Stars - do I even know them?

Scanning over the cast of Dancing with the Stars' Series 27, I had to think how old most of us have become when we could not even identify most of the "stars" on the cast list.  The three stars who would fit more into a PGA Tour Champions field based on age than a ballroom dance competition are three of the four names I remember a bit from my childhood.

Nancy McKeon, 52.  "Jo" from The Facts of Life, she is the third cast member to appear in the Auntie Beeb franchise (Cloris Leachman in S7 and Kim Fields in S22).  Of course, one recurring character in that show ended up as one of Hollywood's leading men in George Clooney, and Lisa Welchel actually caused a firestorm when she refused to allow her character to have premaritial sex and forced Embassy to rewrite an entire episode in the final season.

John Schneider, 58.  Oh to remember the days of a young film star who was a teen, jumping a 1970 Dodge Charger across Georgia through rivers, bridges, and the rest.  He wasn't meaning any harm, of course, but Sheriff Little would bust them for crossing the county line.  Of course, we later remember him as Superman's father, but he has proven faithfulness over these years.

Mary Lou Retton, 50.  America knows her as a 16-year old gymnast whose 10 made her a legend and the matriarch of US gymnastics.  For me, it's my 14-year old self seeing her speak locally and sign my program from her speaking engagement, along with a kiss.  For today's generation, she is the mother of two LSU gymnasts.

The fourth name of the cast I could recognise is Demarcus Ware, 36, a former NFL player who ate quarterbacks and running backs for a living.  Other than those four, who are these stars?

Flashback Friday: The cult of celebrity

The cult of celebrity is something that we've alluded to here from time to time, most often in the idea that celebrities, like everyone else, are role models whether they like it or not. And then there's what we've called the "Oprafication" of life, the wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve mentality that substitutes feeling for thinking.

Nowhere was this more apparent than in the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. In "The Dianification of Modern Life," Theodore Dalrymple of The New Criterion sums up what a commenter refers to as the "vapidity of celebrity culture." It strikes at one of those things that seems so very wrong about our society today:

Her death provoked a reaction of sociological and psychopathological interest. Her combination of inaccessible glamour and utter banality (on her own admission, she was not very intelligent, and it was evident that she had no taste for threateningly elitist intellectual or artistic pursuits) appealed to millions of people. Apart from the fact that she was extremely rich and married to the heir to the British throne, she was just like us. Her personal tribulations were just like ours: at base, rather petty and egotistical. She was the perfect character for a soap opera, in fact, and those who ‘grieved’ after her death were really protesting at the deprivation of a large part of the soap opera’s interest.

He also makes an excellent point about how this very tendency was leapt upon by Tony Blair, eager to find the hook for his prime ministership. It was Blair who made popular the phrase, "The People's Princess," and as Dalrymple shows, the impact on Britain (and Western culture, for that matter) has been extensive:

In the orgy of demonstrative pseudo-grief that followed her death, Mr Blair said that the people had found a new way of being British. Indeed so: they had become emotionally incontinent and inclined to blubber in public when not being menacingly discourteous. They had come to believe that holding nothing back was the way to mental health, and their deepest emotional expression was the teddy bear that they were increasingly liable to leave at the site of a fatal accident or at the tomb of someone who had died in early adulthood.

A wonderful phrase, that: "holding nothing back was the way to mental health, and their deepest emotional expression was the teddy bear." Whether or not you agree with that, you have to like the way it rolls off the tongue. Say it a few times, and you'll probably begin to see the truth of it as well.

Dalrymple begins his essay with a quote from the (viruently) athiest Sam Harris, in his book The End of Faith, who writes, "Three million souls can be starved and murdered in the Congo, and our Argus-eyes media scarcely blink. When a princess dies in a car accident, however, a quarter of the earth’s population falls prostrate with grief."

That is the scandal of modern life, the scandal of the cult of celebrity, the scandal for the believer. And it is a scandal, because we can do better than that, we are capable of far more than we are showing. If we fall into these traps, if we sanctify the dead simply for being dead (as Dalrymple puts it, "How could anyone who personally hugged people suffering from AIDS and was against the planting of landmines not be a force for good?"), then we give those like Sam Harris no reason to look further into the eternal truths of Christianity. If the only object is to feel good - well, you can get that anywhere, can't you? Hardly seems worth needing a Redeemer, what?

Life is a challenge, and oftentimes the only way to meet that challenge is through reason, combined with faith in the power of the mind. Sadly, thinking is something that seems passé all too often, now.

Dalyrmple's essay comes from a fascinating forum at Britannica Blog, "Diana and the Cult of Celebrity." It's a discussion well worth checking out.

