BEDA #14 - John Green, Rambling And Fangirling

So today was another one of those nothing days. Went to the pub with my parents, had a pizza, watched a few friend episodes...

Oh, and I met John Green.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable but weird experience, in the same way seeing any YouTuber in real life is weird but to a greater extent because he is like the king of YouTube. I knew, academically, that he was real and did things other than occasionally make videos for our amusement, but it was strange to see him standing there in 3D wearing that Catcher In The Rye t-shirt I really want but can't afford. And the irony, as pointed out by someone in the audience, is that Paper Towns (and so a lot of what he said) is about how important it is to imagine people complexly, as more than the sum of the things they do for you.

The talk was a defensive of reading to a certain extent, about how it's relevance in the modern world is as the only medium that still truly allows you to experience the world through eyes other than your own. It made me want to read things and write things and I found myself in an excellent daydream on the bus thinking all these things he'd conjured up. And I think that was the intention. Nothing is more magical, to say something I've already said on this blog once before, than reading one of your own thoughts as transcribed by somebody else.

The section he read is one of favourite in the book because it's strange and evocative and yet somehow so real. It's one of the few images that I carry around all the time, of two teenagers leaning up against a single pane of glass, trying to decide if the world looks more real or more fake from far away. Truly moving. He spoke so passionately and eloquently about reading and books and interactivity and empathy and humanity that it was as much an intellectual experience as a fangirl one.

But it was a fangirl one, at least to a certain extent. Everyone after having their book signed came out of the room and 'sqeed'. Even one of the people who worked on the event was all flustered at the prospect of him signing her copy. And of course we were: John Green is someone to admire on two levels. The level of making excellent YouTube videos and the level of writing great books. To meet anyone who has influenced you in two different ways like that is enough to make you want to squeal a little bit.

Fangirling in general makes me uneasy. I'm not sure if it's because I am so socially inept but the idea of doing anything remotely... memorable, I guess in front of someone I admire is painfully frightening. For example, there was a Luke And Noah gathering in Paris in the summer I did not go to, not because I am not enough of a fan, bu because even if all I had to do was stand next to Van and Jake for thirty seconds, that alone would be too embarrassing. The trap is always to sound too eager or too trite and, in the end, all the things I have to say are almost implied by my being there. What's the point in gushing to them? It makes everyone feel uneasy. I would rather be forgotten by someone than remembered as 'that person that did something stupid'. In the end, I am simply too awkward to
endure any awkwardness.

So again, YouTube brings to light my vast emotional failings. Maybe I should go back to reading books.

PS: What a rambling post this is, too many thoughts at too early an hour. I blame BEDA. Sometimes nothing to say and then, all at once, too much.

BEDA #7 - Summer In The City, Social Awkwardness and Sore Feet

This post is going to be bad. I apologise. I've spent all day running under trees to shelter from the rain and standing a safe distance from famous YouTubers and essentially not sitting down anywhere so my feet are killing me and all I want to do is lie down and sleep off what has been an awesome day.

I had a good day, nay a great one. Tasha and Amy are the perfect gathering companions because they are funny and awkward as me. Because this is the thing about YouTube gatherings (and having been to three I feel I am an expert) they are fun. But everyone else looks like they are having *more* fun.

I guess the weird thing about gatherings is the weird thing about YouTube in general. We (and by we I mean the plebs) watch them (and by them I mean the shiny but normal members of YouTube royalty) because, unlike normal celebrities they are our age, attainable but somehow superior to us and a little bit of us believes with the right amount of time and alcohol we could be the best of friends. So you watch their videos, laugh, chat to your friends about them and before you know it, they are a part of your life. A small part, granted, but a part nonetheless. You know things about them too - the TV shows they watch, the instruments they play, the posters on their wall. And here in lies in inequality - they don't know anything about you. When they talk to the camera, it might look like they are talking to you but they are talking to the camera.

I find this (because I am an emotional basketcase) all too much to take. Clearly I don't wait for them to introduce themselves but do I just call them by their first name regardless of the fact they do not know mine? Do I talk about something from one of their videos but then, I already commented so...? So I complement them, that sounds simple. But it's also loaded - am I sucking up, am I looking for an endorsement on their channel? I'm not, I just wanna say hi but how do I convey that? It doesn't help (although I do really like it) that they are all a pretty tight-knit friendship group themselves, at least in the UK. Why would you wanna talk to me when you could talk to the people I wish I was talking to?

And all this is exacerbated by the fact that I am socially awkward enough with people I know, let alone strangers I admire in varying degrees of intensity. There were many times today I could have spoken to many people whose videos I watch ad nauseam - got a glass of water right next to where Johnny Durham was standing, Alex Day stood behind me the entire Blue Skies set, bought a t-shirt off Jazza etc. And it's not that I think if I go up to them they'll be horrible because I'm sure they are all really nice; at least all the evidence points that way. But if I start the conversation it will also be my duty to sustain it and I am not a good small talker at the best of times.

It's also true that lots of vloggers started making videos because they themselves are not very good at social interaction. So two people, neither of whom are any good at casual chatting about nothing with total strangers, is just the right ingredients for an incredibly awkward and in the end dull exchange in which both walk away wishing it had never happened. I'd rather point Charlie out in the distance than make him feel uncomfortable because of my inability to chat with him like a normal human being.

But despite all this, I did genuinely have a good time. I got to see some people I haven't seen since last years gathering, met lots of people as awkward as me, got soaked in the rain and enjoyed every second of the gig: including afterwards when The Luminaire was transformed into an indie disco. And the gig was really awesome - I love going to see bands where the audience know all the words and dance and sing along. Like the entire event, the atmosphere was really lively and laid-back and it helps that everyone who played is ridiculously talented. The point of going is not to meet famous YouTubers necessarily but to enjoy yourself amongst a group of people who, like you, know all the words to Indigo including the colour verse and who are wearing the same Johnny Durham t-shirt as you. And it's fun to meet new people and chat about things normally only a few of your friends care about. It's fun to play 'Spot The YouTuber' when you're in a massive circle for Duck Duck Goose. To some extent, it's fun to embarrass yourself. At least it'd make a good story for your blog (better than this one).

I'm going to go now because I can't hear myself above those people talking at the back and I need to give Jez some birthday beats. (That's another good thing about gatherings - the private jokes).