Anyone who follows me online or has met me in real life knows that I have my fangirl moments.
I spent a year and a half relentlessly stalking Diego Luna in Mexico City before he eye-fucked me and then divorced his wife.
I happily became a part of the Thirty Seconds to Mars Echelon for a few years before the band continued to warn their fans to get “parents’ permission” for things they were offering to which I realised … wait, I’m 28.
And last year, my teenage students here turned me into a Bruno Mars fangirl. (Which I can happily say is still an ongoing thing.)
But one fandom I’ve been a part of since I was about 16-17 is the Beatlemaniacs.
Yup. I’m living in the ’60s and still screaming over one of the world’s first boybands.
The Beatles was the band I consistently listened to during my hippie, tie-dye phase (yup, that actually happened) and was essentially the group that led me away from today’s mainstream pop charts and into the older rock ‘n’ roll/psychedelia I listen to today.
Last year, due to a shitty introduction to Korean life, I treated myself to a ticket to see Paul McCartney in Seoul.
As much as we all know that his voice isn’t what it once was, I didn’t – and still don’t – care. He’s a Beatle, he’s in his 70’s, and he’s still touring. That was more than enough reason for me to go. Plus this was going to be the first time he’d ever performed in Korea.
Unfortunately, before he could start any of the Asian leg of his tour, he came down with a virus in Japan and had to cancel everything.
I was kind of gutted but still relieved at news that he was slowly getting better. (Because, as much as we don’t like to talk about it, he’s … y’know … getting older and older bodies find it harder to fight that shit off.)
When the cancellation email came through, there was a message from Macca that said he promised to return at some point. I held out hope that he’d make it back over here before I left but wasn’t holding my breath.
How cynical of me.