A Massive Swelling: Celebrity Re-Examined As a Grotesque, Crippling Disease and Other Cultural Revelations. Cintra Wilson
Читать онлайн книгу.
time. But nothing's happened so far. I feel as though there's nothing for me in this world. And you're the only person who can change that. I mean just to spend one day with you. My best friend told me that I'd be even worse off than I am now if I met you, but again I know that's not true. Well I guess I shouldn't listen to what people say. I don't know. I'm just really confused about this.
Well I gotta go. I'll write again.
With Love,
X
(The signature is accompanied by a disturbing salivating cartoon head, with a talky-balloon that says “I Love You.”)
EXAMPLE #4; This Woman is Out of Her Fucking Mind
This is a genuinely unhealthy letter. On a fan scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the first letter example and 10 being John Hinkely, this letter is about a 7.5. I should explain that at the time these letters were written, the Gulf War was going on and the New Kids performed at the American Music Awards. Donnie Wahlberg shocked and outraged most of the flag-waving dolts in Middle America by brazenly wearing a WAR SUCKS T-shirt and sporadically grabbing his cock. People were really livid.
My Dear Dear Jordan,
I went over and visited with my friend today. She was very kind and understanding. I took over the book Our Story [presumably the NKOTB authorized biography] for her to read. She is very strict and disciplined so I wasn't sure she'd want to see it. But she was just thrilled to see it. She wanted to know right away which one Jordan was. I told her the best looking one, of course. She narrowed it down right away to you +Joe, then decided Joe was younger than the 20 I told her you were. Now I see no contest between you and Joe. Joe is cute. You, on the other hand, are “Drop Dead Gorgeous!” I'm glad she isn't making any quick judgements.
Sometimes I think she has direct lines to God. She sometimes just knows things ahead of time. She wanted to know how my job hunting is coming along. This is just not like me to be picking up and moving across country. She said that normally she would have been devastated by my thinking about something like that. She said that she is totally at peace with it. Of course, she has been right here with me watching my children be abused by their father. Her own husband, our doctor, had to report the sexual abuse of my 9 yr old. Then together we had to watch the law protect him (her father) and destroy the files. They have suffered through this as much as I have (Me—nothing—my little girls are the victims here.) I can do nothing to protect them. Yes—moving across the country seems right. Well, God has given me the will. He's put you in my path for desire and inspiration. Now He just has to provide a way.
I read in one of the teen magazines an article on the making of the “No More Games” video. It will be great to have another video. I can't wait.
Oh, Jordan, I've lost 60 lbs now. I feel so good. We are going to the Y to work out at noon every other day. I need to lose another 40 lbs. My mom said that she doesn't want me to get anorexic. I wouldn't be the best I could be if I were anorexic. Besides, I finally feel that God is totally in charge of my life. I get scared and on really shaky ground at times, in fact, all too often, but things are just so different. No, things aren't different. I am different. I am different because you sneaked up when I wasn't looking and grabbed my heart. I was not ready for this. I'd have never been ready for you. I have to meet you.
Dreams have a way of shattering for me. There are times I just don't think that you are real. Well, dream or real, I love you. I wish I could know you better. I can't believe how you make me feel. You said at the end of the Fantasy special that you like to make people happy. Well happiness was not part of my vocabulary or life until you entered my life. Now I'm smiling and laughing all the time. I see you on TV or the videos or my posters and my heart just flutters. I feel all warm and wonderful inside. I've never experienced this before. I really cannot believe what you do to me. (for me).
We are somewhat recovering from the Music Awards. My 7 yr old is smack dab in love with Donnie again. My nine-yr – ignores it completely and surrounds herself with Joe + plunges into her books. She loves to read. My 12 yr old and 19 yr old are not so quick to recover. ________ is angry. She wants him out of the group and said she won't even buy any tapes of the groups he produces. Her brother backs her up. I'm working on them though. She adores Danny and I told her she shouldn't take it out on any of the other groups any more than she should blame Danny. Then I also explained about Donnie having a real problem with the criticism. If your friend has a problem you don't just give them the boot. They are trying to understand, but I guess he is really going to have to re-earn their respect. You guys are in such a tough position. I look at my little gal's joy over Donnie and I can't help but like him despite his outspoken, harsh nature at times. My point is that we are recovering and still loving you. Donnie disappointed me, but you, Jordan, have never been a disappointment to me. I love you and “I'll Be Loving You, (Forever)”
Much Love,
X
S.W.A.K.
(Heart drawn around the name “Jordan,” surrounded by smaller hearts.)
As you can see, the deep, widespread, and dangerous hysteria a seemingly inconsequential boy band can spread is absolutely staggering, and all the more depressing since the driving push behind the whole teen music deal is grotesque wealth.
It is a swell deal: all a savvy promoter with the naked greed of a pederast Svengali needs to do is find some mildly talented teens all lousy with fresh libido and stuck in some lame section of America, promise them a bucking, eight-second ride on the Magic Bull of Fame,, and he or she can forge a sensational golden windfall as long as the kid stays on. After all that happens successfully, the stars might figure out that they are giving 90% of their salary away to some carpet-chested cigar aficionado who tells them what they can and can't wear all the time, and decide they’d like to try their hand at “going solo,” a career move which has only really worked, so far, for the perpetually drunk Mr. Whitney, ex-New Edition R&B guy Bobby Brown, and now for Ricky Martin, ex-Menudo boy. The managers of the new breed of band coming out must have a whole clause in the contracts that says when the boys are too old and fat for the metallic plastic jumpsuits, and have squandered all 10 percent they owned of their careers, they are not allowed to appeal to any human tendencies in the manager and beg them for more cash to get back on their feet. There ought to be a Child-Corruption Czar in government, maybe. Somebody who can keep the pop machine honest, if not clean.
When Malcolm McLaren, the coolest of all the evil music producers. When Malcolm McLaren did his puppet-master thing back in the punk era toothsome filth like the Sex Pistols and BowWowWow, he gave the world the impression that everything going on in his sphere was a collaborative group art project. He was a good chef about the whole thing; he knew how to throw together different talent elements while retaining the individual flavor and charm of the players. Even if he managed them poorly or tried to stick his hand up their blouse every now and then, he didn’t quite eat their souls (Well, Malcolm may have been partially responsible for the debacle that was Sid, but Sid was old enough to know better.) The saddest part about the whole thing is how little true flavor any of these new young lover-boy bands have; they're wholly inoffensive. They don't stand for anything, they don't question The System, they don't introduce anything challenging or new, even in the world of fashion; they're as instantly pleasing and comestible and forgettable as a bag of Funyuns, and they all taste the same.
All of the frightful Pop Warner intramural seduction squads that are passing for music groups nowadays are really just dim approximations of an important event that happened long ago that kids today don’t really know about. I don’t really know much about it either. It is a historical event, and it is commonly referred to as “Mick Jagger. “I didn’t realize until viewing the video Cocksucker Blues by photographer Robert Frank what a king hell phenomenon young Mick was. By the time I was in seventh grade and alive enough to notice Mr. Jagger, he looked like a squeak-toy version of Don Knotts, and his laughably antique rock tours were sponsored by Pepsi and peopled by fat computer guys with baseball hats and Calvin Klein eyewear. In my junior high, only the back-parking-lot “loadies” with the feathered hair and bootleg cords had any appreciation for the Stones at all, and then even they mostly cared about the older albums. The loadies were baked all the time, so