Today in the computer lab I opened up Perez Hilton and the person next to me scoffed. After being surprised to actually hear a scoff (outside of a thesaurus), I came to the realization that celebrity worship shouldn’t be a trivial pursuit perceived with raised eyebrows. It isn’t a hobby evolved out of boredom/moral superiority/social contempt/etc. It’s an inclination toward immortality, toward the need to transcend from ordinary life, the desire that beyond that extremely important economic problem set you’re working on, life can mean something more. As we work our way through four years of liberal arts education (that constantly reaffirm 9th grade nihilist suspicions) there is a need for glorious, heroic, irrational, idolatry. As Blanche Dubois said in A Street Car Named Desire “I don’t want realism, I want magic!”
That said, there’s a serious lack of role models on campus. I’m not talking intellectual crushes or the intense stares exchanged over the Proctor Salad bar (Dear crush, when will you realize my fleeting glance means more than pass the Sriracha sauce?)
Middconfessional has digressed to a series of “glory hole” propositions in various areas on campus (Sunderland, really?). Gossip Girl seems to suggest that mysterious people are lurking on every corner snapping stalker-esque shots, but the closest Midd can come are the aesthetically appealing facebook albums of Vincent Jones ’12.
The Campus Character column is promising but alas, its monthly profiles don’t feed my generation Y desire for instantaneous blog updates. I keep finding “Nick Jansen” scrawled on desks around campus (Oh mysterious man, your various feats etched into Gamut Room walls are so impressive, your glory so elusive!). Aren’t college mascots supposed to offer the admiration long reserved for ancient Greek gods? All due apologies to the 10 commandments, but the mythological significance I hoped to impose upon the Panther seems limited to sweatshirt graphics. I went through the requisite idolatry of my advisor, I still enjoy Googling professors, but there’s a serious lack of heroes in my life.
This is a call to the American Dream! Dear Middkidds, find me a celebrity to love, a pedestal to worship, a symbol to ease the culmination of the Harry Potter franchise.
Desired Qualities: Strong Female (not sex-crazed man disguised in a skirt, thank you 90’s girl power), Sensitive Man (who also likes flannel, growlers of Otter Creek, and Sunday kayak rides), Must be quotable, approachable but elusive, someone I might see at a party but only for a moment before Pub-Safe rolls in, someone controversial who will alleviate my boredom, preferably someone not unanimously liked nor hated, someone who occasionally fucks up. Also, someone who is preferably not real (because they need to be immortal).