Hey, if you’re not a terrible person, you deserve a Bare Minimum Human Decency Award! And if you are a terrible person, my other recent column has terrible puns.

Had another local comedy show where I performed last week, but more exciting was traveling to see the hilarious Emo Philips live for the first time*. And he was ostensibly going to greet fans after the show, but there was a wait before he emerged from backstage, and the venue was full, and my partner wanted to go home, so we left. And it also left me thinking: Why do I care if I meet a celebrity who will never remember me? And why was I so excited months ago when Emo liked a joke I made in a comment?

And I think the answer is love. For the first two decades** of my life, I viewed love largely as a spiderweb of one-way arrows, because I had a crush on a girl at my highschool who had no interest in me, but was very interested in my friend, who in turn had no interest in her but wanted some other guy, etc. Mutual affection was the elusive grand and glorious prize.

Years later, a number of us are fortunate enough to have mutual affection. But less common is a mutual admiration of craft. If you ask people who they love the most, you’ll likely find a lot of reciprocal listings. But ask people who they think is the most brilliant comedian or the best writer, and if you’re not asking celebrities or a professional cabal, you’re likely to find mostly one-way arrows. People scoff and pooh-pooh mutual admiration societies****, but to me, this has always been the great allure of celebrity: The idea that the people you think are great might think you are great also.

* I mean, he was living before, but previously I only got to enjoy his work via a screen.

** aka the worst two decades***

*** aka the thirst two decades, aka the cursed two decades, aka rhymes burst through decades help i like rhyming too much

**** “You are a handsome bear, would you like some hunny?” “Why yes thank you, and your crop-top red shirt is lovely.”