Bob said last night when I told him my "overwrought and underpowered" line, "you're A Yugo PMS?".
Three cylinders on the freeway of life, baby. Oh, yeah. They're not all firing at the same time today, hence the somewhat scattered nature of the first half of this post, wherein I muse on...
...Have you ever microwaved an unbroken egg? It's great fun, but a bitch to clean up afterwards. Try it at someone else's house. Preferably during a party, and once everyone is drunk, because they'll leave the clean-up 'til the next day - by which time you'll be long gone.
...Try not to drink so much you have to stay overnight. You'll feel obligated to help in the morning.
...Oh, by the way, the big LJ strikewank? I am not participating. I don't post on Fridays anyway, but even if I wanted to, I don't have web access at the farmhouse, so it's not happening. But this is my normal weekend silence (my journal: Four days on, three day weekend). FYI.
I think yesterday was randomly bad for bunches of people - Bob had an awful day, LJ friends had bad days, it rained miserably, and TV sucked last night, except for South Park and Lewis Black's Root of all Evil.
The South Park episode was something else. I always like it when they lampoon popular culture idiocy, but I particularly like it when their views coincide with my own - especially about Britney Spears. I currently hate everyone around her, but I just feel sorry for the girl herself. Clearly, this is someone who was pushed into the limelight without any kind of true support structure, and the acting out that is so droolingly reported on and sneeringly judged is not the "look at me!" antics of a spoiled rich celebrity, but increasingly desperate signs that her brain is snapping.
Hell, I'd be insane if I got the amount of negative press coverage that she has. I'd probably run a bunch of those bastards over with my Cadillac Escalatinglyterrifcallyhugecar rather than shaving my head, but Britney and I do share a penchant for weird English accents.
I'm not sure what it is, but she brings out the protective side of me (yeah, I know). I want to shield her, and personally, I thought she looked great in her latest video. I don't think she's fat - fuck, she looks gorgeous for having had two kids! - and if we could get that "I'm on the far side of sanity, diving face down into the abyss" look out of her eyes, she'd look fine.
I wanted to be famous, once. I was going to be an actress, a star, known all over the world. Fortunately, my talents fell way short of my ambitions, because I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that if I was famous, I'd want to kill myself. Fame is not close to what it used to be, and even back in the days of studio controlled publicity, there were always people looking for the dirt on the lens of their stars.
Now, it's an uncontrolled witch hunt, with no standards of decency, and no limits. The more salacious/embarrassing the picture, the higher the price it fetches. And we as a society drive this machine forward (shame! j'accuse! wank!).
People love fame - they dream about it, and they go to ridiculous lengths to get it (why else would you consent to destroy your relationships and the people around you for a measly half mil?), but what we really want is that downward spiral into chaos. Trouble is news. Divorce and death and insanity and child endangerment equal orgasmic levels of network wankage.
(Yeah, bad pun, sorry about that. Also, the point that celebrity shenanigans are not really news is lost on all the networks, as far as I can tell.)
Fame brings out the jackal in us. The hatred displayed on forums and celebrity comment sites is really scary - the loathing for someone they've never met runs really deep. And I have to wonder - is there a strong streak of jealousy running through all this? One of the comments I see repeated over and over again is "they're not so special". There are variants, but they all say the same thing - "I don't see why they deserve that fame".
Well, but they are, and they do. For better or worse, they are the people our society has decided to pay attention to, and that does make them special. Better? Who knows - but definitely special.
How can I tell? In part, because pictures of their panty-less crotches are frequently plastered all over the web. No-one's lining up to take pictures of my nether bits (I wear underwear, tights, and a steel protective bodysuit, just in case you were thinking of trying), and no-one would care (well, except for me!) if someone posted pictures of my unclad naughties. I doubt my site traffic would go up much - you can get (much!) more attractive pictures at any number of fine, upstanding, virus/spyware-laden porn sites across this great 'net of ours.
Uh, I forgot where I'm going with this. I imagine most of my male readers (and a few of the female ones) have, too.
Right, let's see... fame... hatred... the idea that the famous have to pay for being famous... that's it!
I think there's a strong undercurrent of feeling in the general public that the famous have to pay for their success, preferably in public and humiliating ways. "I made you famous, now you owe me" is a theme, as is "I don't see why you get to be famous and I don't". "You owe me" is the mantra of every loser who has watched other people reach their goals, and whined about how they don't have anything. Their job owes them a paycheck, the Government owes them a job, society owes them success, and they don't owe anyone a damn thing. Multiply this angst tenfold when it comes to fame.
Angst breeds discontent. Discontent leads to hatred. Hatred leads to wankage.
..And photographers chasing you through a highway tunnel at 3am, because people will buy magazines by the millions if they can catch a picture of you doing something everyone else does, but that is somehow shocking and despicable (shame! j'accuse! wank!) when a celebrity does it. If your car crashes and you die, even better. Then not only can we vent our hatred and satisfy our blood lust, then we can hopefully appear on TV tearfully saying how much our lives were personally affected by the celebrity's death.
I'm not famous. Okay, in this little tiny corner of the world, my name is known (and that's still a pseudonym). I don't rate that kind of hate, for which I'm profoundly grateful. I don't feel that hate, either - but it drives me up the wall when real news is dropped because someone who knew someone who once appeared on one episode of The Apprentice crashes a car. I don't want to see an interview with their shocked neighbours, and I don't want to hear about it on the evening news.
Ah, fame. Fifteen minutes is never enough, they say.
But for some of us, fifteen seconds is too much. I'd rather stay out of the spotlight. I can barely handle the (extremely) few people who hate me just because I am who I am in the SCA; I'd never be able to handle the levels of hatred directed at anyone really famous.
Talent, schmalent; I have the most important thing of all. Privacy.