I've always believed that those who pursue Fame should expect to have their private lives exposed and scrutinized, and that they should just shut up and take it. It's a zero-sum proposition. It's the Spotlight Deal.
If you desire Fame, then you summon the Spotlight at your own peril, because the Spotlight has no care for proper time or place. If you want that Spotlight to shine on you while you're strolling down the red carpet, or when you're pushing a new movie or record, or while you're discussing your latest charitable cause on the morning talk show circuit, then you must accept that the Spotlight can also shine on you when you stagger out of a club that you don't remember entering in the first place, or when the previous nanny becomes the current mommy, or when you flash the world your pink parts because your skirt is the size of a cocktail napkin and you don't know how to get out of a car like a normal human being.
It wasn't always like that, but it is like that now. Gone are the days of only needing to manage daily Page Six coverage, weekly scandal sheets, and the (star-friendly) cameras of Entertainment Tonight ... all cave drawings by the standards of today's pervasive technology, demanding audience, and 24-second internet news cycles. Today, if you want the Spotlight, you get all of the Spotlight all of the time.
So, as you can gather by now, in most cases of celebrity coverage, I side with the media - from the pillars of journalism to the bowels of TMZ. There are, however, exceptions to which I think the media should adhere:
Don't break the law. Freedom of the press does not trump breaking and entering.
Don't invade funerals. That's just tacky.
Don't exploit celebrities' children, unless the celebrities exploit their own children, in which case this exception becomes a little fuzzy.
Don't do anything that endangers anyone's safety. Is getting the 17th picture of the starlet worth a high-speed chase? If you are any good at your job, one of the first 16 pictures will turn out just fine.
Don't involve yourself in the life of Tiger Woods.
(This is where I defend him.)
Roll call! Lanny Wadkins. Larry Mize. Tom Kite. Hal Sutton. Sandy Lyle. Do any of these names ring a bell? How about these: Bernhard Langer. Ian Woosnam. Hale Irwin. Still nothing? How about Ben Crenshaw? No?
The first set of names are some of the golfers who missed the cut in the 1995 Masters. The second set of names are some of the golfers who finished ahead of then-amateur Tiger Woods in the 1995 Masters. Crenshaw won the 1995 Masters.
I'm willing to bet that most of you don't recognize most of the names I mentioned because in the pre-Tiger era, televised golf was the Sunday folly of old white men. In the pre-Tiger era, televised golf was an unwatchable sport with unbearable fashions. In the pre-Tiger era, televised golf was a punch line. I know those names because I watched golf as a kid, and I watched golf as a kid because my grandfather watched golf as on old white man. Baby? She admits that before Tiger came along, she had no clue they played professional golf on days other than Sundays.
Sure, in the pre-Tiger era, you probably had heard of Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer, and maybe one or two others. But these men were answers to trivia questions, not multi-media titans or global spokesman. There were no Michael Jordan-like contracts for golfers in 1995. Any golfers in 1995 who were lucky enough to get endorsement deals beyond having PING emblazoned on a visor - even living legends like Nicklaus and Palmer - were relegated to endorsing golf-specific merchandise, lawn care products, or insurance.
The point of this is to say that Tiger Woods did not pursue Fame, because Fame did not come with golf in 1995. Did he pursue excellence? Of course, as all competitors do (or should). Did he pursue glory? Yes, but glory that was supposed to have come from a small group of people - namely, other golfers and the old white men (and their grandsons) who watched them. Even at the pinnacle of his success - which some might point to as the day before Thanksgiving 2009 - Tiger never said, "Look at me," the way most other celebrities have said, "Look at me." Tiger came out, played well, and around 6:00 PM on Sundays, he disappeared.
And it has always been this way. He's never clamored for the Spotlight and then shunned it once it glared too harshly. He's never made it rain in a strip club. He's never been the subject of an investigation. He's never been linked to weapons. He's never had a posse.
Hello, he's a golfer! To suggest that Tiger Woods pursued Fame through golf - GOLF! - is to suggest that I'm pursuing Fame through this blog.
So what happened? A perfect storm, really. Tiger was a young, good looking, mixed-race player, with talent that seemed to defy all sense of physics, who chose a sport that had been mostly ignored by major advertisers because of its blandness. His look, his sport, and his game were different at a time when spending was high and advertisers would spend highly on anything different. And once the new crowd - the younger, more diverse crowd - took an interest in the old white man's sport, Madison Avenue followed with checkbook in hand.
As for that checkbook, you ask, what about the one billion career endorsements dollars Tiger has taken from the likes of Nike and Buick and Gatorade and others?
