I think it was the email from the Demi Lovato fan club that did it.
“Hey, Demi Lovato fan!” it started innocently enough. “We wanted to let you know your fan club welcome packages have been ordered! They will include a Demi poster, exclusive fan club laminate and mirror compact… be sure to check your mailbox over the next few weeks.”
Gulp. Mailbox? Next few weeks? I pictured my husband intercepting my “welcome package” … the mirror compact crashing to the floor dooming me to seven years bad luck – or worse, seven more years in her fan club.
That’s when the light bulb went off.
When the sheer absurdity of my life as a David Archuleta fan hit me in the head harder than a beach ball kicked by you-know-who.
I’d completely forgotten about the stupid membership. I’d bought it back in the spring, desperate to gain access to concert presale tickets — tickets to a show hundreds of miles away. Tickets for myself and three friends — friends I’d met on the Internet.
But the absurdity didn’t end there. Oh no. When the concert was cancelled (sorry, “postponed”), for a moment I forgot that the average concert goer attends shows in their own hometown, making it no big deal if the date is rescheduled. For me, it was a big deal. Too big. So for that moment, I wailed and flailed like target=”_blank”>these kids.
I mean, doesn’t everyone take vacation days and make elaborate travel plans to faraway cities to hear an 18-year-old sing a handful of songs? “How could this happen?!?” I screamed to no one in particular. “What is wrong with you people?!?”
But once the shock and crushing disappointment abated (who am I kidding, I’m still disappointed), I had to laugh at myself – and at the year or so of absurdities I’d been racking up in this, my first experience with extreme fandom.
Please allow me to share a few highlights:
Absurd scenario #1: Spotting a vest in a men’s store window and walking in to check it out because it would look great on a kid who doesn’t know me from Adam Lambert. The sales guy asks if he can help me find anything. My sanity, maybe?
Absurd scenario #2: Blowing off a chance to attend a rare Toronto performance by renowned soprano Cecilia Bartoli. Why? To rush to Buffalo, of course, for the Kissmas Bash, also featuring Flo-Rida.
Absurd Scenario #3: At the office, grabbing my wallet out of my purse and inadvertently yanking out my VIP lanyard thingie, with David’s face emblazoned on one side…. Who needs that raise anyway?
Absurd Scenario #4: Not having a clue what many of my friends or family were up to yesterday, but knowing David saw yellow hills set against a blue sky.
Absurd Scenario #5: Trying to convey to a pal why I’d planned to go to more than one show. “So each one has different songs?” she asks, struggling to make sense of the absurdity. How do I explain that the songs are almost irrelevant – it’s that Voice, it’s just David. And yet, that alone sounds absurd.
But then my friends and I finally get to the one show left of our tattered road trip. And David starts to sing. And everything makes sense again.
It’s a VIP. The song is I’ll Be. He holds the “I” so strong and true, if I could climb inside that blessed note and live there, I would.
I well with love that spills from my eyes. Nothing absurd about that. Nothing at all.
The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful
Stop me and steal my breath
Emeralds from mountains thrust toward the sky
Never revealing their depth
Tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I’ll be captivated
I’ll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above
I’ll be your crying shoulder
I’ll be love’s suicide
and I’ll be better when I’m older
I’ll be the greatest fan of your life