WE NEED A NEW SET OF CELEBRITIES, Part One
by Gordy Grundy
We need a fresh set of celebrities. The firestorm of the Coronavirus has burned down the sheer curtains and melted the gauzy lenses and Photoshop filters that have blinded us for decades. Our love, daydreams and false familiarity with our celebrity class have disappeared as fast as Disposable Income in the first week of the market crash. We need a new set of celebrities. And I know where to find them. We already know too much about our superstars, which is fine as long as we don't know everything. Unfortunately, the virus has closed down Hollywood and the media machine has been turned off. The whirligig of diverting shiny objects spins no more. Publicists, plastic surgeons, make-up artists and stylists have been deemed non-essential. Our celebrities have been forced to work outside the system, on their own, without the buffer of wiser counsel. Desperate for attention, our dear ones have been forced to reveal too much. Now we know more than we truly wanted—they're just not that interesting. For far too long, vanity been has been perceived as intelligence. The dream bubble has burst. Goodbye, Gal. My love for Gadot is gone. I've come to realize she is not a wonder woman, just a silly woman. Like the Emperor's New Clothes, our dear ones stand naked in $12,000 sweat pants. The hashtag #guillotine2020 is flourishing with cries to 'eat the rich,' especially when plump Brit singer Sam Smith tells you to "Share food!" It is only going to get louder as our pennies get pinched. The true economic horror of the pandemic has yet to dawn. Our celebrity culture should call their insurance carriers for coverage against pitchforks, torches and angry villagers. Journalists walk a beat; they stake a claim and investigate. New York Times reporter Amanda Hess braves the swamp of the internet and pop culture. As the death toll was mounting and our celebrities were dancing, she was able to pop her head out of the mire and write a damning and hilarious piece titled "Celebrity Culture Is Burning." Hess takes us on a quick tour of the hypocritical elite, each trying to elbow Oprah out of the way, to deliver their own idiotic brand of good cheer, sound advice and product placement. Best of all, her damning links provide proof that the only verdict a thoughtful human can render is a downturned thumb and a cry of "Off with their heads!" Our favorite charmer across the pond, Popbitch succinctly writes, "The world might be arse over elbow at the minute, but there's nothing quite like watching mid-tier British celebrities trying to drum up a bit of publicity in the middle of a global health crisis to make you realise that some things will never change." Change they must! The curtain has been parted. Like lovers, we've been jilted. As we wait for the death toll to peak, their need for attention keeps getting more desperate. The examples are plentiful. One doesn't need to turn around to find a new one. We are drowning in them. Our current display is not all horrific. Supermodel Naomi Campbell may be the only celebrity survivor of the pandemic. She is hyper-diligent as she protects herself against the scourge. She shows us how she travels in an aeroplane and how she stays clean in and out. She doesn't need our applause or our money; she is just showing us how to disinfect a plane. After Classy Campbell, it all goes downhill fast. Has anyone seen "Molly's Game" (2018) the true crime thriller? Directed by Aaron Sorkin, the biographical film dives into the world of underground high stakes poker that swamped actor Tobey Maguire, Ben Affleck and a card table full of A-List celebrities. Why not relive those glory days during a pandemic? Guess what? Page Six reports "Ben Affleck is helping to launch a virtual celebrity poker tournament for charity... that will include players Tobey Maguire, Matt Damon, Adam Sandler, Sarah Silverman and other stars." Does the Coriolis effect, rotating to the right in the Northern hemisphere and to the left in the Southern hemisphere, really dictate the directional flow of the water flushing in your toilet? Of course, our celebrity love must be quantified. They demand it. How much do you love me? Darling, how much are you willing to pay? Several services can bring one up close and personal with their beloved for a very small price. Like the NASDAQ, stars have an ever-fluctuating price. As of this writing, John Cleese might make you laugh for $300, Doctor Oz will say Hello for $500 but I doubt he will write a prescription, and Bex Taylor-Klaus will do something for $13 but I don't know who she is. Of the services, Cameo is the caviar, CelebVM covers the B and C list, while Greetzly represents the Euro trash. It's all just another ring of hell.
Where's Rosie the Riveter flexing her muscle now? We need real Rosie, not Ellen, Ben, Brad, Gal or Madonna to tell us to "Chin up! Carry on!" Our old world has been razed. You can see the steely glimmer, as our political and tech class try to steal our civil liberties. We, the people, better start sharpening our hashtags. And what of my last breath? Will a Goop vagina-scented candle be the last whiff in my proboscis? Will a Jim Carrey portrait of Donald Trump be the last thing I see? Will Bethenny Frankel's Skinnygirl Vodka be the last flavor to cross my lips? Will my bones be wrapped in Kanye West Sunday Service burlap? What an ugly way to die. We need a new set of celebrities. Whiny one-percenters are not the new Gods for the new America. Our new set of celebrities have always walked among us. In Part Two, I shall tell you where to find them.
To our dear readers who willingly choose to spend money on food rather than the New York Times firewall, we have listed the links from Amanda Hess's must-read article "Celebrity Culture Is Burning."
GORDY GRUNDY is an artist and arts writer. His visual and literary work can be found at www.GordyGrundy.com Part One: We Need a New Set of Celebrities
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