Tiger has earned it, and without the sense of entitlement displayed by many young celebrities. Most Fame-chasers approach the Spotlight with a "show me the money" mentality. Tiger, who succeeded not under the bright lights of Hollywood, but rather the oversized umbrella of golf - GOLF! - was approached by companies who shared a different mentality: "Show HIM the money." And why did they approach him that way? Not because Tiger said "Look at me," but because we, the consumers who buy the shoes and the cars and the drinks, said, "Look at him."
Oh, and he spreads the wealth. His presence in the sport of golf has attracted so much advertising revenue, sponsorship commitments, and prize money, the last-place finisher at any Tiger-era tournament makes gobs more money for being the worst on Sunday than he did in the pre-Tiger era. It is the textbook example of how a rising tide lifts all ships. No other single person in any other entertainment outlet does for his or her business what Tiger Woods does for his. Not Derek Jeter, not Tom Cruise, not Eminem, not even Oprah. And yet all Tiger wants today is what he wanted in 1995: Greatness, not Fame.
And for those of you who believe that Tiger thinks his own celebrity status affords him the right to say nothing to the police, that his financial success puts him above the law, you either don't know the law very well or you are easily swayed by the media's near-unanimous demand that he speak. Between his Miranda and Fifth Amendment rights, Tiger owes no one - not even law enforcement - an explanation.
It's easy to understand our mistake in demanding that the media shine the Spotlight just inches away from Tiger's life, and do so twenty-four hours a day. We are a society madly obsessed with Fame, and we have become so accustomed to watching people mistake shamelessness for talent, mistake willingness for skill, or mistake exploitation for love, all for the chance of grabbing that Spotlight and making it shine a little longer than it takes the public stop pointing and laughing, we automatically presume that anyone who has achieved Fame actually pursued Fame in the first place.
Tiger Woods should be left alone to sort out his personal issues. Just because Fame was thrust into his life doesn't mean that we get to be thrust into his life, too.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Four Shorts and Seven Sins Ago
The following are the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh (and final) installments of the occasional 2009 series looking at how the traditional "Seven Deadly Sins" play in today's world.
Often times, there are items that grab my attention that are interesting to me, but they just don't contain enough substance for me to blather endlessly about. So I thought I'd try blathering in short bursts. With that, I present to you, instead of one long-winded piece, a collection of several short-winded pieces.
From Lemons to Lemonade to Shameless Marketing
In February 2009, R&B star Chris Brown assaulted his then-girlfriend, R&B star Rihanna. Eight months later, Rihanna had the courage to appear on TV with Diane Sawyer and share her pain with millions of viewers. Like it or not, many people listen when celebrities speak, so for Rihanna to bare her soul was a gesture that hopefully inspired victims of abuse to have the courage to make positive changes in their lives. I only wish she hadn't done so 18 days before her latest record dropped, offering her maximum exposure just in time to boost first-week sales and to sustain unit-movement over those critical and finite pre-Christmas shopping days. It kind of dulled the shine of her sincerity. The presence of Envy here is clear. If the first things a singer looks at are her own sales figures, the second things she looks at are the sales figures of her competition - and God forbid the competition does better. You may say that this is a key to success, and it might well be ... but not after a case of domestic abuse. If the choice in timing of the interview was hers, she isn't brave, she's manipulative. If the choice in timing wasn't hers but rather her record label's, she's still a victim, but of a different kind of abuse. Domestic violence is abhorrent. Period. But not only should domestic violence not be committed, it should not be exploited for profit, either.
Casting Pearls (of Anger) Before Swine (Flu)
It seems that since the last presidential election, the yelling - from both sides - has gotten substantially worse, and I've all but tuned it out. Oh, I follow the issues, but now almost exclusively in print; gone are my nights of watching wall-to-wall political coverage on the cable news channels. The stars (if you will) of these shows, these so-called pundits (or commentators, anchors, experts, correspondents, or chief correspondents) are really nothing more than well-dressed, well-paid gasbags who simply don't know how to turn it off or, at the least, turn it down. Truthfully, if I want that kind of deafening and incessant droning of voices over voices over voices, I'll volunteer to be a grade school lunchroom dad. And just as those lunchroom kids are somehow prone to mimic that which they see on TV, so, too, are adults. For every screamer on cable news, there seems to be an army of screamer wannabes taking their issues from talk radio to town halls, and from the World Wide Web to the corner coffee klatch. Yes, all of this speech is free, but does it have to be so vitriolic? When did ire and volume replace simple debate? Recently, the loudest voices have come from those who are vehemently opposed to government-run healthcare. To those people, I ask: If you are so passionate in your opposition to the government's involvement in healthcare, if you have been moved to the point of Wrath by this issue, to the point that you have disrupted organized public forums (up to, and including, joint sessions of Congress) by shouting down those "against" you as opposed to debating - or even arguing - the issue's points on merit ... did you, in your fit of Wrath, boisterously and passionately yank your children out of line for the Swine Flu vaccinations they were to receive at school?
