E. here. I’m a huge fan of Voodoo Drummer’s blog. While working on my next novel, I thought it would be fun to offer other bloggers a chance to Ruminate On a few topics. I gave Voodoo free reign, because I know his talent: Random Blogging. Voodoo finds the subtleties of life interesting. Even when he tackles broad subjects, he debates them logically, without buying into verbosity. He has a unique gift for telling it like he sees it. Any of you that are fans of my blog will see Voodoo and I have a shared view of the world. If you’re brain damaged, we’re apt to tell you…while talking about ourselves in the process 😉
Voodoo Drummer On: The Fart Game
This is the part you’ve all been waiting for. I can tell.
A funny thing happened to me on the way to work this morning. I realized I had work this morning, DOH!
A funny thing DID happen to me while I was at work though. I had this random thought about the way people perceive themselves and others. It came to me when I was remembering one of the many stand up comedians with whom I became acquainted in my adolescence. There was a joke that Eddie Murphy told in one of his stand up routines that really got under my skin for some reason. I’m talking about a joke from his “Delirious” stand up routine where he basically tells a laughing audience that “everyone wants to smell other people’s farts.” Look it up sometime on youtube under Eddie Murphy’s “Fart game” routine.
Yet I’ve been thinking about the reality that this joke is based on. I’m not going to sit here and say we all want to smell other people’s farts. I don’t even want to smell my own feet after a workout. Talk about the power to wilt flowers at fifty paces! But something in what Eddie Murphy was joking about raises a question regarding the human condition. If we’re so hell bent on avoiding embarrassment to ourselves, why do we have a ball embarrassing others?
It’s a trick question, really.
Anyone whose watched the Jerry Springer or Maury Povich “Who-mah-bebe-daddah” or “whachoo-be- doin-sleepin’- wi’- my- F(bleep)- sistah” shows knows the power of watching other people embarrass themselves. These shows are the paragon of our society’s incredible ability to profit from train-wrecks. They also do something very important for humanity. They deliver unto us a sense of perspective. We could BE the ridiculous, pathetic people on these shows if our lives had gone differently in some way.
In short, we can always be the one in the room who farted.
But there is something about celebrity or infamy that seems to double what I like to call the Simpsons “ha ha” factor in our culture. I began to think of this when I picked up a copy of a book written by the widow of Bernie Madoff. I abhor celebrity gossip shows, and I detest shows that shove the scandals of criminals down our throats with the same vehemence. Nancy Grace is a shrew that can suck a cock (just not mine). Yet as I picked this book up and scanned it as a “return to publisher,” I had to wonder what the widow of a man so surrounded by the public scandal of his thievery could say about him. I wondered if she would put him in a positive light, or if she would damn him. Life is never black and white, and neither are relationships. I would be willing to bet that there were many elements of normal family function; of normal human life.
But the Springer voyeur in me also kind of wanted to know how she reacted when she realized what he was being accused of. I wondered if she could confirm the truth of any of it.
I felt vile, but somehow my curiosity was awakened.
And this may in fact be the curse of celebrity that so many of us don’t get. Could it be the reason that celebs like Charlie Sheen decided to push the envelope? Is there a pressing need for us to get involved in the lives of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt other than to catch the moment when one of them somehow proves to be “imperfect” (preferably while under a wide angle lens). Let’s face it, a lot of us were fucking drooling when Janet Jackson accidentally flashed a boob during the Superbowl a few years back. I admit I might have been salivating because, well, motherfucker, it’s JANET JACKSON! But others of us were sort of pointing and laughing at a nationally televised “wardrobe malfunction.” The words “wardrobe malfunction” became a household term in this country. There is something both sad and oddly titillating about that fact.
And if sex sells, the only thing that sells more is celeb mistakes. Just ask Lindsay Lohan.
I would have asked Jerry Seinfeld today if my co workers are right and he in fact WAS in my Midtown Manhattan Barnes and Noble store today trying to buy magazines..
I started to write this post while I was writing in sort of a marathon fashion with several of my friends. I admit, the voices of my characters can be very strange, especially when I want to write. I can hear them growing impatient.
My characters were starting to sound VERY odd by the time I posted the following on skype:
[9:57:39 PM] Angel Vargas: WE AINT IN NO HURRY TO SOUND NOT>>EDUMACATED AND SHIT
[9:58:03 PM] Angel Vargas: DUDE< YOU BE TRIPPIN
[9:58:13 PM] Angel Vargas: GeT YO BITCH ASS ON DE CAMPUTAH
[9:58:27 PM] Angel Vargas: AND TYPE US REAL FUCKIN’ WORDS!
Considering that the characters of my current book are all demons who hail from neither a ghetto or a trailer park, I had to wonder why I kept hearing them speak like this to me. I still don’t have an answer to that. However, I was thinking about the meaning of fame when I was writing my book. If by some miracle my book were to be the inception of a meteoric rise to fame as a writer, how would I even begin to react?
I’m not sure I want to be the most famousest of hobbits .. I mean writers, and yet the allure of being known for my writing is not lost on me.
I know I’ve expressed my interest in adding the power of my literary voice to the beauty of the world. But I cannot even begin to do that if people never know about it. I have to put myself out there to be read; to have my voice be heard on some level.
And that all happens if I can’t get lots of voice acting work for other people’s audio books! But that’s a story I’ll save for another time .. Muahahah.
So I may be thinking of celebrity in lieu of some fantastic fantasy that my books will reach the world.
May any future marriage of mine last more than 72 hours!
Voodoo out .. (Simpson’s laugh) “HAHA!”
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