In a world in which such talentless morons as Oprah Winfrey and Britney Spears can be considered "stars" in any sense of the word, I look back with great longing on the days when people became famous because they actually had done something worthwhile. I remember when people could actually play the guitar, and that was the key to being a rock star (Eddie Van Halen, Randy Rhodes). I remember when men built companies (Ross Perot) rather than inherited money (Donald Trump). I remember when women became famous because they were beautiful and talented actresses (Lynda Carter) rather than simply cheesy, young, rich, train wrecks (Paris Hilton). I remember when politicians built careers and showed leadership for decades (Ronald Reagan) rather than simply being a worthless empty suit, a political flavor-of-the-month (Barack Obama).
The one person that sort of functions in my own mind as the watershed for when fame was disjoined from substance, and style began to predominate, is a singer named Christopher Cross. An ugly guy, overweight, and not particularly socially adept - he wasn't the kind of musician that would likely be found on a typical teenage girl's bedroom wall. But boy could Christopher Cross sing. He had talent. Nothing to look at, mind you, but he oozed talent.
That was the 1970s. Jump ahead nearly 40 years to a time when A Messiah is anointed based on his ability to move men with his great swelling words. A Messiah is promised who has spiritual depth and a wisdom beyond his years. And of course these false hopes are only maintained during the campaign by controlling his appearances more than a person stricken with OCD controls their bathroom's tap.
And of course the style falls away and reveals the stunning lack of substance when the election is over: a bungling idiot incapable of forming an English sentence without a teleprompter, a fool incapable of forming a cabinet, a liar incapable of telling the truth, and a socialist incapable of masking his naked thirst for power.
How refreshing to find, in a world corrupted by style, that substance still lives. There may be hope for society yet....
Susan Boyle for president.
How wonderful to learn that there is still something within man - some men - that is full, genuine, and real. I'll gladly place my HOPE for CHANGE in the 48-year old virgin....