A Hollywood Size Rant, (are the ’00s over yet?!)

How is it possible that reality TV keeps just going and going? How is it possible that we give mentally stunted adults these TV shows that showcase their immaturity and developmentally challenged growth? Seriously, we sit around and oogle at people who have not matured past the age of 18. The Real Housewives are still cat fighting like its the 7th grade, the reality dating shows on VH1 are all hosted by sub-intelligent nimrods who wouldn’t feel the difference of a lobotomy.  Everywhere on cable and network TV you  find glimmering, plastic coated smiles that reap the benefits of 15 minutes of fame.  Whether it’s Survivor,  Jon & Kate Plus 8, or Brooke Knows Best, this highly staged crapola won’t die and won’t go away! I am so over this decade.  In my humble opinion the ’00’s have been about celebrity pop culture and reality TV.  All we talk about weight, boobs, surgery, (note the lovely picture of plastic surgery fanatic Jocelyn Wildenstein below)

fame, money, and all that glitzy bullshit. Granted, the counter cultures that exist are just as real and biting as the ones from past decades, but they have not penetrated the mainstream enough to put a dent in this superficial society. I cannot wait for the next decade to kick this decade’s ass.  I am tired of twiggy Lilo, and her adventures in bisexual land. I am nauseated over bony, and old Brangelina and their softball team size family. Had it with alien head Rihanna and her love life woes. And never again do I want full coverage on the train wreck that is  Britney Spears with her chubby-now-thin sloppy and exposed life and body. Granted everyone gets tired of real deal celebs, but what about the others kinds of celebes who are filling up the pages of rag mags and internet gossip sites? There is this culture of faux celebrity that I cannot stand.  I could give two farts about like Speidi, Lauren Conrad, or any almost-winner-type-runner up from American Idol. They are all  strung out third tier celebs making a display of their pathetic lives on TV and I am just not stimulated any more.   While I will admit I love watching rehab shows, and filling my Sunday nights with bad reality TV, (sue me if Rock of Love is on while I scour the internet and paint my nails) but this filler type entertainment can  last for only so long.   Even if I am making an effort to lighten some things up in my personal life by tuning in to shut my mind off,  and just be entertained by stupidity,  I will eventually not even be able to take this white noise.  I do not think America asked for this complete and utter saturation of the plastic culture. Everywhere we turn there are stores are selling clothes that mirror “housewife” and “celeb” glam. Hipster fashion reaching out from under the underbelly there may be, but the main feature of this glitzy fritzy’s decade’s catwalk  is high fashion-frilly-fake Hollywood couture. I believe at some point we might want something more.  (And perhaps that something more might be loosely related to the whole Barack Obama being our President, country changing attitude thing. I can’t wait to see what this country will be like in 3 years…)

Social Networking, Awesome Compilation

On that note, check out this new album. It’s a compilation of covers and what nots, and it’s for a good cause- The Red Hot Organization which supports and funds research for AIDS.  (Album was released on February 16, 2009, but announced on December 1, 2008, World AIDS Day.)  Produced by some dudes of The National, who are also on this album.  If we share similar tastes in music you will find many of your favorites on here:

Dark Was The Night

On it you will find : My Brightest Diamond, Arcade Fire,  Feist & Ben Gibbard, Antony, David Byrne,  The Decemberists, Iron & Wine, My Morning Jacket, Cat Power, Andrew Bird,   Conor Oberst,  Sufjan Stevens…etc. I love almost every song on here, and I have to admit The Decemberists track and MBD track are marvelous.  And Chan Marshall sings Amazing Grace- about time! beautiful.  Bon Iver track.  Bravo.

Enjoy!

New York City, I Love you , but you make me sad.

My hometown… I love it here, but it’s a city of so many things, and within the past 24 hours it’s reflected more sadness than happiness.

I went to see The Dark Knight last night. At this point I am sure you have heard all it’s accolades. It’s a terrific movie, probably the best Batman movie yet, although it’s predecessor Batman Begins is really cutting close. (I would have to watch that one again to be able to better compare.) Anyway, I am not going to go into a review about the film, but I am going to say that the plot is fantastic, the acting is good but Heath Ledger… is superb. Never before have you seen someone give life to a villain like this. His performance is off the charts, and he is the reason why the movie is so dark, thrilling, and cynical. I can’t imagine anyone else playing the part better.

