Today, I met Lady Gaga. Yes, I did. No, I am not shitting you, nor am I shitting on you – although I kind of am, sorry. You see, by using the word “met,” I just committed one of the most obnoxious celebrity encounter embellishments, and I would apologize but it’s fucking Lady Gaga, so let me do it.
Let’s just put it this way: when I got home, I put my hair up Princess Leia-style, and by doing so, Lady Gaga’s skin cells rubbed off on my buns.
Okay, maybe that’s not the best example.
I’ll try again: later, I ate a muffin, and with the hand that pulled off the wrapper I transferred Lady Gaga germs onto my muffin.
Well anyway, I could tell you the where/why/how it happened, but I would probably be fired from my day job [Google it]. Despite the enthusiasm at having befriended her today, it would be a real stretch to say that I have ever been a fan of Lady Gaga. More like a fan of the idea of Lady Gaga, her unabashedly brave artistic presence and undeniable force in pop culture. Girlfriend can sing, too. But after we gazed into each other’s eyes this afternoon, I started to understand the real Gags, or at least respect her more. Suffice to say, she’s a pretty amazing broad, with a lucid head on her shoulders and true compassion for young people. If only more pop stars emulated her (in action, not sound, duh), it might be less unsettling that kids idolize them.
After we shared our life stories and shed tears when parting, I went about my day. You know what’s fun? High-fiving strangers and saying “Hey! Now you have Lady Gaga on your hands!”
And now all over this keyboard. Calm down, obviously I washed my hands afterward.