June 3, 2004
So, thanks to the wonders of TiVo, I got to see Billy Boyd's appearance on The Sharon Osbourne Show.
Darling Billy was lovely, as usual – cute; charming; funny; very, very cute. He even sang. He really does have an amazing voice. And he can play the guitar. (Yeah, I know, like who can't play the guitar? Except for me.) Although, his choice of material is a bit bizarre. If you had asked me what song Billy Boyd would sing when appearing on a talk show hosted by Ozzy Osbourne's missus, somehow, I doubt I would have said “(Hit Me) Baby One More Time.”
But that's what he sang. And, oddly enough, it worked. I liked it much better than Britney's version. Go figure.
Anyway, I don't really want to talk about Billy per se. No, I want to talk about his fans. You know, his fans who are not me.
Seems like Billy has quite the following. He walked out onstage and suddenly it was like three thousand banshees had gotten loose in the studio. These women screamed for him when he came out, when he sat on the couch, when he made a joke about Sharon's dog sleeping, when he sang; they screamed for the clip of Return of the King. If he'd farted, they would have screamed. Hell, if he'd pulled an Ozzy and bitten Sharon's head off, and was standing there with blood dripping from his cute little cupid's bow mouth, they would have screamed (and not in horror, but in that “God, you are so hot!” sort of way). Meanwhile, Antonio Sabato, Jr. was the first guest and hardly anybody screamed. The world is strange and wondrous place, my friends.
And, really, am I in any position to blame them for screaming? Can I reasonably guarantee that I wouldn't scream like a 12-year-old girl when in the same room as Billy Boyd? Somehow, I think I'd fail that polygraph test. You know, a polygraph test preferably administered by Richard Belzer. Sorry, too much Homicide.
Although, you know, while I probably would scream like the crazed fangirl I am if I were in the audience of The Sharon Osbourne Show, watching Billy be interviewed, I'd like to hope that I wouldn't be quite so demonstrative, if say, I ran into Billy in a bar.
No, then I would be all cool, like I was when I said “hey” to Teller on the street, and wait until I got home and then talk about it incessantly, with probably some screaming thrown in for good measure.
Anyway, now that we've established that I'd be a screamer, I have to say that I am a little concerned. See, during Billy's interview, when the fans kept screaming, the cameraman would pan the audience to capture the screamers for posterity. And there was a whole, cadre of them, with pictures and t-shirts (where does one get a Billy Boyd t-shirt? Is it homemade?), and signs with things like “Marry Me, Billy” and “Hobbits Rock!” (I'm not joking), and, well, this is going to sound terribly mean, but they weren't a particularly attractive bunch of women.
Okay, let's be honest here, they were basically the female equivalent of the “Geek” cast on Freaks and Geeks.
And, so now, here I am, wondering just what my choosing Billy Boyd as my celebrity boyfriend really says about me.
Look, I know I'm a geek. I like video games and computers and anime and I used to play Dungeons and Dragons. I collect comic books and I can hold my own in a debate about Star Wars. Well, at least a debate about the first three movies, the only three Star Wars films worth being included in the cannon. I am seriously thinking about accompanying the lovely Corina and the lovely Wes to Chiller Theater AND dressing up as Alice from American McGee's Alice when I go. I have a freaking Master's in Creative Writing and an online journal, for God's sake. But am I THAT geeky? Am I one of those women in the front row of Sharon Osbourne's audience, wearing high-water jeans in light blue denim and a Pippin shirt, waving a sign that says, “I [HEART] Hobbits?”
If you picked a representative sample of female Billy Boyd fans (somehow I think the male Billy Boyd fans are probably a lot more stylish. I mean, you never see the Fab Five in high-water, light blue denim jeans) would that completely dorky representative sample represent ME?
Sweet Jesus, say it ain't so.
Actually, if I were Billy Boyd, I might be wondering what it is about me that attracts the nerdlier ladies.
I do know one thing for certain: Billy definitely does it for bigger girls. 90% of that audience was big girls. And before you get all “Jesus, Kate, don't be such an ignorant jackass” on me, I am perfectly within my rights to make that observation. I have immunity. Know why? Because I'm a big girl. Duh.
