Turning to another subject beyond politics and peculiar natural mysteries to flog today feels far more alive than drumming on the latest changes in Washington. For now, I’d rather point my mental laser beam at something less weighty – celebrity worship. Why not? The focus on Gwyneth Paltrow’s internal cleansing habits appears to be causing more interest among the masses than the flat-foots in Washington, unless you’re still going to plug-in to the 24/7 cable news coverage this year to hear many of the same-old-same-old talking faces discussing more of the same, just with different names this time around.
Not to sound hypocritical about the intense focus in America in particular on celebrities, I admit that I spent a large part of my teenage years completely in awe of Broadway and Hollywood stars. I read the celebrity magazines and stared long and hard at the pictures of my favorites as they dined at Sardi’s or Chasen’s, exuding that ever-effervescent “star glow” which is often so very alluring. I was already acting in local and regional productions, and had visions of becoming a professional actress from the age of 10. For me, it didn’t seem to be a far-fetched goal as I usually won the lead in every audition, and was without a doubt “born to entertain.”
What I didn’t fully comprehend until after falling into the spotlight for a time, is that there is a difference between being an honest, dedicated actor, and becoming “famous.” You can be both, whether you want to be “famous” or not; however, when I had an opportunity to move into radio in what I thought would be a stepping-stone to easier opportunities as an actress, I had to face the facts that all I really wanted to do was have fun playing parts, make the money which would buy a lovely little chateau in France, and sign autographs for the remainder of my life while I sailed the world in glamorous yachts sipping champagne and dining on the best caviar. I certainly didn’t want to do summer stock to sweat my way up the acting ladder, and the casting couch is quite dirty in both Hollywood and New York, so, being a bit of a clean-freak, that idea didn’t appeal to me, either. It’s clear that I didn’t want to do the hard work it takes to claw my way to the top.
Despite the lack of drive to reach for the heavy gold statue of Hollywood's pinacle, I still followed a form of the dream out to Hollywood, and, in a variety of ways, have worked in several parts of "the business" - drawn to fulfill at least part of the dreams of a young, creative and fame-struck celebrity-influenced kid.
Now that time has passed and my career route has taken on quite a unique and winding journey, I find that my interest in the “new” celebrity culture is something I may need to erase from my mental hard drive. Being “famous” doesn’t seem to be as much fun to observe as it once was. When most of the tabloids and publications such as US, People, and so on, litter their covers with those who are famous for simply being famous via coming from a “famous” lineage or strutting around screaming at people in a reality TV series, I no longer question why most entertainment these days is so flat and non-inspirational (with the exception of a few “talent” productions here and there). I do question why there is such a constant drumbeat of paparazzi shots of female personalities in both film and TV wearing bikinis when most of them look rather plain or downright soggy. Yawn.
As one celebrity blogger pointed out earlier in the week, now Vanity Fair has blighted its cover with the absolutely ridiculous obsession over the latest singing “teen idol,” Justin Bieber, covered in lipstick smears with his little bowl haircut front and center. What the hell? Has Vanity Fair grown that desperate for new readers to place a 16 year-old questionable “talent” on its cover with an almost incoherent Bieber sharing his deepest thoughts in the cover story interview over how he is “nuts” - but then, he suggests that’s just the way it is when one is a musical genius, or something like that.
It’s fine to have publications for teen idol focus, but an adult-based, supposedly sophisticated reading demographic such as VF’s audience, surely has lost its way – just one more example of why I'm beginning to recoil even further from the once starry-eyed obsession with “showbiz” and all that no-longer glitters from the continuing downsizing of what constitutes true star power and actual unique talent vs. what adds up to be mere cotton candy without real sugar.
Aside from the growing influence of the Internet as the main source of all news and other information, is it at all a question why magazine sales are dropping like birds from the sky? When celebrity worship turns into worshipping non-celebrities and little boys who look like girls and are “famous” for a second in the scheme of things, who can blame the decline of western civilization? Chortle. If uber conservative Bible-thumping finger-pointing Pat Robertson can tout the legal use of marijuana, I can admit to a growing shift in cultural beliefs. Or, perhaps it’s simply a case of changing priorities.
Good heavens! Am I finally growing-UP?
Farewell, Tinkerbelle?
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