Monday, July 19, 2004

I'm not much for TV, and after an evening of vague stomach flu being parked in front of VH1, I now only know that I'm still really not much for TV and I really don't ever want to be famous.
 
So, I'm lacking in sleep but not tired enough to sleep yet, and I'm watching crap like Celebrity Beefs and Celebrity Cat fights or whatever. This was a way to quickly discover that I am not celebrity obsessed and that I find Hollywood fucking annoying.
 
Being the constant (more or less) outcast in cliquey groups such as Goths and theatre people (specifically actors), I sit on the fringe and thank god that I am not as infantile and pretentious as the majority of them. Since power, money, excessive trappings and pictures of myself are not a turn on, I'd make a very bad celebrity/person in public eye/in any position of power.
 
It gets sickening after a while, watching all these ridiculous pre/post teen pop divas posing, primping, sicking their personal lackeys on their rivals, having catfights because they have so much money and no better way to spend their time. Boo fucking hoo. Oh, yeah, and did I forget to mention how often they fight over rather unattractive celebrity guys? Gah. Take Justin Timberlake and Aaron what's his face. You can have them. Girlie Men.
 
God, I wish I had tons of money to blow on hoochie clothes to impress the talentless corporately funded Ken (tm) doll of my choice, only to drop him for some other rugged prepubescent looking hunk of meat who's already involved with someone else. Why just sleep around and spend cash when you can be a trampy homewrecker to boot?
 
It's amazing just how much common sense and self respect defenestrates itself in the face of a Hollywood camera.
 
I wouldn't want people pasting my airbrushed overly made up picture over their beds or making TV shows about my pet peeves and favorite foods. That's called "stalking" for those of us NON famous people, and it's just creepy.
 
But no, in Hollywood it's all about ME. Me, me me. Look at MEEEEE I'm built like an anorexic giraffe but nevermind, I'm wearing Prada. Oh, and did I mention that I'm also a bad ass because I wear vinyl and smeary eyeliner? Of course I have a 160 IQ, haven't you read my deep and meaningful songs lyrics? Baby?
 
I'm sorry, but putting on a plastic smile for a million cameras and going on drinking binges because you are stupidly rich/famous and have to put on a plastic smile for a million cameras doesn't look like fun to me.
 
I like to go to the grocery store and just buy some celery without mishap. Or ride the bus....well, I really don't like riding the bus, but I can at least do it without a picture of me sitting next to some one armed smelly guy with three nipples winding up on the cover of some trashy check out aisle magazine.
 
And that's where you really end up if you are famous, in the checkout aisle. Plastered onto Cosmo right below their announcement that they've just found 795 NEW sex secrets that have NEVER been done before.
 
I still hear people say on and off when they ask me about what I'm going to do after school (and tell them I'm staying in chicago) that everything is going on in New York and LA.
 
That's PRECISELY WHY I'm staying here. Why would I want to have to schmooze with a bunch of shallow, plastic money hungry bastards in order to make art? That's not how art happens. Look at Brittney for god's sake. It's more like how shit happens.
 
I don't have a dream of being a famous broadway anything or any desire to rub elbows with famous directors in LA. Leave my elbows alone. I just want a coconut popsicle in the privacy of my own apartment. Keep your celebrity bullshit over on the coasts. Being famous ( and apparently being around the famous) is fatiguing, annoying, boring, and more trouble than it's worth.
 
Just ask Harry Potter.
 
Your personal freedom is gone, your image is constantly being scrutinized, reshaped and mangled by people who aren't even YOU, you need to consort with LAWYERS (ack) and monkeys in suits, you can't say what you want without some other public figure picking a fight - or some corporation picking a fight, and worst of all you have to deal with scads of Ego driven maniacs who want to not just compete with you, but run you over with their monster truck of a persona.
 
If that ever happens to me, just put a toaster in my bathtub.
 
As an elusive artist who can't take this kind of drivel, I will likely never have to face the awful hardships of being a media strumpet. I won't be making any sex tapes, dangling my guinea pigs out the porch windows, buying rights to music that I didn't make, taking off my clothes unless I'm headed to the bathtub, or dancing around like a moose in heat all greased up with butter flavor spray in a slutty pop video.
 
The incessant worship of these ridiculous people, however, is like rubbing bacon in a gaping wound. Why do people even care? Apparently, as much as the stars have nothing better to do than be watched, the american public has nothing better to do than watch them.
 
It's no better than high school behavior, and although I still regress to the age or crayons and sandboxes with ease, I'm proud to say I graduated high school, and left it right where it belonged.
 
 
 
 

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