Note: Years ago, on a now defunct blog, I posted this after someone pointed out the obvious as I was telling them about the great day I had meeting one of my idols. I was explaining all this to someone a few days ago so I figured I would repost it here. I’ve included a few pictures from that day.
Recently, I had the awesomest (I know it’s not a word, but it should be. I’m gonna make it happen!) opportunity to meet the person who’s music changed my life, who’s music inspires me and showed me that it’s OK to be a depressed mess. He also taught me the proper way to yell FIST F*CK! and he received a Grammy nomination for it. I am talking about the one and only Trent Reznor.
Yes, it cost me a few dollars. BUT IT WAS FOR CHARITY and it was worth every penny. We got to tour backstage and talk to tour guys and manager guys; who’s names I cannot recall, and find out all the details that go into putting on a concert.
I was VERY proud of myself that day because Trent Reznor is my future husband, even though he doesn’t know it, and I remained cool and collected. I even spoke English and not that yesIamacrazyfanandIloveyou language that you learn around the age thirteen.
When I was telling someone recently about my awesomest day, they pointed out that while I didn’t lose my shit, as many people thought I would, something even worse happened that day; TRENT REZNOR NOW THINKS I’M A STALKER!
(Notice I didn’t say KNOWS I’m a stalker. How can one be a stalker if one is not caught stalking?)
To say that I was mortified is an understatement. Me! A Stalker! Never!
Now, one may ask: “How did a famous, really good looking, really talented rock star come to think that I was a stalker?”
And I would answer “How does any famous, really good looking, really talented rock star find out anyone is a stalker? One of your best friends TELLS him!!!!!!!”
Allow me to explain. Since the person who was supposed to go with me that day backed out, I brought my dear friend of 256 years, Antoinette, to the show. Antoinette was not a Nine Inch Nails fan so I thought it would be fun to not only have her meet the band but see a great rock show too.
We had finished the tour, sound check, dinner and were now lining up for the meet and greet. Somehow, we ended up first on that line.
Note to any famous, really good looking, really talented rock stars: never put us first on line!
We managed to get through the handshakes and signatures with Antoinette only tousling the drummer’s curly hair and asking him how he sees through it.
This actually made Trent smile and laugh so all was good. Everyone was then asked to line up for the pictures. It was one picture per person which meant Antoinette and I would have to be in the picture together.
So, Brett, I can’t remember his title, was snapping the pictures and when he was done you were to move to the side. It should have taken all of ten seconds. Snap! Done!
We walk up to the band and Trent said something like: “C’mon get in here ladies.” Which we obliged. I successfully resised the urge to pinch his butt, and we put our arms around him while the band members stood around us.
I’m pretty sure this is the exact conversation that took place. My commentary is in blue.
Antoinette: “Do you wanna hear a quick funny story?” Her stories are never quick nor funny.
Trent: “Sure” I blame this on him. He should have known better than to encourage her.
Antoinette: “We tried to stalk you in New Orleans.” Mouth. Open. Ground.
Trent: (very amused) “Yeah, how’d that turn out for ya?” He did laugh, I give him credit for that.
Antoinette: “Not too good, you never came out.” Still. Mouth. Open. Ground.
My lame attempt at chiming in: “Yeah we’re not very good stalkers.” I’m such a herpaderp
Trent: “Was I There?” He had recently left New Orleans for California so I think he was trying to assess if we were dumb-asses who had no idea where he lived.
Antoinette: Yeah, it was years ago.” Of course we were not dumb-asses. That trip needs a blog post of its own.
Trent: “Do you know where I live now.” Ok, now he was just messing with us.
Antoinette: “Yeah LA.” At this point, I wanted to kill her.
Trent: “Do you know who bought my house in New Orleans…John Goodman.” I knew Antoinette didn’t know this but I did. I kept my mouth shut! I reused to incriminate myself any further.
It was at this point when Brett attempted to take the picture…and my camera DIED! Yes, died, as in we had to get my small digital camera that I brought as a backup in case something like this happened. A girl can never be too prepared.
Trent, bless his heart, is laughing as we grab the backup camera and set up for the picture again. So now, not only does he think he has two potential felons standing next to him, but he accuses us of planning the camera breakdown. “You girls planned this.” he joked as Brett captured the shot.
(Oh Trent if only you knew that Homer Simpson plans better than we do.)
I have told this story a million times and while I always say Antoinette told him we stalked him, it never occurred to me that my one and only chance to make a good impression on my idol turned into a confession to a crime.
I could have told him how The Fragile changed my life and thanked him for everything he did. I could have told him that I use him and his music as inspiration for my own writing. I could have told him a hundred things that…BUT NOW TRENT REZNOR THINKS I’M A STALKER!
Hey! Thanks Antoinette!
And thanks to the person who had to point that out.
My only consolation is knowing that in Trent Reznor’s world I am a blur. He would never remember the two girls who admitted stalking him. And, I’m pretty confident that we are not the only ones to ever or will ever tell him that.
Looking back now after this realization, I’m thinking losing my shit wouldn’t have been so bad after all.
And, if I do happen to meet him again, and he does recognize me: “Hey you’re the girl who stalked me in New Orleans.” I will vehemently deny it, because like I always say: If a stalker isn’t caught stalking, then the stalked never knows they have a stalker.
It all makes perfect sense in my head!