Old writing: Talking to myself out loud
(Once upon a time, a girl wanted to start a weblog...and she even wrote some entries. But she never posted them. Well...this is one of the ones I found, and it's still relevant to my life, alas, so here it is.)
Last night, while I fought an epic battle with a massive head cold (the mucus managed to flow like lava AND encase my head in rubber cement), I turned on my old friend, VH1, in an attempt to distract myself from my distressing lack of oxygen. Immediately, I got caught up in my favorite kind of scheudenfreude, Child Star Babylon. I watched as these former stars smiled wryly and winced as a nickel-plated parade of their past floated by. They shared tales that have become as familiar as the Creation myth for diehards fans of the genre-the Ambitious Rise, the Pinnacle of Fame, the Allure of Fast-Living, the Fade into Obscurity.
Why are these shows so popular, and more importantly (well, to me), why do I love them so? Perhaps it was the lack of restorative breathing, but for once, I stayed with the question instead of moving on to the next shiny object. Finally, I realized it is the packaging that is so appealing to me...because these shows allow me to experience risk, passion, achievement...without my ever having to leave my bed or even change the channel! These shows are a recipe for the status quo...why try ANYTHING new? We’ve seen how it will end...a brief rise to the top (because, of course, we’d ALL make it), followed by a long, torturous, embarrassing fall from grace that will live on in soundbites and VH1 and E! forever and ever, amen. Why leave the house, get back to that screenplay, go for that audition? Why do anything except sit and practice our Headshake of Superiority as we watch these fools who actually chose to try something without getting it vetted by society’s Superego?
So, reluctantly, I find that if I ever want to accomplish anything, ever, I need to turn my back on my beloved celeb reality shows and turn it back to me (is that physically possible? No matter, it's figurative, after all). Otherwise, I’ll be stuck forever pre-Act One: Waiting for the Curtain to Rise.
Last night, while I fought an epic battle with a massive head cold (the mucus managed to flow like lava AND encase my head in rubber cement), I turned on my old friend, VH1, in an attempt to distract myself from my distressing lack of oxygen. Immediately, I got caught up in my favorite kind of scheudenfreude, Child Star Babylon. I watched as these former stars smiled wryly and winced as a nickel-plated parade of their past floated by. They shared tales that have become as familiar as the Creation myth for diehards fans of the genre-the Ambitious Rise, the Pinnacle of Fame, the Allure of Fast-Living, the Fade into Obscurity.
Why are these shows so popular, and more importantly (well, to me), why do I love them so? Perhaps it was the lack of restorative breathing, but for once, I stayed with the question instead of moving on to the next shiny object. Finally, I realized it is the packaging that is so appealing to me...because these shows allow me to experience risk, passion, achievement...without my ever having to leave my bed or even change the channel! These shows are a recipe for the status quo...why try ANYTHING new? We’ve seen how it will end...a brief rise to the top (because, of course, we’d ALL make it), followed by a long, torturous, embarrassing fall from grace that will live on in soundbites and VH1 and E! forever and ever, amen. Why leave the house, get back to that screenplay, go for that audition? Why do anything except sit and practice our Headshake of Superiority as we watch these fools who actually chose to try something without getting it vetted by society’s Superego?
So, reluctantly, I find that if I ever want to accomplish anything, ever, I need to turn my back on my beloved celeb reality shows and turn it back to me (is that physically possible? No matter, it's figurative, after all). Otherwise, I’ll be stuck forever pre-Act One: Waiting for the Curtain to Rise.
Labels: the unfolding of me
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