Of course they should. Every single one of them, Chevy Chase and William Shatner, Tom Cruize and Jewell, should be a potential victim of the ceremonial knife. I do not know as many of their names as a typical denizen of the Western World because I do not watch television, but they are out there, inexorably smiling from magazines, immersing me in the details of their lives.
Cruel? Nonsense. Should my plan go into action, we could arrange to mail each and every one of them each an index card. A simple question, and two boxes, "Yes", and "No". The question would be, of course, "Will you now agree, within a few days or so, to become one of the millions of civilian masses, bagging groceries or stocking chewing tobacco at 7-11, anonymous, and working at a job that is not an expression of the adolescent fantasy of doing something inherently enjoyable and creative, and being paid extravagantly for it? A job at Wall Mart and an apartment in a lousy part of town, with a crazy landlord, will be provided to get you stated." To check NO means to enter the lottery, and to keep your status as a celebrity, a product of consumer culture and its various benefits, the Lexus, the bling, the personal assistant, the job where you play lead guitar for a band and somehow get paid for it, rather than saving bussboy tips to have the tubes in your amp replaced". Maybe, the question needs some editing, but I think most of us know the overwhelming tide of YES response cards that would flood in to Tikal, as workers cleaned the vines off the pyramid. Maybe an odd one, like Werner Herzog might check yes, for the change of pace, Stephen King might, though it would sadden him to loose his readers. I don't know celebrities. I think it obvious though that most of the cards would read "No".
Cruel? Nonsense. Should my plan go into action, we could arrange to mail each and every one of them each an index card. A simple question, and two boxes, "Yes", and "No". The question would be, of course, "Will you now agree, within a few days or so, to become one of the millions of civilian masses, bagging groceries or stocking chewing tobacco at 7-11, anonymous, and working at a job that is not an expression of the adolescent fantasy of doing something inherently enjoyable and creative, and being paid extravagantly for it? A job at Wall Mart and an apartment in a lousy part of town, with a crazy landlord, will be provided to get you stated." To check NO means to enter the lottery, and to keep your status as a celebrity, a product of consumer culture and its various benefits, the Lexus, the bling, the personal assistant, the job where you play lead guitar for a band and somehow get paid for it, rather than saving bussboy tips to have the tubes in your amp replaced". Maybe, the question needs some editing, but I think most of us know the overwhelming tide of YES response cards that would flood in to Tikal, as workers cleaned the vines off the pyramid. Maybe an odd one, like Werner Herzog might check yes, for the change of pace, Stephen King might, though it would sadden him to loose his readers. I don't know celebrities. I think it obvious though that most of the cards would read "No".
Then, the lottery.
Why the lottery? Because we, collectively, have given them a life of adolescent fantasy, where they can act in films and travel the world, have constant plastic surgery, wear designer clothes, or have the luxury of giving flip answers to reporters who ask about their song lyrics, and yet, many of them manage to complain about the inevitable, inexorable, consequence of what has happened to them. True, they are not all alike. Some of them ruminate on the consequences of fame rather than complain about its limitations. Some rock stars are very appreciative of their fans, spending hours signing autographs. For some of them, like Salamon Rushdie, fame has brought the need to go into hiding for fear of their lives. Still, there seem to be so many of them that want the legions of adoring fans, without the strange emails and stalkers standing outside the window at night, with binoculars, or to grace the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine, without a strange message, painted in blood, on the window of their Mercedes "You Will BARE ME many children!!!". The one brings the other, doesn't it?
Those that have pulled a Sallinger, and kept their lives private, have had their cake and eaten it too, they won. I, personally, could not be happier. I do not know celebrities. Still, I think they should pay.
Those that have pulled a Sallinger, and kept their lives private, have had their cake and eaten it too, they won. I, personally, could not be happier. I do not know celebrities. Still, I think they should pay.
The true purpose of this rant is, naturally, to invoke the image of a randomly chosen celebrity, chosen by a monthly lottery, dragged to the top of a Mayan step-pyramid. Would it not be grand? The obsidian knife? The feathers? The television cameras capturing the last moment of Courtney Love, Britney Spears, or Angelina Jolie (all women because this is a sexual fantasy and not serious political commentary, and I am straight), bare breasted, chest heaving, as the Central American gods, hungry from centuries of neglect, finally receive the sacrifice owed to them, to ensure the fertility of the land?
Dear reader, perhaps you are not Satanic or Metal enough to appreciate the value of the worldwide, celebrity death lottery, and maybe that failing will keep you from being incarcerated.
I admit, maybe this lottery of mine is impractical. There are degrees of immersion into the public consciousness, and it is fundamentally different to be known for something admirable than for something questionable or downright vile. Still, it seems fundamental that every step into the public eye brings consequences, some unanticipated.
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