Originally published on August 29, 2007

Norman Mailer, R.I.P.

By Mitchell

Who says tough guys don’t dance? Norman Mailer danced with the best of them, and he didn’t give a fug whether you liked it or not. Oh, he had the talent, all right; and every once in a while he actually showed it, as with the Pulitzer-winning “The Executioner’s Song,” the fact-as-fiction story of Gary Gilmore. He liked to play tough and talk tough and maybe he was; he head-butted Gore Vidal once, stabbed his second wife after a party, and ran for mayor of New York, hardly an act for sissies.

But there was no dancing around the fact that he was also egotistical, egocentric, arrogant, gruff, self-aggrandizing, self-indulgent, and less talented than his own opinion. CNN called him a drama king, but he was a drama queen as well. He was over the top with his own lefty pronouncements, often spectacularly uneducated on the topics he discussed, and frequently acted as if calling attention to himself was far more important than the quality of what he wrote – and what’s it to you if he was? He was a blowhard who didn’t care if you blew back. He danced with his talent, a dance that often fooled others into overlooking the fact that there was more style than substance in his words. In reality, there should have been more than met the eye, but when the eye blinked that was all there was.

Maybe he even thought he was tough enough for the Grim Reaper, but it caught up with him this weekend at the age of 84, and this was one dance in which he didn't do the leading. And the toughest thing about it all is that he could have been better than he was, even if he never wound up being as good as he thought he could have been. The lesson, to all writers and tough guys and everyone else out there, is to not leave it on the table. Don’t be left when the clock strikes zero asking what might have been.

The Cult of Celebrity

By Drew

The cult of celebrity is something that we've alluded to here from time to time, most often in the idea that celebrities, like everyone else, are role models whether they like it or not. And then there's what we've called the "Oprafication" of life, the wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve mentality that substitutes feeling for thinking.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. In "The Dianification of Modern Life," Theodore Dalrymple of The New Criterion sums up what a commenter refers to as the "vapidity of celebrity culture." It strikes at one of those things that seems so very wrong about our society today:

Her death provoked a reaction of sociological and psychopathological interest. Her combination of inaccessible glamour and utter banality (on her own admission, she was not very intelligent, and it was evident that she had no taste for threateningly elitist intellectual or artistic pursuits) appealed to millions of people. Apart from the fact that she was extremely rich and married to the heir to the British throne, she was just like us. Her personal tribulations were just like ours: at base, rather petty and egotistical. She was the perfect character for a soap opera, in fact, and those who ‘grieved’ after her death were really protesting at the deprivation of a large part of the soap opera’s interest.

He also makes an excellent point about how this very tendency was leapt upon by Tony Blair, eager to find the hook for his prime ministership. It was Blair who made popular the phrase, "The People's Princess," and as Dalrymple shows, the impact on Britain (and Western culture, for that matter) has been extensive:

In the orgy of demonstrative pseudo-grief that followed her death, Mr Blair said that the people had found a new way of being British. Indeed so: they had become emotionally incontinent and inclined to blubber in public when not being menacingly discourteous. They had come to believe that holding nothing back was the way to mental health, and their deepest emotional expression was the teddy bear that they were increasingly liable to leave at the site of a fatal accident or at the tomb of someone who had died in early adulthood.

A wonderful phrase, that: "holding nothing back was the way to mental health, and their deepest emotional expression was the teddy bear." Whether or not you agree with that, you have to like the way it rolls off the tongue. Say it a few times, and you'll probably begin to see the truth of it as well.

Dalrymple begins his essay with a quote from the (viruently) athiest Sam Harris, in his book The End of Faith, who writes, "Three million souls can be starved and murdered in the Congo, and our Argus-eyes media scarcely blink. When a princess dies in a car accident, however, a quarter of the earth’s population falls prostrate with grief."

That is the scandal of modern life, the scandal of the cult of celebrity, the scandal for the believer. And it is a scandal, because we can do better than that, we are capable of far more than we are showing. If we fall into these traps, if we sanctify the dead simply for being dead (as Dalrymple puts it, "How could anyone who personally hugged people suffering from AIDS and was against the planting of landmines not be a force for good?"), then we give those like Sam Harris no reason to look further into the eternal truths of Christianity. If the only object is to feel good - well, you can get that anywhere, can't you? Hardly seems worth needing a Redeemer, what?

Life is a challenge, and oftentimes the only way to meet that challenge is through reason, combined with faith in the power of the mind. Sadly, thinking is something that seems passé all too often, now.

Dalyrmple's essay comes from a fascinating forum at Britannica Blog, "Diana and the Cult of Celebrity." It's a discussion well worth checking out.