...And Other Stalker Activities

Editorial comment on my previous post: I think I may come off as one of those...fanatics. Like the ones on the old MTV show where they would stand naked on their roofs with their favorite celebrity's name written in blood on their chests. I AM NOT ONE OF THEM. In all honesty, I wouldn't really want to meet Jack White.

Really!

It would ruin the myth. My bestie/fellow White Stripes devotee, Corey, and I love to discuss what we would do if we saw Jack White in Wal-Mart or something. And my response is always "I don't know." I know I would make an absolute blubbering fool of myself, for one. There is no way that I could see the most consistently important figure in my life, besides my mom, and not automatically sob. I cried in Art History this morning when I found out I got an A+ on my Art History exam, so I'm definitely going to cry when I see my most reliable companion in this mortal coil. I'm also really afraid that I would fuck it up even further by trying to be cool--something I definitely am not. And at every other moment I love that I'm not cool, in fact I hate cool. But I feel like I would try to impress him, and obviously fail. Because I've gone over the scenario a billion times in my head of what I would do/say if I ever met him, all that would come out is "...........fhjdshkfkfaqooooooo" and I'd faint dead onto the floor. It would be too overwhelming I think.

Plus...what if he's a dick?

So yeah, I actually would never want to be in a close vicinity with him except for at a concert. Hey, I was like 12 feet away from him when he walked into his tour bus at my second White Stripes show in Indy a few years ago, so that's fine enough for me.

I'm Going to Write a Blog About My Blog in My Blog!

WOAH.

So. Go to Google images and type in "Detroit Mexicantown" and see what comes up first. OK I'll just tell you. MY. ARTWORK. Do you REALIZE that Jack White has probably Googled that?! JACK WHITE HAS PROBABLY SEEN MY ARTWORK. Which was posted on this blog, so he probably read my blog (because he has the spare time), which mentions him, quite a bit! And he would LOVE me, obviously!

JACK WHITE IS COMING TO WHISK ME AWAY.

If I Made a Magic Mix Tape

It would have all of the White Stripes' albums, and "Push It to the Limit" from the Scarface soundtrack on it.

Oh, and I tried to go to the new Sonic today but there was so much traffic that there were FOUR TRAFFIC COPS GUIDING THE CARS. So I went to Ci Ci's instead.

Damn You, Meg White.

Heroes are for suckers.

Or at least that's what one of my own heroes, gonzo music journalist Lester Bangs, once said. After my own personal savior and hero, Jack White (of the White Stripes), ruined all of my hopes and dreams (slight exaggeration) this past fall, I can see where Lester is coming from. Kind of. My irritated, brazen, beligerant side can anyway.

So what happened to make me turn my back for nearly two weeks on the pinnacle of genius of modern music that is Jack White?

His bandmate and big sister Meg broke the myth.

You see, the White Stripes are all about screen porches, lemonade, broken guitars, and old record players. At least in my pathetic fantasy they are. They are immune to these scary modern times of "invisible music" as Jack puts it (mp3s and the age of the download), Britney Spears meltdowns, and T-Mobile Sidekicks. Their music creates a cocoon of childlike wonderment and old-man wisdom. They truely are timeless. But during their tour to promote Icky Thump this year, Meg started to have panic attacks so severe that she couldn't travel. Panic brought on by the hecticness of jet planes and press releases (and maybe drugs, who knows). She broke that old world persona of the White Stripes. And she broke my dreams of going to an open admission White Stripes show in Chicago, being right up at the front, and being asked to sing "St. James Infirmary" with her and Jack, and then obviously being whisked away to their old time 1800s cottage in Nashville where I would hang out with Loretta Lynn and become a taxidermist. Because THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED if Meg hadn't gotten afraid of planes or whatever.

After I saw the news in a White Stripes bulletin on Myspace (the irony is killing me), I wept. And I couldn't listen to them for two weeks. Which is an un-Godly amount of time for me. I listen to them daily, and all of a sudden I couldn't hear a cut from their new record without slamming a fist through a wall. I still can't listen to their live concert stuff out of grief of not seeing them this fall (I've seen them twice before but I just KNEW this would be the concert where Jack would let me join the band).

Thinking about it, I realize it isn't Jack's fault. He didn't cancel the tour. I'm sure he would think I was the most beautiful little snowflake if I did get to see them. And in my mind he's always represented "the White Stripes myth" better than Meg anyways. So I've gone on to surely disappoint Lester Bangs and hero-ize the White Stripes. But it still kind of ruined my life.