Friday, February 18, 2005

Preternatural trifecta beat....(Scavenger Hunt #1)

"Yes, but can I dance to it.....?"

Okay, people, this is where I'm gonna get a little bit idiosyncratic and leave a few pieces out of the referential puzzle, seeing as I'm just a downright evil & sinister smartass at heart. Takes two to tango, but I'm not inclined to show all my steps--so I think I'll just give you the keyword search instead:

Keyword Search Results (there, that was simple enough...)

And then I'll say, isn't it interesting how many of us constantly underestimate, aye, even undermine the intellectual capacities and aesthetic discernment of those who don't happen to fit an established mould of the type we want all proper luminaries to be, and can't even appreciate their known qualities without typecasting them into being something that can be handled, labeled, kicked around with impunity...?

Maybe it's the nature of the pop celebrity business, that rewards pseudo-crossovers into a constructedly "classical" space as well as those "wild & crazy" "outside the box" forays--but all the same must categorize for its own categorical survival, and heaven help us if the homegrown tomatoes should mix with the cultivated gladiolii...either way, it's seemingly much easier to assume an elitist pretension in someone's words the closer it looks like--or worse, is--the real deal itself.

That is, intelligence, clarity, acuity, sensibilities. We (the mass of us) don't want that sort of thing to spoil our boys, to ruin the drunken frat-party. After all, if they showed a credible intelligence...they might be, on some level, actually better and smarter than those who consume the fruits of their labour--hey, and their labour itself might actually have some seriousness in it, something like craft and discipline, instead of just being what some lucky people get to do while the rest of us work our tails off trying to get by.

The world at large loves idols of the heart, not the head. It weeps and laughs with Paula Abdul, and boos and hisses at Simon Cowell, and it insists that really, really....all the famous people whose movements we follow aren't really any smarter or subtler than us, not in that hairsplitting or morally scathing sort of way (think of Marlon Brando, for example, or Orson Welles...)--they can have some wisdom, perhaps, but it has to be the homespun-&-homely heartwarming kind, that encourages without challenge, that inspires without really implying pain, or risk, or danger along the way of dreams. Safe celebrities--that aren't really any "better" than us--just our betters somehow in this great hierarchy of attention and soundbites and significant trends.

It would disarrange the system, in short--much as if an errant but popular prince delivered a speech fit for Whitehall. Unsettlement. Uncertainty. short, you have a ghastly mess--which is why all our flowergirls, by the way (I know, I jumped movies there), are best-liked while they retain their lower-class accents and say no more than is comical or flirtatious. Should they turn trenchant and succeed therein, the whole place would go up in flames....

Sorry, didn't mean to torch it like that...nothin' like a little flamboyant intellectualism...but seriously, folks--why is it that we either overlook or coo over the stupidest things that an airheaded ditz says about her aspirations, but let someone say something halfway of real consequence and suddenly they have to be dragged down by that good old stereotyping of themselves? Are we living in Harrison Bergeron's time already, by the way?--oh but yes, of course we's been a guiding theme through the ages since that little stroll through a field lopping off the tallest stalks of grain, making sure no one sticks up too high, too clearly.

But then...I'm a tall stalk of grain myself by nature, and I know firsthand how people love to cut things down.

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