(This is not meant to sound bitter or pejorative; it is only a note on the consequences of what would have been an isolated pocket of regional fame becoming a vast, potentially-worldwide idolatry for humble, bashful, talented artists; and anyway, it is more a reflection on me, for I would not know what do with myself in their position, if I were to be as admired as I admire them, if I were to come across a younger version of myself, all nerves and an amusingly, albeit heart-wrenchingly pitiful, clumsy lack of self-awareness. But then even this is a halfhearted attempt at wishing myself humble: I know exactly what I would do in their position, revel in it until it became just another pitfall of the trade, after which I would writhe against it as I do any negative consequences of otherwise-joyous states of being.)