Why? Why are we as a society so fascinated by entertainers and royalty having babies? Did they create the concept? I mean, I just assumed people have been making babies for as long as the earth has been round (or flat, if you're on that side of the argument). What is it, beyond sheer stupidity, that keeps us glued to the television, as if our very lives depended on remaining mindless statues until we know, for certain, that everything is going to be a okay with the latest tabloid fascination? And have you seen some of these children? I actually feel sympathy for their lot in life, and the certain abuse they will suffer at the hand of the ugly tree; that is, until I gaze, in wonder, at all the zeros in their bank accounts.
And the names...H-O-L-Y COW. Are you *bleeping* kidding me? Here's a brief sampling: Birdie & Cricket, North, Apple, Blue Ivy, Ace (ok, I'll give half a point for effort), Tennessee, Olive (still on the reservation), Rainbow, Breeze, Maple, Moroccan, Kal-El, Jermajesty (I'm not making these up), Pilot Inspektor, Moxie Crimefighter and, possibly my favorite name ever...Antonio (so far, so good) Kamakanaalohamankalani. I don't even know what else to write, I'm so dumbfounded. And, apparently the newest infant celeb, er, royal, to grace our presence, is so special he doesn't even warrant a name. There's an idea; how about, Prince Hewhoshallremainnameless? I just don't understand. Do these people lie awake at night dreaming up ways to out-dumb the next guy? Do they really believe these are colorful, creative and practical names? Names that their namesake (most of them) will be proud to own when they're 65, let alone 10, years old? Sounds more like somebody lost a dare at the latest self-indulgent award show after party, or discovery of the registration sheet for Celebrity Rehab, season 35 if you ask me...and I know you did.
What is this magnetizing, polarizing grip these people have over us? Most of whom are not famous for anything relevant, but rather for being, well, famous. Perhaps it's the romance that keeps us clamoring like a pack of wild dogs, wrestling over a steak bone. We've invested so much of ourselves financially and emotionally, bankrolling the 401k's of these "artists" and figure heads, that this is our right, to 'enjoy' the eccentricities of these mostly talentless egomaniacs. It's sad, really, that our lives are so seemingly empty, that we have to rely on the whimsy of these millionaire fools to fill our souls. Or, is it just as simple as there being so much sadness, hate, mean-spiritedness, hopelessness and despair in the world, that this gives us an outlet, a place to escape to; one where no one can hurt us and we can revel in the fantasy that is, or the nightmare that may become, their lives?
Whatever the reason, it seems important to us as a society. So much so, that we camp out for days on end and pay large bounties, to catch a glimpse, the first glimpse, at 'glory'. What will this strange, messed up, wonderful world have in store for Prince What's His Name? Only time, and perhaps his parents, will tell.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
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