Who are we? I mean, who are we?
What have we become?
As much as last weekend’s Academy Awards were criticized for being boring, or, you know, I’m not even really sure what, I actually found the show classy and highlighted by what I perceive to be legitimate entertainment – singing, dancing, Cirque du Soleil…
What do people want? And what did people talk about all week?
Angelina Jolie, whom I was certain everyone knew was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, made the front page by wagging her leg around outside the slit of her dress as she presented an award. Please allow me to remind you that this is the same Angelina Jolie who carried a vial of Billy Bob Thornton’s blood around her neck.
I hate to break this to you, folks, but just because she’s with Brad Pitt and acquired sixteen orphans, the elevator still may not go all the way to the top. And I’m aware that Brad gives the illusion of sanity, but please don’t forget: It takes one to know one. I’m sure he hasn’t convinced her to take her meds or stop sucking helium or whatever it is she does to ‘feel right’. He may have sanded her down around the edges, or convinced her to wear the vial of his blood around her other thigh, but, despite the fact that some people have, I still wouldn’t call on her to solve any of the world’s problems.
As the hype died down from her publicity stunt, er, leg, the world receives the news that Snooki, of Jersey Shore fame, is pregnant. Pregnant. Insert punchline here.
Now, I’m not going to get self-righteous here, because I certainly got reeled in on both accounts, but my God, we’re just a few dangerous inches away from Ow, My Balls!
My big fear here is that music – real music – is going to fall away, along with theater, dance, and art, and we’ll be sitting around our 2035 homes, watching grainy flashbacks of an era gone by, an era where people recognized, cultivated, and expressed themselves through universally appreciated media.
And that makes me sad.
Television, as you know, is dominated by reality tv, which, though a very clever and intriguing invention, requires little or no actual talent.
There. I said it.
This world is sorely lacking talent, rather ignoring it, for flashy, crazy things like Angelina’s leg and the illegitimate spawn of Jersey Shore alumnae.
And the world spins faster, and people get dumber, and eat lousy food, and can’t recall (or worse, never knew) what it feels like to be moved by art.
And we’ll take pictures of our dinners and post them to Facebook and Twitter, and we’ll subsist solely on text conversations, and try to win the world over with 140 characters, and we’ll come to accept that this is it. This is life. And we’ll forget. And the beauty of the human condition will wither and die, dust to dust, and be tilled over and replanted with artificial flavor and color and soul.
And people like me, whose very existence thrived upon these expressions of the human condition, will languish and withdraw. And settle in to watch the second coming of Snooki on YouTube.