Thursday, June 17, 2010

...People! ?!?!? (You Say This Entry Makes No Sense? Neither Do They!)

I knew there was a reason why I make a point not to read other people's blogs.

Every once in a while, I find myself sitting at a computer determined to impart great wisdom, to share great thoughts, only to--instead--end up on some meaningless tirade about an event or peeve which means nothing to anyone in this world but me!

This issue is one of little significance. In fact, had I not already begun pondering the topic of People (an
d why I oftentimes I think we exist for no other purpose but comedy relief for the Cosmic Unknown), the situation would not have made it to print in the first place. Yet, here I sit, forcing myself to fulfill my thousand-word-per-day quota, rambling on about something which, ordinarily, I might have deemed too foolish to waste ink upon.

A very long time ago, I made the mistake of logging on to the site of one of my dozen-or-more actor friends. Now, those with whom I attended school know my position on the entertainment industry; thus there is no need for me launch into that particular rant today. Still, it has never failed to amaze me how followers of a particular "personality" conveniently forget that the individual is simply a human being doing that which he or she loves--be it dancing, acting, singing, directing, shooting hoops, or running touchdowns--and not some superhuman marvel constructed of silver and gold and mystical, magical fairy dust, the combination of which render him (or her) flawlessly perfect in every way.

Months before making this particular blunder, I made the catastrophic mistake of first directing friends (and a few prized contacts, unfortunately) to
the blog of a former friend whose writing projects had truly impressed me. Yes, it was an ill-advised thing to do; however, in my own defense, I--at that time--sincerely thinking myself in a race against the imaginary clock described to me by a slew of infallible medical professionals, all of whom assured me that I was soon to kick the proverbial bucket! Convinced I had but mere hours left on this Earth, it must be understood, rendered such considerations as prudence, common sense, and inescapable regret insignificant. All I could think of was making that last-ditched effort to give what help I could while I could.

Of course, the whole thing backfired.

Quite deservedly was I read the Riot Act when those very friends and colleagues visited the site (at my insistence) only to be attacked by rabid fans
, incensed by any hint that their idol--a man I had once loved then hated, respected then disdained, known then recognized to be an absolute stranger in every way that counted (in short, a wonderfully flawed human being far more interesting for his very real, distinctly imperfect personality than the images of insultingly inaccurate perfection constructed of him by strangers)--might not walk water. Frankly, those who ripped me up one side and down the other should have saturated the wounds with 91-percent isopropyl alcohol for good measure: it was such a stupid thing for me to have done! Quite literally, I cast those poor, loyal souls into a grotesque Comedy of Errors, complete with the requisite distorted masks, trick mirrors, and upside rooms; ergo, they were more than justified in coming after me with pain-inflicting, limb-cleaving weapons. Naturally, what amends I attempted to make only made them (the "masses and the multitudes," as a delightfully caustic Adonis of a boyfriend from a decade ago often referred to those lesser beings otherwise known as "mere mortals") all more furious (and, as a result, more vicious)...all of which led me to this examination of the distinct peculiarities of People in general.

Why is it that we as People so often find impossible illusions safer, easier, to embrace than the more attractive realities? As People, we tend to create alternative realities in which to hide, even when that which we most desire is right there, easily within reach. It is utterly, astoundingly stupefying. There they are--a core following of less than ten women--in the unique position of actually idolizing the kind of person who really does strive to be "gracious" (in his own words) to his fans, who would willingly enter into any conversation that piqued his interest or afforded him the opportunity to share his views...and they waste it bickering amongst themselves and bullying any and every one who comes onto the poor man's blog without first paying homage to the greatness that is his celebrity.

I remember being a little girl and wanting nothing more than the chance to make friends with "Luis" from Sesame Street. Or Captain Kangaroo. I wanted to talk to them about normal things, such as kindergarten and learning to tie my shoe, cloud pictures and the possibility of minuscule people living in teeny-tiny houses amid the blades of grass in my back yard. Certainly, such conversations could never actually take place; and on some level--even as young as I was--I understood this.

Even so, had such a thing been even remotely possible...!

Today, nevertheless, despite every instinct tingling within me, I gave in to the inexplicable, totally ridiculous impulse to see if my attempt to make right my mistake--an apology to not only the man (let us call him "Old Green Eyes") himself but the rather incensed fans who all but tarred-and-feathered the poor souls who visited the site (not to mention any "poor souls" brave enough to have held their ground in the ensuing fray)--had made any difference at all.