If Sandra Bullock Made This Movie, Would It Be Called MISS HYPOCRISY?
When flavor-of-the-month (about six months ago) Carrie Prejean was Miss California USA, and she was asked during the Miss USA 2009 pageant about her opinion on same-sex marriage, and she responded that she thought marriage should be between a man and a woman, I didn't blink. Did I agree with her? Of course not; I never have and I never will. But despite my opposition, I still respected her opinion, and besides, at least she answered the question honestly, as opposed to trying to spin her way out of it in hopes of gaining favor with the judges. So when the drama erupted over her answer - and by "drama," I mean when Prejean was knee-capped by internet whatever Perez Hilton, who, through D-List chicanery, managed to light the public's torches and sharpen the masses' pitchforks - I was surprised. I mean, there's a guy who lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue who essentially shares the same belief, and 70% of the gay community helped vote him into office, so why the fervor over the blonde beauty queen? Wow. Could it be true? Could I defend a same-sex marriage detractor? It turns out I could, right up until the point where she just wouldn't shut up. Fast forward through too many press conferences and lawsuits to a few weeks ago, during her recent book tour and what is, perhaps, her most intriguing quote. On NBC's TODAY, Prejean said, "Our bodies are temples of the Lord. We should earn respect and admiration for our hearts, not for showing skin to look sexy." Listen sweetheart, I don't mind that you are a body-baring beauty queen, stirring Lust in those who really don't care about your position on the importance of education or the fight against world hunger; nor do I mind that you had breast augmentation, further stoking that Lust; nor do I mind that you made a sex tape, showing that you've got a saucy Lustful streak in you. What I do mind is a woman who is in her 18th minute of fame and hawking a book from one side of her mouth, all the while invoking the Word of God from the other side of her mouth, preaching about the temple that is the woman's body, when if it weren't for your desecration of that temple, your name wouldn't be Carrie Prejean, it would be Carrie Who?
This Time It's Personal
Sitting in my church is not unlike sitting in the food court at the mall. Oh sure, there's an altar instead of a Cinnabon and they serve the Body and Blood of Christ as opposed to pretzel gems and dippin' cheese, but the congregants are dressed the same as the shoppers. On any given Sunday, you see the occasional suit or dress, but usually the fashion choices range from trendy casuals to football jerseys and jeans to shorts and sandals. This, to me, is blasphemous. I was raised that when you go to church, you wear what they used to call "your Sunday best" (which I still do), with anything less being undignified. That pretty much makes me guilty of the sin of Pride, for judging people on their attire as it pales in comparison to mine, when instead I should be thankful that they attend church at all. I am working on this. However, this issue intersects with an experience I had this past Sunday, when Baby and I pulled a pair of tags off our church's Giving Tree. (For those of you unfamiliar, a Giving Tree is a Christmas tree that has hanging from it tags instead of ornaments, and written on those tags are donation requests for basic items needed by local residents who are experiencing hard times.) The first tag asked for a gift card to the local supermarket, with no specific denomination requested. I like this request, and I have faith that the requestor will use the gift not for cigarettes or margarita mix, but rather for food or diapers. Done. The second request, complete with useful size information, asked for a pair of jeans ... from Aeropostale. Boutique jeans? On a Giving Tree? "Please help me. I need jeans ... but only really nice jeans." It seems I'm not alone in my Pride.
Often times, there are items that grab my attention that are interesting to me, but they just don't contain enough substance for me to blather endlessly about. So I thought I'd try blathering in short bursts. With that, I present to you, instead of one long-winded piece, a collection of several short-winded pieces.
From Lemons to Lemonade to Shameless Marketing
In February 2009, R&B star Chris Brown assaulted his then-girlfriend, R&B star Rihanna. Eight months later, Rihanna had the courage to appear on TV with Diane Sawyer and share her pain with millions of viewers. Like it or not, many people listen when celebrities speak, so for Rihanna to bare her soul was a gesture that hopefully inspired victims of abuse to have the courage to make positive changes in their lives. I only wish she hadn't done so 18 days before her latest record dropped, offering her maximum exposure just in time to boost first-week sales and to sustain unit-movement over those critical and finite pre-Christmas shopping days. It kind of dulled the shine of her sincerity. The presence of Envy here is clear. If the first things a singer looks at are her own sales figures, the second things she looks at are the sales figures of her competition - and God forbid the competition does better. You may say that this is a key to success, and it might well be ... but not after a case of domestic abuse. If the choice in timing of the interview was hers, she isn't brave, she's manipulative. If the choice in timing wasn't hers but rather her record label's, she's still a victim, but of a different kind of abuse. Domestic violence is abhorrent. Period. But not only should domestic violence not be committed, it should not be exploited for profit, either.
