We all want to be special. I do, you do.
No really, you do. Admit it. You want to be famous (however your level of fame may vary) and do important things that matter to people. You want to be the person that little kids look up to and say "Mommy I really wish that I could meet ______, he/she is sooo cool!"
I know I do.
Unless of course you hate children. And people. Then I really can't help you. I hope that you can find a nice hermit cave somewhere in the mountains.
I am on this topic because today I was at the last ever *regular season* game at the Metrodome. Detroit won, so we did not clinch the division as I'd hoped, but we did tie and now there is a tie breaker on Tuesday. You know I already got my tickets. We called in the middle of the 8th inning, said that magic phrase "Season Ticket Holders" and bam. Went down to the executive offices after the festivities and got them fresh off the printer. Yes, the offices were very close to where the Very Important People hang out. We saw Al Newman. I was punching Ross in the arm like, "Oh my God! Oh my God!" And he's like, "what?!" And I said "look, Al Newman!" And Ross said "So?? He's nobody." And I said "he's more somebody than you are, or me for that matter," I guess I get star struck very easily. Like, "you were an extra in a Doritos commercial and you got to shake hands with the director who is a cousin of Tom Cruise? OH MY GOD!!! YOU ARE SO COOL!!!"
But it was the Goodbye Metrodome ceremony. I was pumped after the game, but that ceremony really depressed me.
I don't like change. I mean, I do, but I don't. I like the new things, but I usually don't want to give up the old things to get the new things. Inanimate objects hold serious emotional attachment for me. Like cars. I like to get new cars. I really, really like it or I wouldn't have had 4 cars in my car owning history. However, I hate letting go of the old car. I take a million pictures of it, spend time in it, remember every single stupid moment that happened in it (every guy I liked that rode in it with me) and basically wish I could keep it and the new car. Just so I could pull it out and spend time with its memories every once and a while.
My best guy friend had this amazing '96 Mitsubishi Eclipse that he kept for most of our "dating" relationship (from 2000 until 2005--that's when we had the car, our romantic entanglement went long beyond and after that!) I loved that car. I loved the moments we had in it (and there were a LOT of amazing moments) even though he had a custom muffler that was so loud you could hear him coming from miles away every time he picked me up (and really pissed off my family when he dropped me off at 3am) that pretty much caused instant headache every time you got inside, and it always smelled like watermelon air freshener and pot (don't ask) and the incredible sound system is probably to blame for some of my mild hearing damage--um I loved that car. I loved riding in it, loved driving it (yes he let me drive it and it's one of my top 10 best moments of my life) just loved it.
In 2004 he talked about getting rid of it. I was heartbroken. I begged him not to. I promised when he was serious about getting rid of it, I would buy it from him. I took a million pictures of it. But he kept it for one more year. And...I can't say what happened in that car that summer of 2005. But he sold it a few months later (perhaps he had a guilty conscience every time he drove his girlfriend around in it afterwards????) I was heartbroken. I honestly would have bought that car from him. It meant that much to me. It still does and if I ever find it, I'm buying it (as a fun extra car).
So how does this apply to the metrodome and that whole thing about being famous? I'm getting there. This is the RANDOM blog, after all.
The Metrodome is kind of like that car. No, it doesn't smell like watermelon air freshener or pot. But the noise sometimes causes hearing damage... I have a lot of Metrodome Memories. Not 100 by any means, but a lot. My first time at the Dome was when I was 12, for a Twins game. I talked about it a bit in an earlier blog. How bored I was...but I loved the Dome! I thought it was totally cool. I spent innings 4-9 skipping through the upper concorse arm and arm with my best friend at the time RaeAnn singing songs.
The next time I was at the Dome, was after I became an offical Minnesota resident. As a Woodbury kid, all our chamionship games were played at the game. Football, soccer, baseball...well I guess that's about it. But hey our soccer and football teams were good so my junior year alone we had minimally 3 games at the Dome (there were more during the playoffs). The next year too. This of course is the part were I remember how we nearly had 2 state championships in 2 years--until a skinny kid from Cretin Derham Hall named Joe Mauer became the best quarterback EVER and robbed us in '99. This led me to have a deep, intense hatred of Cretin Derham Hall for years. Literally every time I drove past Cretin Ave/Vandalia St exit on I-94, I would growl and curse the school, shaking my fist. Not kidding. Now my love for Joe Mauer has made me appreciate CDH so I no longer curse it every time I drive by.
