So says John Steinbeck.
Interviewing an artist recently about the release of his latest album, he pointed out how narcissistic and arrogant it was to think anyone would care about his new songs or what he had to say and that lingered with me. He was absolutely right. Thousands of people care and will buy the album but it is an inherently odd concept to birth something creative in the world and hope someone takes the time to consume and share it. Even if it took five minutes to create and will raise money for charitable causes (which is great and noble), it doesn’t matter. You may share the rewards but ultimately it’s you that gets the virtual pats on the head, notoriety and eventually monetary gain for a job well done. And yes, obviously I realize artists do also have bills to pay and must survive but it’s hard to do so without you or someone else on your behalf saying “Hey everybody! Look how amazing I am”.
“It’s the dues we all have to pay
It’s the reason we’re all here to stay
Hell, this is gonna be your lucky day
So keep laying down those rails
Sledgehammer poundin’ on the nails
Just sing along if all else fails
It’s the Hollywood Chain Gang”- Tony Lucca
It bothered me and I couldn’t stop thinking that whatever medium of art, producing something to be viewed by the public will bring narcissistic attention. It sticks like a yucky guilt-filled film that can never wash off. I doubt anyone wakes up as an artist and is like “Hmm. How self-absorbed can I be today?” but the act of creation inherently draws this out. Even when creating or being inspired by an external event, cause or a loved one. By releasing it, you are saying, “These are MY thoughts and feelings about X therefore YOU should also think and care about X”. Even typing these words right now fall into this category.
Does that mean all art should cease? Imagine how empty the world would be without it but recognition of this intended or unintended consequence or character trait is freeing. “Narcissist artists unite!”- Said no one. Now, it’s time to fill out some volunteer applications to do community service in the spirit of sincere altruism. Ok, am getting off the soapbox and will put down the virtual mirror. For now.
“When I look at narcissism through the vulnerability lens, I see the shame-based fear of being ordinary. I see the fear of never feeling extraordinary enough to be noticed, to be lovable, to belong, or to cultivate a sense of purpose.”- Brené Brown
So here’s Blue Ivy. Whoa, gorgeousness. The one above has shown out once again. And by that I mean God, not Beyonce. HAHAH! Look at lil’ Ivy Bluebaby in all this preciousness. Magic has happened. And you know with Jay we were all hoping for magic.
The documentary premieres tomorrow night on HBO at 9pm.
So on to gossiping… lol.
Amber, uhhhmmm. definitely shoulda stayed her tail home on this night. She is carrying a freight truck! Lawwd knows that’s a boy. Crazy enough–it’s not really in her face much. Ha. I wish her and Wiz the best of luck with their baby truck-err boy.
Kanye, o Kanye. Well… whatever was being done on this walking tour was not flattering to poor Kim. It’s always a voice that screams donnnnnnnnnnnnn’t wear bright colors when you’re uhmmm newly pregnant… besides it straddles the line of ‘thickums pregnant’ and ‘I’m not sure you could have had three burgers in one sitting.’ I’m just saying. Wait, is it a cowinkie-dinky that Kanye and Amber are both prego at the same time? I dunno. I’m just sayin.’…
Robin Thicke and his son Julian lookin like studs and muffins.
Although I’m not sure where Paula comes in? (Hahah, I kid!) Beautiful families.
And Paula has Halle definitely on the pretty-o-meter. But, they’re both up there.
I used to want my hair cut like Halle, now I just want this guy to be my baby-daddy:
Nahla and Gabriel are definitely enjoying each other. I Love it.
Ok, enough fun for the day. Happy weekend. chics and sticks. See ya.
Senior Editor and Celebrity Columnist
Beyonce's pic scouted from: GlobalGrind The rest from: BCK
Without Valentine’s Day, February would be… well, January. ~Jim Gaffigan
Today is Valentine’s Day – or, as men like to call it, Extortion Day! – Jay Leno
I don’t understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine’s Day. When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon. ~Author Unknown
During a post New Year’s Rite-Aid run a few days after the Times Square ball dropped ushering another year of existence, the sight of employees frantically taking down Christmas decorations, shoving unsought toys/presents into discounted sale aisles and plastering red hearts everywhere, greeted me. Heart-shaped candy and amorous sentiment cards which will lie in wait to be bought at the last minute by clueless ones who will forget until the day of, what day it is, stood being arranged and stacked. For six weeks each year, anyone harmlessly looking for toothpaste and Noxzema will have baby Cupids and soft rock ballads shoved down his or her throats inescapably.
In case you haven’t noticed, it’s time to feign PDA and parade our relationships all over town so everyone knows just how deeply in love we are again. It can’t possibly be real love unless expensive dinner (which you can’t really enjoy because you have to eat daintily), diamond jewelry and chocolate with nuts are involved, right? Clearly falling out of love with the Valentine Day’s concept several years ago because of how commercial an industry it’s become and the silly idea that there’s only one day a year to publicly express how you feel about each other so skipping from February 13th -February 15th will now be preferable. I’m all for stimulating the economy and am a hopeless romantic at heart (lol) but do we really need the ephemeral tokens of affection? Within hours, talk shows and commercials will return back to hawking useless things we can’t live without.
Last year, I bravely ventured out alone (declining a hastily planned blind date) to a concert on Valentine’s Day to see Melanie Fiona and Robin Thicke. As you might expect, I had reservations about doing this because naturally I wondered whether I’d vomit being the third wheel in the forced date nights in progress. I humorously did indeed encounter some awkward first date moments, empowered groups of Beyonce’s “Single Ladies”, couples in mid-fight and married women openly fantasizing about being with Robin Thicke (I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him and his blue eyes are really hot), regardless of who was sitting next to them. Besides the music (my fav songs were “Wrong Side of a Love Song” and “Pretty Lil’ Heart”), it truly turned out to be an entertaining case study after all.
So, in conclusion, if Valentine’s Day is your thing, good for you. Enjoy. You get a cookie. A stale gourmet one bought at 9 PM from the only supermarket open.
I’ve always wanted to run away to the sea, whatever that means. To suck on a cigarette while throwing
silk shifts into a worn taupe bag, Juliette Greco in the background while I flick the glowing end of a Lucky
Strike and slip into a pair of nude kitten heels. To step out into the thin film of a summer night without
turning back for one last look, one leg in front of the other, putting up my hair as I walk and letting
smoke escape through parted lips. The only problem with this, other than lung cancer, is that there isn’t
too much to run away to, or from for that matter.
We wake up every morning, squinting in the sun, and close our eyes again. We close them most of
the time, don’t let our pupils expand, forget the color of our own eyes after a while. I’d like to stride
into a bus stop, the wind in my back, with unfeeling eyes that only Margot Tennenbaum could rival. As
deliciously cliché as this all is, I don’t run. And maybe that’s not so bad.
The sea is so beautiful because it’s not true. I adore lies, collect them in notebooks, tape them up on my
wall and surround them with twinkling white lights, flip page after page of them and devour every word,
watch them pass by and let my gaze linger. Lies roll off the tongue, look pretty on a typed page and
scrawled against skin. People are messy, complicated, and don’t have much of an idea as to
what comes next. Which isn’t to say that beautiful moments don’t exist. There are some moments when
you just know. Armfuls of Lily of the Valley, swimming in white sheets on drizzly days, soft lips against
yours, a long bath.
It is then when I run, taking in breath after breath, and let my feet pound against the
Picture courtesy of Wicked Halo, Ana Bagayan, thank you.