Casting Pearls (of Anger) Before Swine (Flu)
It seems that since the last presidential election, the yelling - from both sides - has gotten substantially worse, and I've all but tuned it out. Oh, I follow the issues, but now almost exclusively in print; gone are my nights of watching wall-to-wall political coverage on the cable news channels. The stars (if you will) of these shows, these so-called pundits (or commentators, anchors, experts, correspondents, or chief correspondents) are really nothing more than well-dressed, well-paid gasbags who simply don't know how to turn it off or, at the least, turn it down. Truthfully, if I want that kind of deafening and incessant droning of voices over voices over voices, I'll volunteer to be a grade school lunchroom dad. And just as those lunchroom kids are somehow prone to mimic that which they see on TV, so, too, are adults. For every screamer on cable news, there seems to be an army of screamer wannabes taking their issues from talk radio to town halls, and from the World Wide Web to the corner coffee klatch. Yes, all of this speech is free, but does it have to be so vitriolic? When did ire and volume replace simple debate? Recently, the loudest voices have come from those who are vehemently opposed to government-run healthcare. To those people, I ask: If you are so passionate in your opposition to the government's involvement in healthcare, if you have been moved to the point of Wrath by this issue, to the point that you have disrupted organized public forums (up to, and including, joint sessions of Congress) by shouting down those "against" you as opposed to debating - or even arguing - the issue's points on merit ... did you, in your fit of Wrath, boisterously and passionately yank your children out of line for the Swine Flu vaccinations they were to receive at school?
If Sandra Bullock Made This Movie, Would It Be Called MISS HYPOCRISY?
When flavor-of-the-month (about six months ago) Carrie Prejean was Miss California USA, and she was asked during the Miss USA 2009 pageant about her opinion on same-sex marriage, and she responded that she thought marriage should be between a man and a woman, I didn't blink. Did I agree with her? Of course not; I never have and I never will. But despite my opposition, I still respected her opinion, and besides, at least she answered the question honestly, as opposed to trying to spin her way out of it in hopes of gaining favor with the judges. So when the drama erupted over her answer - and by "drama," I mean when Prejean was knee-capped by internet whatever Perez Hilton, who, through D-List chicanery, managed to light the public's torches and sharpen the masses' pitchforks - I was surprised. I mean, there's a guy who lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue who essentially shares the same belief, and 70% of the gay community helped vote him into office, so why the fervor over the blonde beauty queen? Wow. Could it be true? Could I defend a same-sex marriage detractor? It turns out I could, right up until the point where she just wouldn't shut up. Fast forward through too many press conferences and lawsuits to a few weeks ago, during her recent book tour and what is, perhaps, her most intriguing quote. On NBC's TODAY, Prejean said, "Our bodies are temples of the Lord. We should earn respect and admiration for our hearts, not for showing skin to look sexy." Listen sweetheart, I don't mind that you are a body-baring beauty queen, stirring Lust in those who really don't care about your position on the importance of education or the fight against world hunger; nor do I mind that you had breast augmentation, further stoking that Lust; nor do I mind that you made a sex tape, showing that you've got a saucy Lustful streak in you. What I do mind is a woman who is in her 18th minute of fame and hawking a book from one side of her mouth, all the while invoking the Word of God from the other side of her mouth, preaching about the temple that is the woman's body, when if it weren't for your desecration of that temple, your name wouldn't be Carrie Prejean, it would be Carrie Who?
This Time It's Personal
Sitting in my church is not unlike sitting in the food court at the mall. Oh sure, there's an altar instead of a Cinnabon and they serve the Body and Blood of Christ as opposed to pretzel gems and dippin' cheese, but the congregants are dressed the same as the shoppers. On any given Sunday, you see the occasional suit or dress, but usually the fashion choices range from trendy casuals to football jerseys and jeans to shorts and sandals. This, to me, is blasphemous. I was raised that when you go to church, you wear what they used to call "your Sunday best" (which I still do), with anything less being undignified. That pretty much makes me guilty of the sin of Pride, for judging people on their attire as it pales in comparison to mine, when instead I should be thankful that they attend church at all. I am working on this. However, this issue intersects with an experience I had this past Sunday, when Baby and I pulled a pair of tags off our church's Giving Tree. (For those of you unfamiliar, a Giving Tree is a Christmas tree that has hanging from it tags instead of ornaments, and written on those tags are donation requests for basic items needed by local residents who are experiencing hard times.) The first tag asked for a gift card to the local supermarket, with no specific denomination requested. I like this request, and I have faith that the requestor will use the gift not for cigarettes or margarita mix, but rather for food or diapers. Done. The second request, complete with useful size information, asked for a pair of jeans ... from Aeropostale. Boutique jeans? On a Giving Tree? "Please help me. I need jeans ... but only really nice jeans." It seems I'm not alone in my Pride.
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