Which makes me sad, and makes me think about the day Heath Ledger passed away. It still makes no sense. Why? WHY? God, Hollywood has had this kind of accident happen so many times. Someone is always overdosing on benzodiazepines, sleeping pills, or other assorted forms of drugs- accidentally of course. The tragedy that is fame is too much (and if it’s not death that makes you go hmmm, look at Britney Spears, Shia Lebeouf, and Amy Winehouse). Doesn’t someone want to stop and ask the question- What the hell goes on in Hollywood? Is it fame itself? I am convinced that fame is a whore who fucks you for cheap and then leaves you with a disease. It is the kiss of death to your soul and identity. To become famous means that you are constantly struggling with the maintenance of your own self-comfort, and stabilization. With the way the paparazzi behaves these days celebrities must feel like caged dogs being prepped with the violence of intrusion. When they go out for the dog fight, they’ll be fierce, scared, and sure to go for blood. The thing is that they’re not necessarily going to chase their tormentors, or each other. In the end what at first may seem like a fight with the paps or society at large, the biggest loss any one entertainer must feel is the loss of self, and therefore the battle becomes personal, and identity is at stake. Isn’t that what being famous is all about identity? Does it mean these paps take it down a notch? Put it to rest a bit? Does it mean no one shoudl go into show business unless they are ready to fully give themselves to society? That no one can do it for the sheer joy in acting, or for the fact that they are an excellent actor? Sadly enough, the paparazzi won’t stop, and right fully so, people won’t stop entering show business. As long as there is a voyeur within us, there will always be tabloids, movies, reality shows, radio programs, and music videos. However, it’s really the tabloids are what keep this identity and privacy battle ongoing, and therefore self destruction ensues. Blame is vague, chaos is rampant, and stars become detached, and isolated from whence they came. It is no wonder one tries to numb themselves from it all. Who is properly equipped to deal with it? Not I. MAYBE a porn star or two, but not most.

I wish Heath Ledger would have just told someone he was so anxious and fearful. I wish he had opened up and confided about his demons to someone. It would have saved his life.

I remember that day that he died. It was around 3:45PM and I got an IM from my cousin telling me news. I was shocked. This was a drag. I had JUST seen him in I’m Not There, and thought “Now, there is one budding brilliant actor!”. So sexy, smart, and intuitive. When I left my office on that dark January evening, I looked up at the sky, and I felt a sense of isolation and cold loneliness. Another supreme talent had fallen to the grips of what can sometimes be an icy cold existence here in NY. While the tabloids claim that Ledger was enjoying his life (he had a beautiful baby girl named Matilda with ex Michelle Williams, lots of friends in NY, and a few local ventures that he was to fund, namely a bar in Greenpoint), no one really knew how fame was eating at him. It was well known fact in the acting community that Ledger was an untrained talent who just went into this with his gut and threw himself into roles. He was not into acting for the fame. He was in it for the rush, the adrenaline, the beauty, and the pain of the art. That to me is admirable. Just like Dylan who wrote his music for a purpose close and true to his heart, Ledger believed in his craft and did it because it was something that he could do well. Not because it was something to build his ego. I always felt that with his roles he tried to relay something new and deep inside him. How many actors can really do that? I can count them on my hand and one of them, quite eerily is dead, but does James Dean ring a bell?

So was it acting that killed Ledger? Was it playing the role of the psychotic Joker that pushed him into a dark corner that he couldn’t back out of? When watching the movie I couldn’t help but wonder how playing a psycho could toil with ones own grasp on reality. For someone like Heath who put his whole being into a role, how could you not feel a bit removed from society? Already feeling possibly removed from the important things in his life, and with a penchant for somberness (his Mars is in Pisces, yes I am an astro geek), it is no wonder he was starting to go down a path of anxiety and panic. He had a lot of juice (Aries) with a lot of resin. Too much build up from burning too bright, it’s bound to weigh you down. Uggh, it sucks so bad and to think what else we could have seen from him? His star was rising at the moment of his demise… and then my mind veers again to that dark, cold January night…

As I left my office in Times Square I heard sirens blaring, and I felt a chill sinking in. I looked up at the sky and thought upon the fact that my own personal hero, John Lennon died in this city (terrible death of being shot to death). It’s eerie to be in a place that screams “SUCCESS”, “COSMOPOLITAN” “VICTORY”, “ACHIEVEMENT” “ETERNITY” “LONGEVITY” & “EMPIRE” every where you turn because underneath the jutting peaks of skyscrapers is a crumbly world below filled with sadness, failure, and loss here in NY.

