over. As wonderful as the internet is, it's also a really scary place when the flood of praise turns to hatred suddenly and unexpectedly. 

Does the vitriol die down? Sure, eventually....but I can't imagine feeling like the entire world suddenly hates me. And honestly, at some point, they're going to -- we're all human, and as humans we have feelings and opinions, and if we share them, at some point someone is going to disagree. We'll say something that offends someone else, or is politically incorrect, or simply misspeak. The difference is, if you're famous -- those words travel around the world at lightning speed, and suddenly a statement or apology is expected. Which infuriates me, but....is a topic for another post. 

So, yeah -- the stuff I've been reading and watching has made me think a lot about fame, it's rise, and it's unexpected pitfalls. Thanks to the media frenzy that follows celebrities, there's no peace to be had by them, and it's honestly kind of amazing that any of them survive to be half-normal and keep plugging on like functional members of society. I mean, at the end of the day, celebrities are just normal people, really. Who have lost the ability to live a normal life, by virtue of the job they've chosen. Does it make me examine my own relationship with the celebrity stuff I indulge in? Yeah, to some extent. It makes me more conscious of what I say about celebrities -- particularly on the internet -- no matter how much I dislike certain ones. I wouldn't want to read some of the things about myself that I read about celebrities. No human deserves some of those comments. But thank goodness we have people like Jimmy Kimmel to find a way to make us laugh in the face of the worst of humanity.