After high school I thought my Dome days were over. But I was wrong! Since I stayed in St. Paul for college, going to Northwestern, we had this thing called "The Dome Game" in football where all the schools in our conference (UMAC) got together and had "playoffs." They didn't actually mean anything. If you won the #1 seed game at night you got a trophy and that was about it. You were the best in the conference (however it had nothing to do with the actual conference championship. It just mean you were the best on Dome Day.)
So I got to go back to the Dome. And since I was just as obessed with our football team and the players as I am with the Twins and their players, it was a BIG DEAL. I was there early. Takin' pictures.
After college (and the fallout with those same people that came after it) I thought I was done with the Dome again. Then I became a Twins fan.
So the Dome holds a lot of memories. And after the ceremony today, Ross nearly had to drag me out of the place by the hair. I did not want to leave. He was getting anxious, saying "it's not really the last game we'll be back Tuesday, stop starring at Joe Mauer, you'll see him Tuesday, LET'S LEAVE!!"
I didn't want to leave. As we left, I kept looking back grudgingly, draging my feet. I felt horribly depressed. There was magic on the field, in the air, and I wanted more of it. And I'm not just talking about Joe Mauer. It was everyone; all the former and current players interacting with each other, the joy, the photo shoots, the press interviews, the excitement...I wanted it. I wanted to be apart of it. Watching it was the closest I could get. And since I wasn't the only one draging my feet about leaving, I know I can't be alone in that.
As I hung my head and was dragged against my will out of the Dome (though getting blown out did put a smile on my face, it always does) I realized I had felt exactly this same way before.
In college.
See, the Dome football game was usually the last game of the season (unless we got to the playoffs) so the circumstances are virtually identical to the game today. We always won the Dome game, so everyone was excited and taking photos and doing interviews...and yet I knew that it was the last time I'd see this group of boys play and wouldn't have any more football until next season.
Super depressing, right? I remember dragging my feet and hanging my head all the way out of the Dome those times, too.
Now stay with me here, I'm going to try to tie all this together.
I love to be important. I love lights and cameras and action and the spotlight. I think a lot of people out there feel the same way. Maybe it's because I am an only child and used to having all the attention focused on me. When I was little I threw a fit if I wasn't the center of attention. I was a total attention whore. Sometimes, I still am. I like to stand in the middle of the room and scream "PAY ATTENTION TO ME!!!!" Of course that's not all the time. Lots of times I like to be left alone. I HATE negative attention. I don't handle it well. I have a drive to do everything perfectly, all the time. I hate screwing up. I hate people mad at me. I hate doing things wrong--even if it's something I've never done before and wouldn't know better! As I got older I learned to be happy staying in the background. Being a team player. But that little monster inside still knaws at me, saying "you really want to be in that spotlight, don't you? It should be yours!"
I guess I thrive on feeling important. But I don't do a lot of things that make me feel important, at least not to large groups of people. The only thing I have is dance, which is probably why I love it so much and want so badly to go professional. Because I just don't do anything that cool right now.
Like wining a huge baseball game (or football). So I feed off of their spotlight, wishing that somehow I was part of it. Wishing that I was special to hundreds of strangers too :) Thing is I always seem to be on the outside looking in. And if you were paying attention at all to the previous paragraphs, you know I HATE that feeling. I want to be the center of it all.
I don't like to sound like I think the universe should revlove around me. I'm not that person, because it doesn't. It never does and it never will. But there are times when I wish it did and probably think it should. But yet when good things happen to me I never think I deserve them. Hmm, hello mind f*%k.
But I think that most super fans of sports, celebrites, etc. are super fans because they wish they were that person. They wish they were doing whatever that person/or persons were doing. They just want to be special to. And they want to hold onto that feeling as long as possible. And when you're at a baseball game (this is just my example), you kinda feel like you helped, because you cheered and good willed them into winning. Kinda like you're special to. And you know that (usually) they appreciate the fact that you came to cheer them on. Because you didn't have to care or pay money to watch them toss a ball around. Oh, and you want them to think you're just as cool as you think they are. :)
Everyone is special to someone. Usually their family or friends or what have you. But they're your family/friends. They have to think you're special. What's cool is when 100,000,000 strangers think you're cool and they don't have to and you know deep down you're not really that special.
So here's to hoping that some stardust falls on us all. Go do something great!
Until next time...
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