Foaming At The Mouth
A Modest Proposal
A few years back I saw some comment from Jennifer Aniston complaining about the constant intrusions in her life from photographers, ongoing stories of varying accuracy in the tabloid press, and the general lack of privacy that she had been subjected to by becoming a well-known actress. Now I have nothing against the woman personally. I don't know if she's a nice person or not but the whole idea of "Just because I'm a star doesn't mean I can't have a private life" leaves me very cold. Clearly someone did not explain to her that there is a great yawning gap between being considered an accomplished artist and being eye candy. You're not being paid for your skill at channeling the mind of character, you're jack-off material for the masses. When I want a interpretive genius, I'll call Meryl Streep, not you.
This bothered me. I thought, what can be done to reinforce in all these giddy bimbos that they're just objects of projected fantasy, not real artists? Then it came to me. The Actors' Guild or whatever organization/union is in charge should have a requirement: Before any actress between the ages of 18 and 39 can be given a star-making role in a TV show or movie, she has to appear in a hardcore porn video.
I can see it now. The typical movie opens with (Star name here) arriving at some office complex in a less-than-glamourous area of greater Los Angeles, the location of our shoot. She's tried to weasel out of it every way she could, her lawyers have gone over the language of the contracts with a fine-toothed comb and regretted to inform her she was stuck. So now she shows up, Starbucks in hand and grumpy as hell at having to reschedule her entire Saturday in order to get rodded out by some brain-dead bozo with an uncomfortably large member. The disembodied voice from behind the camera politely asks her about the new project she's "here to promote" (Yeah, that's it, it'd all be treated like making a talk show appearance to hype the product). Some brief small talk later, she's stripped to the skin and ready to 'pay her union dues'. Then you can imagine the rest.... Imagine the fun at seeing which ones would get over being disgusted by it all to really get into it!
There are some downsides to this; some careers would be over before they started. I mean, would anyone pay attention to Jennifer Love Hewitt after they'd seen her naked, much less after getting powerfucked? And it would kill the fantasy of some to find out which ones are lousy in bed (Paris Hilton, I'm looking in your general direction). But the benefits of this plan are too numerous. All proceeds from the sale of tapes and DVDs would go to some worthy cause, maybe even one of the star's choice. Women everywhere would get over being jealous of bland overhyped nothings like Mischa Barton if they knew she had to do an ass-to-mouth before being on all those magazine covers. All those countdowns to street-legal for underage actresses would have much higher stakes. Will Hilary Duff go for the gold in major motion pictures, or chicken out and keep singing for the Walt Disney crowd? Most importantly, it would drive home (ha ha!) the point that no one gives a shit about their 'acting'.
But what about the male stars? Should they get a break? Hell, no! I'll have to consult with some women to see what they'd choose for the fellas to earn their wings, but pending a better answer: gay porn. There's gotta be a lot of homos who'd pay top dollar to see Michael Vartan smoking some pole. It's not like I take Freddie Prinze, Jr. seriously but he and his ilk certainly have some degradation coming to them.
I know I have very little pull in the entertainment industry, but clearly this is an idea whose time has come. In the meantime, it's Wednesday and that's the day the video rental place gets new titles. I must do some 'research'......
A Modest Proposal
A few years back I saw some comment from Jennifer Aniston complaining about the constant intrusions in her life from photographers, ongoing stories of varying accuracy in the tabloid press, and the general lack of privacy that she had been subjected to by becoming a well-known actress. Now I have nothing against the woman personally. I don't know if she's a nice person or not but the whole idea of "Just because I'm a star doesn't mean I can't have a private life" leaves me very cold. Clearly someone did not explain to her that there is a great yawning gap between being considered an accomplished artist and being eye candy. You're not being paid for your skill at channeling the mind of character, you're jack-off material for the masses. When I want a interpretive genius, I'll call Meryl Streep, not you.
This bothered me. I thought, what can be done to reinforce in all these giddy bimbos that they're just objects of projected fantasy, not real artists? Then it came to me. The Actors' Guild or whatever organization/union is in charge should have a requirement: Before any actress between the ages of 18 and 39 can be given a star-making role in a TV show or movie, she has to appear in a hardcore porn video.
I can see it now. The typical movie opens with (Star name here) arriving at some office complex in a less-than-glamourous area of greater Los Angeles, the location of our shoot. She's tried to weasel out of it every way she could, her lawyers have gone over the language of the contracts with a fine-toothed comb and regretted to inform her she was stuck. So now she shows up, Starbucks in hand and grumpy as hell at having to reschedule her entire Saturday in order to get rodded out by some brain-dead bozo with an uncomfortably large member. The disembodied voice from behind the camera politely asks her about the new project she's "here to promote" (Yeah, that's it, it'd all be treated like making a talk show appearance to hype the product). Some brief small talk later, she's stripped to the skin and ready to 'pay her union dues'. Then you can imagine the rest.... Imagine the fun at seeing which ones would get over being disgusted by it all to really get into it!
