The Delicate Art of Celebrity Disappointment

Raise your hand if you have ever had a massive crush on an actor or musician, only to find out that they in fact sucked.

*raises hand and looks out into cyberworld*

Yeah...that's what I thought.

Now, I have known for some time that Hollywood, Disney, and their affiliates are complete fakers. They fake that gay guys are straight because said gay guys might lose scores of adoring female fans if the truth came out (put not intended). They fake that girls roll out of bed looking like lingerie models. They fake that girls like Hilary Duff and Kelly Clarkson write all their own music when really, that's what professional songwriters are for. They fake that everything in the world is perfect when really, it's (duh) NOT.

But flashback to late autumn 2006, when I had just discovered and completely fallen in love with the All-American Rejects--or, more accurately, with the lead singer, Tyson Ritter. As a naive fourteen-year-old, I thought that Tyson was the sweetest, most sensitive lead singer of any band ever created...plus he had pretty dark hair and killer light-blue eyes, as well as a devil-may-care smirk of a smile, which definitely helped the "falling in love" bit.

And honestly, I think I was quite justified in my opinion of "Pretty Tyson" (as I obstinately called him, much to the delight and amusement of my rock-and-roll-addict father, who by the way also likes TAAR), when you take a look at the lyrics of TAAR's first album:

Please just don't play with me, my paper heart will bleed. This wait for destiny won't do, be with me please I beseech you... ("My Paper Heart")

Alone with you, alone with me. What can I do? I cannot breathe. My heart is torn for all to see. Alone with you, alone with me. ("One More Sad Song")

You're sweet just like the sun, but what happens when the sun doesn't stay? The night reminds me of when you went away. I don't care, I don't care. Mind is pacing, heart is racing, contemplating things that I lack, you know you left me by myself and I want you back. ("Don't Leave Me")

Wishful thinking, patience shrinking, bliss is far away. North is calling, now I'm falling at your feet please stay...Now we're too far gone, hope is such a waste, every breath you take you give me the burden's bitter taste. ("Too Far Gone")

This may be the last thing that I write for long. Can you hear me smiling when I sing this song for you, and only you? ("The Last Song")

One place, one place slipped away...missed calls, missed calls, I can't stay too late...She's gone, I will miss her voice, her eyes, and love's first kiss. ("The Cigarette Song")

Talk about a SHIT-TON of sappiness! As one Amazon.com reviewer so astutely pointed out, "This album [The All-American Rejects, 2002] is comprised of twelve songs concerning everything that could go wrong in a relationship." And I absolutely loved it. (I was barely fourteen for God's sake; give me a break.) I ate up every word, every note, every chord. Tyson Ritter was, to me, the most romantic man on earth. Bar none.

For ten long, wonderful months, I maintained this illusion, assisted by TAAR's second album--with lyrics such as "I hope that love he gave you/Was just enough to save you/You nearly broke my heart/Just look at what you're tearing apart" (from "Stab My Back") and "You don't have to move, you don't have to speak/Lips for biting/You're staring me down, a glance makes me weak/Eyes for striking" (from "Dance Inside")--until the rockumentary Tournado was released in summer 2007. Having already acquired the Too Bad For Hell DVD and fallen even more in love with Tyson's ridiculous adorkableness, I eagerly obtained a copy of Tournado...

...and almost immediately wished I hadn't.

Don't get me wrong, the concert portion of the DVD was great. But the documentary? Well, that I could've lived without.

I won't get into nitty-gritty details or my blog could be flagged as 'inappropriate.' (Yes, it WAS that bad.) Suffice it to say that my romantic, sexy hero was not all I thought he was. In fact, he went from said romantic, sexy hero to a sex-obsessed, woman-objectifying, obnoxious creepazoid whose only fleeting moment of redemption came when he signed a guitar for a young fan.

In the words of E.T.: Ouch.

Melodramatic young high-school freshman as I was (or was about to become), this just seemed like a complete tragedy to me. Disappointment made me cry. Pride made me pretend that I'd loved the DVD. Love for my dad made me thank him profusely and promise to watch it with him as soon as he had the time. All the while I was thinking two things: 1) What the heck am I gonna do if Dad wants to see the documentary as well as the concert? and 2) TYSON!!! HOW COULD YOU LET ME DOWN LIKE THIS?!?!?!

