Starstruck?

Celebrity is a funny thing. From local luminary to worldwide superstar, certain personalities seem to just draw us in. We love to share gossip, however trivial or removed.

It's hard to explain what the appeal is. Is it a reflection of some void in our own lives? Or is it a latent proclivity for voyeurism? Perhaps it's just a natural curiosity or an innate need to be "in the know." Whatever it is, it catches us all in some way or another on many different levels. And if you step back from it for a moment, our obsession with celebrity -- and celebrities -- is pretty amusing in its own right.

We idolize people like it's second nature. In the blink of an eye someone becomes an archetype of cool, a symbol of sexy. Think Brad Pitt, think Halle Berry. But if we see perfection in these people it's for a reason. Go ahead, I dare you to deny it. The fun part is when we act as though we have some stake in their lives, as though we know these people who couldn't be much further from the lot of us.

We make judgements on the parts they choose or concerts they put on. I don't mean judge their talents -- they've given us full right to do that by virtue of being famous -- I mean we say things like "I can't believe she accepted that script."

Right, like you know her. Like any of us do. They seem so familiar to us, invading our television screens and stereo speakers every night that we treat them like friends. Of course, if we met them on the street things would be very different, wouldn't they?

Fascination borders on perverse, however, when we exit the realm of the professional and invade the privacies of celebrities' personal lives. Frankly I will defend neither side on this issue; rather I am interested only in the inherent humor of the situation.

Consider a favorite celeb. Do you know whom he or she is dating? Can you remember what he or she wore at the Grammy's/Oscar's? Do you know where he or she lives or if the house was recently redecorated? Now think: does he or she even know you exist? Of course not.

Imagine standing at a crosswalk next to this person tomorrow. He or she probably won't even notice you standing there and yet you know his fear of flying or her cup size. It's hilarious.

On the other end of the spectrum we have our neighborhood heroes. Upper classmen will surely remember for years to come the name Johnny Rodgers. One might go so far as to say that Johnny Rodgers is something of a campus legend. For the younger Jumbos, a quick lesson in Tufts history.

Once upon a time, a figure, remarkably reminiscent of Vanilla Ice in his heyday, graced the Medford campus with a glimmering, exuberant presence. Down Talbot Avenue the engine of his silver racing striped Explorer roared. When the dust cleared, onlookers were taunted by the decal flames and the words "FEAR THIS" staring back at them. Silhouetted by neon interior lights through do-it-yourself window tinting sat Johnny Rodgers, engulfed by the sounds of rap at top volume. Blonde hair spiked, wearing a visor and two, yes two, pairs of sunglasses, Johnny drew attention wherever he went.

No matter how skewed the stories have become, Johnny Rodgers has left an indelible mark on the Tufts' collective memory. Yelling in the street or kissing his biceps at the gym good ol' Johnny gave us all a common point of reference.

It's funny to think that this one figure made an impression on so many of us, an impression that has lasted longer than his tenure here. Most of us never even met him and know nothing of the real man. But that doesn't really matter. He gave us something to grab onto and we held on tight. And it's even funnier to think that two steps off of campus the legend dies. (I know a girl who dressed up as Johnny Rodgers for Halloween -- not me, you don't know her -- and made the mistake of going to a party in Cambridge.)

And somewhere between obscure and infamous lies a whole inner spectrum of notoriety. I'm sure many of us have friends right here at Tufts who are in bands, or act in plays and such. When we see them perform we see our friends, our goofy comrades who do the same stupid things we do every day. And yet to others in the audience they are "Actors" and "Musicians," famed on some level. One day someone might ask for your best friend's autograph, or lip sync all the words to your brother's garage band (the one you knew would never make it past high school). How funny that people might consider someone you actually know as a celebrity.

Well, at least we can all rest assured that Brad Pitt, Halle Berry and all the other household hotties we know and love aren't real people, too.