Fame and Foolishness

What is the benchmark for success? What is the point of fame. Oh my God I know I’ve got terribly lofty ideals, but I can’t help it. Of course success should be measured by how much you change the lives of the people around you, for the better. Fame should be for the purpose of improving the existence of your fellow human beings. I can’t bear to think of the talents wasted into the pointless pursuit of things that do not matter anyway.

At a party a couple of nights ago, Richard and I got wind that an acquaintance of his had finally gotten a television program on ESPN. According to R, a friend of his (also in
The similar business of fame) was visibly shaken when he heard about it. But what was the point though? The television industry is even shittier than the publishing industry. As far as I know it, there are generally more good books on display than bad ones, in TV, the number of crap shows far supersedes the ones worth watching.

It’s a hell industry, if you think about it. At the top of the chain you have consumers that don’t know any better, below them are the companies that want to sell them things, below that are the ad agencies. After the ad agencies are the TV people that decide what shows and which personalities are profitable and which ones are not. Below that are the TV companies and the TV personalities. And worshiping the personalities are the consumers that don’t know any better.

My god.

Of course it isn’t as bad as that, and not all of us (consumers) are idiots, and shows made for consumers that aren’t idiots are better of course. And then it’s not so bad.

The problem with most people that want fame is that they all have humongous egos and don’t want to listen to other people around them. There is no shortage of bum-licking of course, but it is damn well possible to flatter someone while making it absolutely obvious to that someone she’s an idiot and that all your ideas are better. There’s an explicit difference between bum-licking and being receptive to the ideas of other people, and knowing exactly what it is they want.

Ah, I’ve had enough. Television has ruined too many good people, and I’m glad my little sister doesn’t quite give a fuck. These people must all be disillusioned. The only people they are impressing are the other disillusioned.

That aside, Richard and I finally did my next set for Suicidegirls! It’s fantastic. He lighted it up like a movie set, and it’s got me dressed like girl in 1920s Singapore fooling around in Mr. Trousers’s bedroom. Mr. Trousers is a pervert dummy he got made at some mannequin store, with a pair of hands that can hold a number of items from rope to cameras to industrial vibrators. He’s quite a useful thing to have.

The power supply in our apartment could scarcely handle the pressure we were putting on it, and the mega lights kept on going off ever so often until he found another way to connect them. It must have been quite odd for the people out on the street at 2 in the morning. We’d clawed on this really powerful light outside the window so it looked like the morning sun farther up in the northern hemisphere, and one outside the bathroom window.

Quite something really. I’ll remember to tell you when it gets up.

xoxox