Stardom, Rejection, Veto Power; Satire and The Insatiable Need for Approval (Re-post)

Last night

1.
New York City. Chelsea. XL. America's Next Porn Idol. My roommate and friend Everett went because our friend Derek (*69 Records) was the makeshift Simon Cowell in the D/E-List panelist of "celebrity" judges.

2.
Living rooms worldwide. Fox. American Idol was seen in tens (hundreds?) of millions of homes around the world. Mandisa rocked the party fo' sho', but Catherine (whom my friends and I lovingly call "Nanny") McPhee totally brought up the rear.


Today

1.
New York City. Avenue of the Americas. UBS Warburg. 1 pm. Interviewed for a position I didn't really want, but knew they would want me for as soon as I walked into the office and sat down. Even though I had no interest in the nature of the position or even the field, I wanted a group of strangers' approval SO fiercely I could taste it. As soon as I knew they wanted me and were willing to pay for me, I began slipping in addages and stories I knew they would be tickled by or interested in enough to ask me a follow-up question about.

2.
New York City. My bedroom. 4 pm. Read somebody on Myspace's blog who has this experiment to go on 75 dates or something, and write about each guy/date. At first glance (date 1) I thought this was sort of an original idea. But by date 13 (current date), I really see this blog for what it is - a half-assed and rather lame attempt to stealthily justify promiscuity! Not only in hindsight does this poor bloggist seem like a whore, he relies on an HBO character's writing style to deliver his self-perpetuating cart of rat manure. I don't care how fabulous you think your New York life is, or how great you think your "snarky" style of writing is, YOUR LIFE IS NOT SEX IN THE CITY YOU STUPID FAGGOT. Get a clue, get a style, and then let's talk!

***

From American Idol and America's Next Top Model, to the growing trend of blogging, it's fast become obvious to me now that we are a culture obsessed with judging others. Many people are not blogging or contestants on American Idol or ANTM because they LOVE writing, or love singing, or LOVE modeling (!?!?), but instead they are there for VALIDATION and status. It's like blogs are the new Dior Handbag or Jimmy Choo sandals.

I feel like there is this elephant in the room nobody wants to acknowledge but we all know is there - swinging trunk, floppy ears, fear of mice, and everything! If we deny it, it doesn't exist, right?!? WRONG!

My sole intention in practicing my craft (writing and music) has never been to become famous or because I approval sought. Sure, praise and come-uppins are GREAT. Amazing record sales or getting picked up by a literary agency would definitely make me feel like I've made steps in realizing my dual dreams... but alas, I know that my insatiable need to CREATE will never be qualmed or quieted by a blue ribbon in ANY competition. Even if I was the winner of some TV beauty pageant. I am my biggest competitor, and I have only myself to deny or celebrate, and I think that goes for all of us.

My plea is for love. We need to put more love and care into our crafts. If you feel the need to create, do not create out of emulation (though inspiration is often found through mimisis)... create to interact! Give your fellow man (sorry girls) a REASON to think about your product in a way that engages them and perhaps even inspires THEM to create something.

It's like those HORRIBLE fake Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirts that were going around Wal-Marts in the 90s, or the miles of tables of fake Louis Vuitton handbags lining the streets of midtown and Canal Street. Everyone know's that it's fake, contrived crap. Maybe the people who bought them didn't... but there will always be people like that - the people who buy the fake shit for status because they can't afford the real deal, the people who vote for the Kellie Picklers or "the next Carrie Bradshaw"s.

Well I'll be the first to say - I DON'T WANT YOUR ADORATION. REJECT ME. I love it if you love me, but I really don't care if your lame ass thinks I or my work for that matter suck. Because people like you simply do not know how to think. For yourself, or anyone else let alone me.

When I read or listen to music I want to feel engaged, not like I have a ticket to see an ugly guy jerking off in the front seat from the back of a really ghetto silver 80's stretch limousine. GET ME THINKING. Don't just put your stupid and confusing shit on me, cuz I don't want it! I have my own to (not) make sense of, and to be honest - your shit de-inspires me and takes away my faith in humanity.

NOTICE something. Ask for guidance. Plead. Scream. Just please don't sit there masturbating and expect me to watch and wait until you're finished. Cuz I'll be gone, and by the time you get your clothes on, my shit will be in Times Square above the steaming Cup-O-Noodles. And by the way - your new handbag sucks.

Currently reading : Do You Suck as Well as Fuck? Totally Sexed Up Tales of J. Edgar Hoover's America By Ken Ichigawa Release date: December, 2005