There are some downsides to this; some careers would be over before they started. I mean, would anyone pay attention to Jennifer Love Hewitt after they'd seen her naked, much less after getting powerfucked? And it would kill the fantasy of some to find out which ones are lousy in bed (Paris Hilton, I'm looking in your general direction). But the benefits of this plan are too numerous. All proceeds from the sale of tapes and DVDs would go to some worthy cause, maybe even one of the star's choice. Women everywhere would get over being jealous of bland overhyped nothings like Mischa Barton if they knew she had to do an ass-to-mouth before being on all those magazine covers. All those countdowns to street-legal for underage actresses would have much higher stakes. Will Hilary Duff go for the gold in major motion pictures, or chicken out and keep singing for the Walt Disney crowd? Most importantly, it would drive home (ha ha!) the point that no one gives a shit about their 'acting'.
But what about the male stars? Should they get a break? Hell, no! I'll have to consult with some women to see what they'd choose for the fellas to earn their wings, but pending a better answer: gay porn. There's gotta be a lot of homos who'd pay top dollar to see Michael Vartan smoking some pole. It's not like I take Freddie Prinze, Jr. seriously but he and his ilk certainly have some degradation coming to them.
I know I have very little pull in the entertainment industry, but clearly this is an idea whose time has come. In the meantime, it's Wednesday and that's the day the video rental place gets new titles. I must do some 'research'......
Crass Commercialism
I had put off doing much of my Christmas shopping for far too long. I had 36 hours to come up with at least some of the items on my list, as well as a few inspired touches of my own. Now I was wandering aimlessly around Woodfield Mall, eventually making it to the bookstore, where much of my work could be accomplished.
I scan the shelves as I'm half-looking for something to catch my eye, and the old, old question hits me yet again: "Who the hell buys this crap?"
Life stories of the cast of "Laguna Beach" or big, glossy picture books of "Sex & The City". I didn't think people who watched those shows could even read. They certainly don't go any further into book stores than the magazine rack. I can understand the appeal of someone like Jon Stewart; he's been working his way up the ranks for years. But where the hell did Rachel Ray come from? Why would anyone need that many cookbooks from her?
These were just my observations at the book store. Walking around the rest of the mall wasn't too bad, but only because I wasn't looking too carefully. Some stuff just can't be avoided. Enough with Eva fucking Longoria already. There has got to be enough room under the tent for three (or even ten) starlets to divvy up the amount of undeserved celebrity necessary to sell women's shoes. Well, I guess Mischa Barton can shoulder some of that load, but she's not even attractive.
I grew up going to this mall and, at one time, the floor space was open for foot traffic only. Now the center of the walkways are crammed with kiosks selling junk not fit for stores of its own, but that some huckster is still trying to peddle. Some of the goods at least had a passable use (clip-on hair extensions for women, some nicely done but overpriced wood art); others were out-and-out throwaway merchandise. The worst offender was a stand filled with lovingly rendered charcoal portraits of various pop culture icons. I mean, how low are your sensibilities that you just HAVE to have a shoddily etched portrait of Al Pacino as Tony Montana, or of the members of Green Day? Are people putting these in their homes? If so, hopefully it's nothing more permanent than a dorm room. Is someone making mortgage payments to have a dwelling where a cheap paper drawing of the cast of "Goodfellas" is given pride of place?
Lest you think I'm looking down my nose to say 'low income = low culture', you haven't been to the sports memorabilia store. There are zillions of mid-level office managerial types throughout the Republic who would gladly max out their AmEx cards on autographed jerseys and framed photos (with certificates of authenticity, of course) to lend gravitas to their office or den. Most of the stuff in here is junk, anyway. Carefully framed, with engraved plaques to add an air of majesty, these jerseys, balls, and other equipment have never seen a drop of sweat or smear of gameday dirt. They are singular frauds, much like wannabes who buy them at a 1600% markup.
My father was at the 1982 World Series (St. Louis over Milwaukee) and caught a baseball that was fouled out of play. He flew home a few nights later and gave it to me. It has no autographs and probably was not handled by any players of historical consequence. But it does have a bluish bruise from where it either met the bat or struck a wall. That has far more authenticity, at least to me, than one that came straight out of the box for some player to sign while sitting in a hotel room rented for the express purpose of knocking out ten thousand autographs in one Saturday afternoon.
Yet there's a whole storefront of these manufactured keepsakes, doing a brisk business, I might add. Ideal for the shithead in your life who thinks that having a helmet signed by John Elway fosters some connection to the glory of pro sports. The newest item: empty champagne bottles that were (allegedly) left over from the White Sox postgame locker room celebration at the World Series. The most tasteless: a framed photo of Al Capone alongside a cigar (allegedly) from the famous gangster's collection.
As I walked past Rainforest Cafe, a squeaky-voiced teenage hostess blared over a tinny speaker: "(So-and-so) family, your adventure is about to begin!" I decided mine had ended and I was weaker for the journey.