There is
nothing lazier than people who speak in clichés. Katy Perry’s Roar for
example is entirely made up of clichés (I’ve got the eye of the tiger, already
brushing off the dust, Cos I am a champion gah!). Instead of inspiring
me, Roar makes me want to punch Katy
right in her ass. Same goes for motivational quotes on facebook. I don’t feel
inspired by a picture of a wishing well captioned with some inane shit like
“Dream it. Believe it. Achieve it”. Because really, when you’re reeling off the
clichés you’re just saying a bunch of stuff that’s been said so many times it’s
become, well, clichéd.
I do however, have to
vouch for a motivational image I saw the other day of a
little fellow reaching towards the stars. It was captioned, logically, “reach
for the stars”. Yes it’s your everyday sub-par vom inducing meme,
but I actually did reach for the stars
recently and it felt pretty damn delightful.
As you may or may not
know, I have a very slight obsession with Bruce
Springsteen. My car is called Bruce, I listen to his music every day, a
whopping 20% of my instagram posts are about him and most importantly, he is my
number one celebrity crush, my religion and my muse. When he announced his
latest tour I spent $1000 dollars on tickets for my family, who all get equally
as excited about our lord and saviour, Bruce. I made my parents go and queue in the rain hours ahead of
time in order to ensure we would be right at the front of the stage so that,
just maybe, I could touch that
beautiful hunk ‘o’ man. And touch him I did!
 |
| Figure 1: My Dad's enthusiastic response to the news I had acquired sold-out Bruce Springsteen tickets for both he and my Mum |
Springsteen is the most
enthusiastic performer you will ever see. He does three hour-long concerts with
more energy than a hessian sack full of toddlers, and during these
performances, he likes to crowd surf. Enter the ultimate “it would only happen
to Maz” moment. During a particularly badass rendition of Spirit in the Night Bruce launched himself into the crowd. Falling
backwards onto the welcoming sea of hands like Janice does after slamming
Regina George at the end of Mean Girls, he
continued to sing as the audience slowly delivered him to the stage at the front
of the arena. As The Boss approached, I craned my neck to see whether or not he was going to pass over my head, and could vaguely make out a figure up and to
the left of me. Using my finely honed basketball attack skills, I dropped my
shoulder and charged left until I was right in the path of the almighty Bruce.
Time stopped. My heart
rate hastened. My mouth dried. I saw his leather lace-up boots, and then his
ankles and suddenly the moment was upon me. Bruce Springsteen’s tight little
bottom was directly above me. I reached up and with my full, open hand, grabbed
his right bum cheek and squeezed. Oh, the ecstasy. For that one beautiful
second, I was molesting the man of my dreams. It was a little sweaty but let me tell you, it was firm and pert and round - everything a good ass should be. Before I knew it, he had been
placed gently on the stage and, overwhelmed, I burst into tears. I cried on
Nick and then turned to my dad and cried on him too. There is very little I will be able to achieve now that will trump the time I grabbed Bruce Springsteen's behind.
And that is the story of
the time that I groped the 64-year-old man I am in love with and then cried
snot onto both my 61-year-old dad and my husband in celebration. So follow your
dreams kids, it’s like the saying goes: reach for the stars, even if you miss, your hand will touch his moon. I know that was feeble, but you get what I was
trying to do there.
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