~The beautiful people” are beginning to make me ill. When Katie Holmes’s haircut makes national news and Paris Hilton’s jail time is more significant than Darfur, it makes me angry as hell. Are these people [media] really serious? As a nation, are we truly so indifferent and uninterested with our own lives that Katie’s new hair-doo gives us enjoyment, pleasure, some sort of fulfillment? What are we trying to fill? What is lacking in our existence? Ask yourselves this question, pleeeeease.
Excuuuuuse me… but have you heard there’s a little war going on in Iraq? Have you heard of a place called Africa, where 2.1 million adults and children have died of aids? Have you heard anything at all? Has anybody read a book lately? (I recommend “Three Cups of Tea.)”
When Brittany Spear’s drug abuse, alcohol neglect and parenting skills are up for debate, I am wondering why we should give a damn! Why are these irrelevant events making CNN? Let me tell you, and you know I will; I’m getting a little anxious about all of this insignificance nothingness, this plague of meaninglessness, this celebrity mania.
They say American students are lower in reading and math than other countries, and it’s true. Jay Leno has a segment on his program where he goes into the streets of Beverly Hills, Hollywood, wherever, showing people pictures of political figures: Cheney, Churchill, Thatcher, Mandela, and Obama…you get the picture…
Honestly even the students with Master’s Degrees didn’t have a clue whom these individuals were. But they damn well recognized Snoop Dog, Lindsey Lohan, and Posh Spice. And they damn well knew who Paris Hilton was. By the way, can you tell me what she does, what any of these people do, besides strut their superficiality, besides purchase pointless shit, besides take up space?
Evidently, the “beautiful people” are those whom others look up to and worship. Are these people gods? Have they contributed to society in some small way? Have they done a damn thing, except saunter around Hollywood giving the impression that they’re the happiest people on earth, that somehow they’re superior to us, or that their material possessions and excess are what we’re lacking, needing, wanting.
All one needs to do is watch the Barbra Walters special to witness the most fascinating people in America. Nope, you won’t see Obama, Mandela, Clinton, or Wiesel. But you may see Spears, Lohan, Timberlake, and the David Beckam; you may see Hugh Hefner’s playmates or some big knockered, bleached blonde super model.
Gag. Puke. Yuk. Ick.
Imagine the flashing white lights, the American flags being hoisted up, the mad applause of fans, and the howling of ooohs and ahhhs….
It must be someone important you say, a world leader, a humanitarian, a Pulitzer winner of something or another, a Poet Laureate, the President of the United States, perhaps. Nope. It’s only Brittany Spears getting out of her stretch Limo with no panties; it’s only Paris Hilton strutting around as if she’s earned respect for being rich and beautiful; it’s only a Victoria Secret model revealing white wings wedged in her back like some sort of deformity.
I don’t care about Katie’s haircut or Brittany’s pubic hair or Paris Hilton’s sex tapes. I don’t give a damn about this person’s hair extensions and that person’s botox treatments, or even Madonna’s spirituality. Do you?
“The beautiful people” are an illusion. They are not real. And they are certainly not who we should be adoring and hero-worshiping. Unless, of course, one desires to live vicariously through celebrities whom do absolutely nothing besides shake their asses, unveil their boobies, and sit hopelessly, restlessly, and uselessly looking pretty; unless one is utterly missionless, desireless, and desperately devoted to a life of irrelevance.