Interestingly enough, Doc and I also saw Dennis DeYoung in concert this summer. We won free tickets from a radio station to see him at a smaller venue, after we’d forked out the $300 to buy advance spots for the Styx/Def Leppard arena gig. It seemed kinda funny and fateful at the time that we’d get to hear both original Styx singers within a few weeks of each other.

As part of the prize that we won, we also had the opportunity take part in a private Meet & Greet with Dennis DeYoung backstage after the gig.

Right. So. Here’s where I take this post in a direction that may land me in some trouble.

I don’t really “get” the whole meet & greet, have my picture taken with a celebrity, thing. I never have. Truthfully, even autographs are kind of borderline for me. I have ABSOLUTELY NO PROBLEM with people who do this — I can’t stress this enough! Especially since my day job is almost entirely comprised of dealing with these delightful, curious, enthusiastically fanatical creatures. The whole drape yourself all over the guy (regardless of whether you’re male or female), “remember how you and me hung out after that gig in ‘81 when my brother’s dentist’s neighbour introduced us?” reminiscing, strip down and present your bare ass/tit/beer belly for them to autograph while your date grins proudly over your shoulder… it’s all quite fascinating and charm…

Well, no, not always… let’s just stick with “fascinating”, shall we? It’s certainly that, in spades. Which is one of the reasons why I absolutely love my job.

But I don’t get it – I must have been skipping out the day they explained the awesome god power of celebrities to the rest of the class and how if you just rub up against them, then you, too, can get the magical stardust that will make your life a complete utopia like theirs most certainly is.

:: blink ::

When I see a quote-celebrity-unquote, my head might run through the catalogue of information I’ve acquired in my lifetime relating to their work, and it kinda goes something like this:

Know their stuff? Check.
Like it? Check.
Impressed with their ability and respect their hard work? Check.
Cool.

And then that’s about where it simply hangs. Comfortable and complete, in the space between them and me and whatever memories or sensations their work may have aroused for me personally.

I *may*, in some cases, feel tempted to send a brief email to their website with words of appreciation and support, but I’ve only done that twice in my life. I guess to a large degree, I figure that buying the tickets/albums/books/etc says “Hey, dude, well done!” pretty effectively and without imposing on them and their personal lives.

I should probably point out that most celebrities wouldn’t consider hearing that they’re loved and admired by strangers, or that they’ve been a profound influence in the life of someone, or that beautiful people want to have sex with them, as unwelcome impositions. But c’mon, jeez, they’re artists! They… like… intentionally step in front of a mic and into a spotlight and hang their guts out! So, right there, I can’t even begin to relate to that level of insanity.

All that energy and passion that people feel comfortable giving to celebrities? The gushing words of love and adoration, the energetic fan letters, the group hug photos? I can see doing that with friends and family – people who actually share the time and space with you in life. THAT feels logical and natural to me.

But then, having just written that, it occurs to me that maybe some of the fans don’t have that, and these public strangers are those people for them.

 Ack… this is tough stuff.

Anyway, we discussed whether or not we’d go to the meet & greet for Dennis DeYoung.

“What would we say?” I asked Doc.

“That we enjoyed the show, ” he answered, “assuming we do. That we like his music. Ya know, the same things fans say to [my bosses] all the time.”

“Uh huh. And after those 30 seconds?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me neither.”

We didn’t go backstage to meet him, and as crazy as some people seem to think that was, I’m just fine with it.

Ach, I already know what it looks like, anyway.