I have my own rock idols but I generally hate rock stars to my very bones.
People overestimate and overrate rock stars all the time but it’s fine. It’s natural, normal and expected. One can even say eating, drinking, breathing, and overestimating rock stars are essential to life.
My beef with rock stars is that they are rock stars, unlike me. They strum those electric guitars, bash those drums, scream on those microphones, and work those crowds — unlike me. Their mere existence is injustice to me. I’m small because they’re big. I’m boring because they’re exciting. I’m simple because they’re colorful. I’m me because they’re them.
To qualify this bitterness, let me provide some small personal details on the matter. See, I have a girlfriend who was once a rock star herself. (The term “rock star” here refers to a popular individual who regularly performs rock music before a crowd. ) Since she was once a rock star (and there’s reason to argue that she still is), many of her friends, exes, and acquaintances are rock stars, too.
Now, that might sound simple and innocent to you but it’s a nagging pain for me. Just think: how would you feel if you’re constantly comparing yourself to people who have hundreds of avid followers who think their idols are artistic geniuses? Wouldn’t you feel insignificant compared to these people? Wouldn’t you feel boring and two-dimensional compared to these sweaty, hoarse, exciting and musically gifted individuals?
I am not exaggerating. I’m probably just more sensitive to this issue because of my unique personal circumstances. You can hate me for it but you can’t deny I have a point.
Ladies love rock stars, and that’s a fact. Some of them tell me that they think rock stars are normal people when they’re not on stage. Once they do get up on the stage and start doing their rock-star stuff however, they transform into superheroes, heavenly beings, demigods, immortals or something like that. Did you miss the irrationality in that? Read the paragraph again. Wait, maybe that’s logical. Stupid writer.
What’s a lazy, dark, and whining writer got compared to such untouchable entities? What’s a regular employee in a cold, square building got compared to such blazing, shining, dancing bodies of light?
“Well, the writer can write and the employee can go to work and earn some money,” you might say. Yeah, I see that, but they’re still not rock stars.
Don’t you get it? We’re not rock stars.
We’re not rock stars.
We can’t be rock stars.
And that’s the problem.