“If he don’t look good, we don’t look good. This is our president. He has to be the freshest, the flyest, [have] the flyest planes, the best factories.” That was just one soundbite from Kanye’s lunch with 45 a few weeks back. I’m not sure if anyone gives a shit what Kanye thinks about politics; I certainly don’t. This college dropout and his MAGA hat were looking for one thing—attention. I mean, he married into the Kardashian family, who is in the news 24/7 for acts as valiant as fucking people and wearing clothes that show everything but a tampon string. So, he needs even more attention? If he used the spotlight well and shared some sound thoughts—or even rapped—we might have turned our heads instead of shaken them. A new Kanye rap would have become a big hit, appearing in iTunes before the meeting even aired. I probably would have downloaded it, regardless of being on the other side of the aisle. I’ve been in his aisles before, by the way, and it’s his rehearsed words that sound best.
Years back, Tom Cruise accosted Matt Lauer (not smiling on The Today Show anymore) about the evils of psychotropic medication. I’m just a layperson, but I’ve seen how Prozac and Concerta can quell the symptoms of anxiety and ADHD. About a month before that, we all saw Tom dramatically jump over Oprah’s yellow couch to tell the world how crazy he was about Katie Holmes (before she eventually dumped his psychotic ass). I don’t need to get into the Scientology component to complete this picture. All of his crap ruins happy memories for me. Now I can’t smile when I watch reruns of him in his tighty-whities, lip syncing “Old Time Rock n Roll.” I want to keep rooting for Maverick as he charms the underwear off of Kelly McGillis, but Tom’s freakishness ruined that, too.
Then there’s Roger Waters, who spewed some anti-Israel sentiments a couple of years ago. I can’t name how many times my best friend and I watched The Wall in high school, while eating garlic knots on the couch. I know every word to “Comfortably Numb.” My sister and I even sang it at my dad’s bedside, when he was in a post-stroke coma. This sounds creepy, but trust me when I say it was a beautiful moment. Roger, thanks for sucking the joy out my defining snapshots. And, Roseanne, why’d you have to go and tweet your stupid, racist comment when your revived-show was crushing it? I’ve loved you and your family since the eighties, Mrs. Connor! Shut your fucking mouths, people! Save yourselves by telling only your inner circle your twisted thoughts, and pay your publicist a little bit more to somehow take hold of your tongues.
The Silver Screen stars had it right. They let the movie studios control their public images. Yes, half of their marriages were farces, and they were, in a sense, lying to their fans. But, their fans were happily shielded from their pinups’ private lives as they skipped to their movie theatre seats with popcorn in their hands. It was decades later when they learned their beloved Oscar-winner, Joan Crawford, hit the bottle too much and beat the living shit out of her daughter with a wire hanger. Those girls who dreamed of banging Rock Hudson learned years and years later that he wanted to bang their brothers instead. No harm, no foul, right?
While knowledge is power for sure, I want permission from the Hollywood gods to remain ignorant. I will admit I won’t always turn off a Pink Floyd song, and I will still see Yeezy in concert if I’m offered a ticket. I won’t ever patronize a property, restaurant or business with the name T_ _ _ p behind it, however. He’s just plain inexcusable.
I dedicate this to the families of the recent Pittsburgh synagogue shootings. May the victims’ deaths not be in vain and serve a larger purpose in the fight for gun control and against anti-Semitism. In the midst of this tragedy, the first of my friends became a grandmother and welcomed a new life. She is happy beyond words. Let’s hope her granddaughter grows up in a safer world.
*All names have been changed.
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