Imagine my surprise (and disbelief) that even the apology itself was taken as an insult against the graven image of the Great Being, Himself. Speculation abounded. Accusations flew. Nastiness beyond anything I ever could have imagined spread like some noxious form of flesh-devouring mold. No one was safe, especially those attempting to hide behind the insubstantial barrier of reason! These women were out for blood--lying in wait to shred to pieces any one or anything which stood between them and their beloved transmogrification of the man they claimed to adore. And, after I accepted the fact that the Green-Eyed One would probably kill me himself (with his bare hands) if I ever happened to cross his path, (not a scenario likely to come to pass in this lifetime or a myriad of others, thankfully) I could not help but marvel at the irony of it all. Here they all were--gifted with the very real, very opportunity to get to know the man--wasting their time snipping and sniping with each other instead of focusing on the fact that he was right there, within reach, actually offering them each a bit of insight into who he is and how he thinks!


Truthfully, I have no further desire to see how (or if) the whole senseless mess resolves itself. Part of me would like to think that eventually, Old Green Eyes will find himself frustrated enough to let loose that cutting wit and pithy sarcasm I grew to appreciate (with great relish, I might add.) Some people are magnificent in a temper, and--despite any lingering ill-will between us--I must admit that he was most certainly one of them. It is
, therefore, oddly comforting and more than a little satisfying to envision him letting down those carefully-constructed barriers of his long enough to allow the rest of the world to see the man, the person occasionally revealed to me during those long-ago moments of unadorned spontaneity which now, after my anger has abated (though I would not for a truck filled with cash money admit that to him) for the most part, I recall with fond amusement and an affectionate (incredulous) shake of the head. Of course, such a reaction is not likely--more's the pity. Although I do not doubt he could more than stand to "let off" the steam, more than likely, he will do nothing more than step back until the smoke has cleared, then go on as if the display of fireworks had never taken place.

Regardless, I cannot help but wonder why, why, why so many People settle for iron pyrite...when pure gold lies easily within reach.

(Perhaps within this question itself lies one of the reasons I find the study of human nature so inexhaustibly fascinating.)

1 comment:

  1. Hi:) It is lunchtime where I am (a developing country)and checked another blog where I read the latest posts of others and yours. I deemed it decent to reply here, if I may (you can delete this if you want anyway.)

    How do I call you Chantetinyea? Seems you're raging because you are obviously so frustrated to get your message across. I hear you.

    Feeling honestly sanguine that you say you're dying --and we're the same age -- tho' everybody dies... life can suck.We have this high temperature then sudden monsoons, and today, running water is OUT because we have a drought, I forgot my phoney Taiwan-Ipod (I am shallow) where I find my bliss by listening to some 5,231 types of music. My music is MY sanctuary because this is one of the nosiest cities in the planet. Then, when I get home my father keeps singing "MY WAY" on his Kareoke which again will add to my stress. I hate that song "My Way" because people in Kareoke bars here kill each other (no kidding), they grab the mic from the other and end up shooting. It's the song with the highest "body count".
    Now, I don't know what to say to someone who is dying, but I feel you. I was a Madonna nut and I believe in the dictum "Papa Don't Preach". Another thing is that I get emails from total strangers too - most of them selling me something to enlarge an appendage I don't even have, or Nigerians (usually Royalty) who want to leave me a fortune for some eerie reason if I leave them my credit card, bank account number and pertinent stuff about myself.
    If you were my neighbor, I'd visit you, just to escape from that stupid song "My Way". But since we are thousands of miles away from each other, tell me, how can I help you? Nothing big okay, because I have paypal limits and the FBI may think I am money laundering for some terrorism plot. But yes, I want to help you.
    You know, it doesn't do any good tho' to sound like "you're right, they're wrong". And yes, though you may be witty and intelligent and yes, you are a good writer -- it's never "fun" to be degrading yourself by making others feel that they are less in any way than you are. They're people too, they have their sensitivities too... okay, maybe we have a cultural gap here, but it's tit-for-tat. Besides, you surely do not want every poster who goes to THAT site to see YOUR PAIN, THINK... or maybe you do, and if you do, maybe you have your reasons which I am not frankly interested in. I am however interested in reaching back to you to tell you to LIVE. Don't die on me okay?

    Forget celebrities and shallow fans like me (I admit that) and love yourself enough to LIVE. You've got kids, for Pete's sake... you've got brains and you live in one the richest countries in the world. Live as happy as you can while you can stranger! Your life should be something MORE than defending yourself in a blog.

    Don't die on me. Write YOUR book! Maybe for some strange reason, I care. It's scary to be dying at 40.

    And if you believe in God, well, praying does help sometimes. Sometimes, it helps a lot too.