For a long time afterward, I heavily disliked listening to TAAR at all, much less the sappy, sweet songs that I used to eat up like Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal. The framed Tyson Ritter poster on my wall--another present from my dad--made me cringe. The rockstar who I'd once fantasized about marrying, I now fantasized about beating with a fire hydrant until he choked on his own tongue. Yes...I was melodramatic indeed. But underneath all the whiny soap-opera ranting, one thing was true and plain and clear as glass: I would never, EVER worship or crush on a celebrity again.

Well, even that didn't last. For even as I mourned "Pretty Tyson," I was already falling head-over-heels for the (to a fourteen-year-old girl, anyway) devastatingly handsome Joe Jonas. I already liked the Jonas Brothers, to be sure. But as they heated up in popularity, and I became more and more disillusioned with the wild-rockers TAAR, I found myself more drawn to the Christian Good-Boy image of the JoBros and their cute, outgoing, bouncy lead singer.

*insert forehead smack here*

Now, looking back I know that the Jonas Brothers were ridiculous. But at the time I adored them. Added to that, Joe Jonas was three years older than me, compared to Tyson Ritter's nine-year age gap--and to a young girl this kind of stuff matters. So I went from an AAR-geek to a JoBro-geek. I went to see their live show. I collected magazines that featured them. I plastered my mental-hospital-white walls with their posters. I bought their CDs, I stalked their YouTube. And I loved Joe Jonas as much as I'd loved Tyson Ritter.

UNTIL...

I found out, again through a documentary (this time, as well as maturation and less wide-eyed naivete) that Joe Jonas was an asshole.

The difference between the discovery of Tyson Ritter's wild-man status and my discovery of Joe Jonas's asshole status was that this time, I'd seen it coming. It wasn't a slam-over-the-head kind of thing. More like a final-nail-in-the-coffin thing. I'd been outgrowing the Jonas Brothers anyway, and it just didn't seem that much of a tragedy that I was finally "over" them.

The point of all this is, it's so easy to fall in love with an image. Maybe it's not a crush type of thing, but it's almost always a hero-worship sort of thing. I'm not saying, "Never admire ANYONE, you don't know what they're REALLY like." I'm saying that it's easy to be taken in by a publicized image. It's easy to think you know someone, be it a star from a magazine or that sweet, kind girl who sits behind you in class and always compliments your hair. And it's very, VERY easy to be hurt and disappointed when you find out that they are not what they seem.

Now, as a senior in high school, I know the difference between an idol--someone you actually respect and try to emulate--and a celebrity fixation--someone you stare at starry-eyed and think, They are so perfect, I WISH I could be like them but it'll never happen or They are so gorgeous, I WISH I could go out with them/marry them/makeout with them. (Sorry for that last one, Mom and Dad.)

Now when I look at someone like Ronnie Winter (I'd use MJ as an example, but I'm sure the Cliche Police would come and arrest me), I respect their imperfections instead of glossing over them. ("Wow, he got over his drinking problems in college, if he can do that, surely I can make it through one more semester of World History," vs. "Oh, that drinking thing was probably exaggerated, Ronnie would NEVER do that.") It's silly, yes, but it makes all the difference in the world.

Want to know one more silly little detail before I present the stolen dialogue? Honestly, it feels really nice, if a little bittersweet, to know that I actually AM starting to (finally) grow up.

I'm going to end the serious part of this post with my favorite Friederich Nietzsche quote: "There is an innocence in admiration; it is found in those to whom it has never yet occurred that they, too, might be admired some day."

That concludes the serious portion of our show.


STOLEN DIALOGUE

Person one: I was gonna do something...what was I gonna do?
Person two: Commit yourself?

Person one: I think my synapses are wearing off. Has that happened to you?
Person two (washing dishes, running water): What?
Person one: Like, just now. I couldn't think of the word "review."
Person two: What?!
Person one: REVIEW!
Person two: Your reviews are wearing off?

Person one: Lookit me, I'm a trophy! I'm a skater...I'm a basketball...
Person two: You're an idiot!

"It's two parts Labyrinth, one part From Justin to Kelly, and all parts what the hell is this movie about."

Person one: She must die!
Person two: Vanessa Hudgens? I quite agree.

Person one: I am a mature grown-up.
Person two: Are you sure?

[talking about the All-American Rejects] "They sort of went from 'Aww, cute!' to 'Grrr, badass!'"

"I'm sure I've looked that ridiculous at some point in my life. I just don't want to admit it."