I'm not fat, but I am big: tall, definitely. And not really what you'd call delicate or willowy. I've got a sturdy, medium-boned frame and well, add that to 6 feet in height and nobody's going to call me petite. Unless it's as an insult.
So I'm big and I like Billy Boyd. And most of those women screaming their throats raw for Billy on TV would make me look petite (and, surprisingly, not in the normal, sarcastic sense of the word). So those women, who are bigger than me (who, we've already established, is big to begin with), all love darling Billy too.
Therefore, according to my (probably) very faulty logic: There is something about Billy Boyd that appeals to big girls.
And, you know, I find that fascinating. Here's this little slip of a man – I mean, c'mon, he's small; he was cast as a hobbit in a movie that relied more on filming in perspective and size difference between actors than on special effects – and yet, a big portion of his fan base seems to be women who could pick him up and put him in their pockets.
And I don't think he's an anomaly, either. In terms of bigger women being attracted to smaller men. (A vice versa, actually. Hey, Billy's said he likes tall women.) I've been this size my entire life and I have invariably gone for skinny, smaller men. Once in a while, the occasional “big guy” will creep into my rotation of lust, but historically, not so much.
And I think that's a pretty accurate observation. Big girls often seem to like smaller men.
And that's just so fascinating to me. Why does that happen? Because there's an attraction that's inherent in someone's being your opposite? Because it's appealing to find someone else who goes against society's gender norms in terms of appearance? I mean, I don't know about any other big women out there, but I never fit the “small, petite feminine” stereotype of the ideal woman. So maybe spending your entire life outside the norm opens you up in terms of what is attractive to you. Hell, in my case, it's opened up a whole alternate universe of what's attractive.
Or maybe it's just some leftover natural selection working here. In terms of physical survival, it isn't as necessary for a bigger woman to find a big mate because she can hold her own against that world a little bit better (and I'm talking physically here, not emotionally or financially or any of that), so she's free to swoon over some small slip of a lad, who, in terms of survival against the harsh elements and hard back-breaking labor, isn't going to do some small slip of a girl a lick of good.
It all comes back to genetic memory for me, doesn't it?
Or maybe it's just that there's safety in being attracted to a smaller guy. A guy like that's probably been rejected by more than a few women for being “too short” or “too skinny” or “too small” and so maybe he'll be less likely to reject you for being “too tall” or “too fat” or “too big”?
Seeing as I have experienced this type of attraction first hand, you'd think I'd have an answer.
Hmmmm. I'm going to ponder this a while longer. Probably while watching Return of the King.
7 Deadly Sins and Other, Less Fatal Diversions
Pride:
Envy:
Wrath:
Sloth:
Avarice:
Gluttony:
Lust:
Book:
Tune:
My loneliness is killing me. (And I)
Quest for Publication:
I am still quite impressed with how cool I remanined when I saw Teller strolling down Chestnut Street.
The may have been hopelessly dorky, but hell, those girls were in the SAME ROOM as darling Billy. They were breathing the same climate controlled studio air. Lucky dorks.
The Grapes of....
Is there such a thing as TiVo sloth? It records things for me and then most times, I never manage to actually sit down and watch them.
Again with the money. At what point are we going to stop being poor?
Lately, I've been on a smoothie kick.
Billy can sing Britney Spears' songs for me anytime.
Who's Who in Hell by Richard Chalmers. Yes, still. I just don't feel much of a pull to read it. I suppose that should be my cue to pack it in, but I never can give up on a book.
Billy, er, Britney Spears, Baby One More Time
I must confess I still believe (I still believe).
When I'm not with you, I lose my mind.
Give me a sign.
Hit me, baby, one more time.
Task at Hand:
Cleaning out the litter boxes. Blech.
50 new submissions. Woo hoo! Which probably means 50 new rejections. But I'm geting ahead of myselfTotal Submissions: 102
Rejections: 44
Acceptances: 1
Withdrawals: 7