It is nearly 3AM, one hour from an insanely early ride to the airport to transport me for a quick, intense, creative, injection of New York inspiration. I have unhooked from the so-called “news” of the week. The deadening recycled urgency of a married golfer’s sexual escapades are–to me– his business. Alarming only because the story has roadkilled serious news reporting and become the headline story, revealing that people actually have no inclination to consider their own lives with a fraction of as much curiosity or excitement as those of falling celebrities. Stunning. There’s also a war a-coming, albeit with a barely discernable drumbeat, muted in lieu of screaming media heads debating whether the poor deserve health care, media time that competes with the roll-out of still fresher lies from the state dinner crashers and their possible fate. Will they be rewarded with a reality gig, or simply invited for endless rounds of talk show credibility opportunities? There’s the upgrading of the career and reputation of Perez Hilton, who now appears on legitimate talk shows. Featuring him on The View has invited him into what passes as a club of real journalists, or so he calls himself. And then there’s the Palin-trashing Levi, who is also legitimized as a person, in desperate need of a grammar coach, since as media darling, he appears everywhere, eager to brutally and casually butcher not only Palin, but the English language. Even the smiling photos with the state dinner crashers photographed laughing with Obama and Company trigger a rather benign comedy, reminding me of unclothed emporers and the diminutive wizard revealed behind the curtain in The Wizard of Oz to be a common bellowing imposter. Who are the heads of our government, who is Obama, and why is he looking more like a celebrity than the leader of our country? Of course, now we know the serious unreality of the protection of the secret service and their job with security. It’s just that at some point absurdity goes so far that it can’t help evolving into something comedic. For example, the smiling poses of the dinner crashers are cheesy in the extreme to become the stuff of giddy satire; the antics of two crazy ageing kids acting out a “what the hell” moment. Believe me, I know when to take a break.
The questions I’m taking with me are about the meaning and possibility of having a real life. What does it mean that we study celebrities and the lies their lives reveal? Do we take away the mimicry of irresponsibility? What does it mean to feel your life? How do we get back to feeling and away from posing? And finally, the biggie: What is the meaning of true wealth? Apparently, money is the least of it.