Every street is paved in grime and dirt from the soot and cells of humans past and present. With so much ugliness, for beauty to stand out it has to be striking, rich, famous, and full of mystery. It’s the only way to rise above the filth and depression of the poor and the steadfast complacency of the middle class. Everyday these folk bust their asses so that they can make it somewhere higher up the totem pole of these towering metal entrapments. The rich and famous here walk among us, but you don’t see them often, or recognize them for that matter. Instead, they are hidden in couture shops, dining in 5 star restaurants, posing in art galleries, and shmoozing in security laden bars and clubs, tipping their glasses to success all the while in anonymity amongst the city. It is here in New York where this brand of success wins, but you never see it’s makers. You only feel it’s affluence. To the common folk it feels as though the skyscrapers are giant hulking fences that keep us in line, only to walk amongst the gravel streets, and down into the subterranean smoggy underbelly of the city which is known as it’s subway. We are only allowed access to particular buildings, and particular swatches of land. We do not hold the golden key to this city. Only the special do. Only the mysterious and elusive do. Like the gods and goddesses of Olympia, the loom above us with complete irony, only to have quick encounters on the street that mean nothing to anyone. The famous can come here and lapse into that infinite vagueness. I imagine it to be quite unnerving to someone like Ledger who most likely felt so much.

It is rare for a talent like Ledger to exist amongst these people. Most in his scene are in it for a plethora of reasons I do not wish to discuss, but mainly for reasons obtaining to the ego. I cannot say that I knew him well, and I cannot vouch for him being a great person (although I hear that he was), but I do know that his gift to the world was as glorious as a song written by John Lennon, a painting by Klimt or a poem by E.e Cummings. When you become touched by someone so selflessly willing to give to his craft, and yet someone so hungrily going after their own desires, it’s truly breathtaking and inspiring. For a man like that,- who is my age, someone I can relate to,(who has made me cry and feel on a much bigger level that many actors), for a man like that to quietly come into my city, and quietly leave in the middle of the day, well…that just takes my breathe away.

I hear in L.A. you see celebs all the time. It’s no big deal. Here you see ‘em, and you don’t know it was them until the very last second before you turn the corner, or look the other way. You get excited, but you don’t freak out. Of course they live here. This is where they come to escape and to remain a mystery. And I can understand that. Heck, anyone who has worked in NYC long enough knows what it’s like to bust your ass and stress the fuck out every now and then. It is sometimes comforting to know that you can leave your office, walk out there door, and fall into a sea of vagueness. You can leave your name at your desk and not worry that someone is going to judge you, talk to you, or ask you how your day went. You can just be.

I imagine however that with that part of “being” in a celebrities’ isolated world the mind wanders, the loneliness sets in, and the world becomes increasingly small and there are obstacles. I couldn’t imagine knowing what it would be like to be in a bubble and have my child so close but so far, and my family not close and really far. I couldn’t and wouldn’t want to imagine that at all.

This is why NYC you make me sad. You remind me that life can be lonely, BIG, mysterious, impersonal, detached, and cold. It reminds me that things like love and admiration can turn into pure hatred and misunderstanding (Mark David Chapman murdering John Lennon), and you also remind me that things like fame, success, and achievement can leave a genuine soul feeling conflicted, lost, unsure, and anxious (Ledger). New York can be your mother, but it can be your bully. New York can be your lover (Sex and The City), and it can be your killer (Andy Warhol, kind of indirectly). New York can be so many things, but this morning, after seeing The Dark Knight, the night before you became a mythical ghost, and you have saddened me.

HOMETOWN GLORY BY “ADELE”

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