Notes &
I’ve been reading Changing My Mind by Zadie Smith. I’m pretty sure I’ve referenced this book previously. It was a good choice at this point because I can get quick bits and entertaining stories without committing to an entire novel.
I recently read the story about the author attending the Oscars. The story was, in my opinion, really great. And the fact that the awards are a few short weeks away just made it that much more timely.
Hollywood is a strange beast. I understand the compulsion to perform. To want to be an actor. I understand the compulsion to want to write. To want to be successful at something you are passionate about. But I don’t understand the want to be famous. I mean, blech. Who wants to be followed around incessantly by amateur photographers from TMZ? Who wants to be obsessed over by strangers? Who wants to achieve this by trading in their privacy rights?
I hate that the answer is that plenty of people do. Plenty of people would love to be on the cover of US Weekly. Or in print on Page Six. Or blogged about. I just don’t get it and think it’s kind of gross. Fame, like anything else based on other people’s opinion/adoration/hatred of you, is hollow. It’s not real love. It’s not genuine emotion. Despite my affinity for Johnny Depp, there is nothing sincere about it. My lust is hollow and based on snippets in interviews and photos and a persona that may or may not be accurate.
In the essay, there is a point where Smith is on her way back home after her time in lala land. After seeing all the people that buy into the illusion, and a lot of the people who don’t (namely, other writers) and she finally runs into someone she recognizes and knows who, if I remember correctly, was Jonathan Safran Foer. But was was interesting, and sort of bitter sweet, was that Foer (who I will change if I got this wrong. I don’t have the book in front of me to reference) seemed so “Hollywood” at least in comparison to Smith. Their brief interaction had me picturing Foer giving the typical H-wood kiss-off.
“Yeah, hey what are you doing in town? Gotta go, places to go people to see. I’ll have my people call your people.”
Not the exact dialogue, but the impression I got, nonetheless. It’s certainly no secret that some writers, given a certain amount of success, will start to become characters. Or rather, caricatures. But I’m always surprised by it and interested to observe it.
Random thoughts.
