My kids have a book that they like to read, almost nightly, called The Sneetches and its by none other than Dr. Suess. It's poetical genius and the kids love it because when things rhyme, they learn the words and can start to "read" the book without us. The book is about The Sneeches. A funny looking lot of hind-leg walking animals as only Suess could create. The deal with the Sneetches is that for some reason that the reader never discovers, some Sneeches have stars on their bellies and some do not. Those with stars feel they are superior to those without, and those without sit in hum-glum misery wishing they had been born tattooed. Then one day the sly, Sylvester McMonkey McBean brings a machine that allows the plain belly Sneetches a chance to be different....or rather...the same as those with stars.
Where am I going with this? The land of the stars, of course, Hollywood. I don't understand why with fame and fortune comes this uncanny desire to influence those of us without stars on our dressing rooms. They parade around with political ideals, weak or wacky morals, and social mix-ups and look at the rest of us like we're idiots or too backwoods to understand. "Marriage is so last century, let's all just co-habitate." Why would ANYONE want to be married? "Let's make millions off a song that encourages drunken one-night stands." Why? Cause that's why there are condoms and it's FUN. Everyone else in the world must be so bored.
I marvel at the headlines screaming from the magazine's in grocery stores. Why do we give two hoots what Kate and her date are doing with her eight? A guy cheated on his wife, so let's attack her house so we can get her broken-hearted reaction. Morals are for losers. Life is G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S right? How's that working out for ya, Hollywood?? LOOK AT THE HEADLINES! The same way it works out for the rest of us when we loose our heads and pretend God doesn't exist. We get divorced, we get hurt, we get dead.
So what do those of us without stars do? We whine. We mope. We wait for old Sylvester McMonkey McBean to zip us through a star-making machine like maybe then we'll matter. So for now we'll draw on our own stars. We'll dress like them, act like them, talk like them. So what happens when the plain bellies get stars? What happens when people with different or, gasp, "traditional" (more on why I despise that phrase another time, but it works for this diatribe) ideas take the microphone? I've got this book memorized so I'll just take you there
When the came out they had STARS! They actually did, they had stars upon thars!
Then they yelled at the ones who had stars at the start:
"We're exactly like you, you can't tell us apart.
We're all just the same now you snooty old smarties, and now we can go to your frankfurter parties"
"Good grief", groaned the ones who had stars at the first, "we are still the best, and they are the worst, but now how in the world will we know?" They all frowned, "If which kind is what, or the other way round?"
Those with stars will always move away from those trying to be like them. They have to be groundbreaking or they'll be forgotten. They have to push limits or their Google search numbers will drop. No one will remember that they are special.
Am I guilt-free from wishing my belly had a star? Of course not. Anyone who says they've never even had an inkling is either a liar or Amish. But I do hope, that as a country, or maybe just as a mom, we can start looking at stars as balls of gas millions of miles away, rather than gasbags oozing out of 90210. Enjoying what's left of the art form in entertainment, rather than the form of the artist.
I know, I know. This is an idealistic, conservative rant, but you don't have to read this blog ever again if you don't want to (but I kinda hope you do). After all, I'm just a plain-belly Sneetch. And I have no idea what purpose writing this down has other than that it's cathartic.
The Sneeches got really quite smart on that day. The day they decided that Sneetches are Sneetches, and NO kind of Sneetch is the best on the beaches. That day the Sneetches forgot all about stars, and whether they had one, or not, upon thars.
Good night, sweet darlings! Mama will take her pill and be calmer in the morning.
