on heroes

Reading Rory @ Neopoleon.com and he recounts a story of watching U2 play a crappy show and follows it with this:

But I like that. I remember walking away from the show thinking that I had just watched some of my heroes really biff it, and, lord, it was reassuring. There’s nothing worse than believing that the people you look up to are perfect.

That’s why it was nice for me to learn that:

– Bobby Fischer is totally nuts

– Audrey Hepburn wasn’t the most loyal of significant others

– Even Gates’ billions couldn’t stop that pie

– Carl Sagan, brilliant as all-get-out, was uncannily close to a bowling pin in shape

– T.S. Eliot, although probably the greatest poet in the universe, didn’t have a sense of humor, and couldn’t write himself one

– Michael Jackson used to be able to dance, but his later life as a scrawny white woman hasn’t turned out as well as it could have

– Kurt Vonnegut can’t quit smoking, and he sometimes says really stupid things

Chris Sells doesn’t have a photographic memory (you can be smart and still lose your car keys)

– Harrison Ford is not Indiana Jones or Han Solo, but really just a big weenie with a helicopter

– Sting is an uber-egotesticle jack-ass

– George Lucas, he man responsible for creating my childhood, also destroyed it

– Peter O’Toole – well, there’s actually nothing wrong with Peter. He is perfect… 

 

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