I’ve had this thing nagging at me for a while, an issue in the back of my mind which I keep bumping into and then turning away from. But since moving to Utah, I’ve come face to face with it a few times and now I’m really thinking.
Celebrity is one of the things I find fascinating and infuriating about our society. People who are our entertainment have now become our idols. It’s as if the court Jester ( a slave-like role in its day) has now become the champion of the kingdom.
And the phenomenon has turned the corner from people famous for doing something we love, to people who are famous for just being famous.
Which leads me to my recent irksome line of questioning:
What is Ashton Kutcher known for? Why is this guy famous?
The minute I saw this news story I knew I’d found a blog entry. A strange mix of irony, tragedy, and sheer stupidity converging to create fantastic commentary on the strangeness of our society.
Here’s the short version: A 20 year old girl in Detroit has been put on probation at her job. Why? Well, she’s a waitress at Hooter’s and she’s getting a bit fat for her shiny orange shorts.
And this made the news. Redefining the “fluff piece”. Ah-hem.
Life is a frustrating series of boundaries. I’ve always hated the things I can’t do, lack the talent to accomplish, or won’t find the access to attempt. And now, as a father, I will be forced into the role of “them”. I’m now part of the big, dark, unsupportive mass of people setting up the “don’t go near there” boundaries. So this has me thinking about how much the fences vary.
I read the news and it feels like the late 1980s all over again. The US and Russia are signing arms reduction treaties, Iranian leaders are pledging to destroy the world, and in places we can barely name or find on a map men are trying to kill each other.
The cycle of life continues. Or death, as the case may be.
And I seem to have accidentally discovered a perfect solve. A weapon so unrelenting in its assault, so diabolical in its execution, and so far beyond conventional means that it would clear the world’s battlefields and make us all obsessed with our own survival instead of ending someone else.
Into the hotspots of the world we drop one thing.
I’ve resisted writing about Haiti because, while incredibly tragic, it irks me to see our nation running to the aid of some other country when there’s so many terrible problems at home. I don’t think we should be policing the world or trying to save it, especially now. I guess the older I get, the more isolationist I become, but I can’t help thinking “why don’t celebraties have telethons to fix problems in America?”.
But I digress.
From the rubble of one of the world’s poorest countries came a story which seemed to perfectly highlight the haves and have-nots of the tragedy. And both the absurdity, and wonder, of our national obsession with technology.
An iPhone saved a man’s life in Haiti.
People have begun to ask me: “So, how do you like Fatherhood?”. And I don’t, frankly, but this isn’t a surprise to me. It’s unfathomable to most people, but it’s what I’ve always felt and what I expected at this stage. I have, however, figured out a way to explain the feeling.
It’s like commuting home on a Friday night through stop and go traffic-
You want nothing more than for the journey to be over. You can’t stop thinking about how much happier you’d be doing anything but your current task. And yet, you don’t get out of the car, or park and wait til traffic is done, or decide to not leave work at all. Instead, you suffer through it… cause this will be the low-point of the days to come. That’s where I am.
And the hardest part for me is the special relationship I have with my son.
I’ve been thinking about two news events which happened within 24hrs of each other on Christmas day 2009:
Two men with deeply held religious beliefs illegally traveled into other countries to spread their messages. Neither succeeded, but both made news. And though the news coverage has been very different, I can’t shake the feeling that their stories are almost exactly the same.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now postpartum. The Baby has landed. The Stork has delivered. Whatever way you’d like me to say that we have gone from pregnancy to parenthood.
So you might be wondering how I can write another entry about pregnancy. Well, I’ve decided I’m the town crier of pregnancy truth – “Hear ye, Hear ye….” Because it’s become quite clear that a few months of holding a newborn gives women amnesia. I suspect that something in the smell of fresh skin actually wipes out bad memories.
I’ve been accused of being a Christmas Buzz-kill. My wife has even threatened to get me a Christmas T-Shirt: Black with white block letters: “This is as Merry as I Get”. And frankly, I’d really like to have that shirt. I’d wear it with pride.
You see – “It’s that time of year…” and just starting off with that quote already has you singing a Christmas song in your head, right? And that’s both my point and my problem.
Don’t misunderstand me, there are some things I enjoy about Christmas. But one thing leads the charge in my dread of this holiday and my hope for its quick departure:
