THORSDAY THUNDERBOLT: Worshipping at the Altar of Celebrity

So on Tyrsday this week the media went unusually apeshit-ways over the birth of a child. Was it the second coming of Jesus? Nay. Was it a child miraculously saved from tragedy and brought into this world against all odds? Nay. T’was the birth of a new prince in England, not the prince of England, just a prince. Immediately Odinson wondered to himself: being that most babies look like Winston Churchill, if British babies look like another long gone political figure, mayhaps it’s Lenin? This totally derailed an idea for an article Surly Thor had planned for this week and begot the idea that why the Hel art some so obsessed with those in positions of fame.

Surly Thor can’t for the life of him understand thy mortal obsession with the royal family of England. Two-hundred plus years ago thou wert so sick of the monarchy thou revolted to win thine independence. Now hours are dedicated on American news networks to one of them spawning, marrying, or dying whilst important events of the day go as noticed as a fart in deep space. Back when Princess Di did (verily, pun intended) hours were spent mourning her, not because of what she did but because of who she was. Tis not to say Diana did not do some fine things to help others upon Midgard, but such was a secondary thought after the fact that a princess had died.

They hath become less like royalty and more like celebrities in some eyes, and if there is something Americans can not get enough of tis celebrities. Hel, thou art not e’en happy with a dozen shows about people dancing; thou hast to throw celebrities into one of them, and Surly Thor doth use this term loosely in conjunction with the D-list stars these shows trot out season after season. Verily thou can hardly swing Mjolnir without it crashing into someone who is famous for the simple concept of being famous.

Millions of people weekly tune into a show to watch a woman who is simply famous for having made her fortune filming herself having sex and also her fame crazed family. Keep in mind this one is different than the show with the girl who did get pregnant at sixteen and decided to parley early motherhood and poor life choices into a porn career, which is also different than the show about the daughter of a former vice presidential candidate who parleyed her poor life choices into dancing on national television rather than on a pole. Want to watch people who hath not been relevant in decades publicly struggle with their addictions just to feel quasi relevant again, there’s a show for that. Not content to watch ordinary people swap wives for a week, fret not; there is a show where thou can watch celebrities do it as well.

Hath thou ever noticed how on these “reality” shows the camera always seems to be right there to catch all the juicy bits? Dost thou think tis coincidence? Dost thou honestly think Kim Kardasian’s life is that exciting, or is it more believable that she hast invested some of her millions in hiring a group of writers to make her seem interesting? Kim is no different than a professional wrestler. She doth get out in front of a crowd with a persona, the main difference being the wrestler actually hath real world marketable skills.

Now I know what thou art saying to thyself: Surly Thor, celebrities hath been doing this for decades. I say nay, this a realm of difference between Betty White offering lewd puns on Match Game or Paul Lynde’s not so subtle innuendo on Hollywood Squares and say watching Jeff Conway waste away on a season of Celebrity Rehab just to most likely afford the fix that did him in. Hel, look at the difference between the first season of MTV’s Real World where there were no fights and e’eryone for the most part carried themselves in a civil human manner and any of the past year-or-threes seasons where it seems the furnished apartment comes with a ne’er ending supply of alcohol to fuel fight after fight and other indiscretions. Thou art certain to have directors clamoring for thee to be in their films after they watch thy stellar performance knocking back shots of Jaeger before servicing three men in a hot tub.

The lure of e’en scant moments on camera is enough to cause self respect to go right out the window. Can’t find someone to make thee happy? Why not parade thy desperation for thirteen weeks in front of an audience, as thou go through a veritable who’s who of shallow fame whores somehow hoping to buck the odds that despite all the relationships from the last thirty seasons failing theirs shall be the one to triumph. The proliferation is so strong these days that e’en channels once respected like The Learning Channel hath changed their programming to cash in. Verily the only thing thou can learn on TLC these days is about midgets and people with more than a dozen children.

Perchance thou hast not seen it, but there is a reality show called Dance Moms, in which these mothers project their failures in life onto these children hoping to make them successful dancer/actor/model/whatevers, subjecting them to an ogre of a woman who runs this dance studio. Week in, week out, this ogre talks down to both the children and the parents. Now this begs the question of why doth these people put up with this kind of abuse. The answer is sad. The reality is that being humiliated in front of a camera beats being not in front of a camera to these people. Human dignity is overrated when the camera loves thee.

Stop putting these people on a pedestal for doing things dozens of other people do outside the public spotlight. Turn off the crap, and eventually the media will get the idea and perchance move to things a bit more relevant.

The hour is late, the ale is empty, and as always this hast been my pleasure.

ST