Monthly Archives: June 2012

And the award goes to…

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Now that the Tony’s award winners have been crowned and Queen Elizabeth’s 60th Jubilee millinery marvels have been mothballed, the busy spring fawn-over-your-favorite-celebrity season has finally exited – stage left. Another reason to dance a celebratory jig in our bare feet under a summer solstice sky.

I stopped watching award shows several years ago – yes, even the Oscars – Vera Wangy-splattered red carpet and all. It wasn’t a difficult decision – my gut made it for me. I just couldn’t take one more sycophantic tribute or disingenuous thank you. Honestly, twenty minutes in and I felt as if I had eaten my entire bag of candy on Halloween night. Icky.

America’s penchant for creating awards for the sole purpose of watching celebrities puke praises all over each other’s creepy couture gowns is a difficult tradition to wrap my head around. The spring awards shows are obviously one long publicity stunt that seems to work well. So, woo hoo for their bottom line. But, why do privileged people with great jobs need to have their egos blown up like King Henry the VIII’s quadruple chin? It’s not like they cured cancer or saved an entire village from a terrorist attack.

And speaking of good ‘ole King Henry, another thing that I used to have a difficult time understanding was the monarchy. What use were they, other than to provide material for comics, who must have prostrated themselves in humble thanksgiving when Prince Charles reconnected with Camilla.

I am reconsidering my position on the royalty, however, for having resisted the temptation to organize into an international self-promoting guild, say something like the Royal Academy of Rich White People Who Wear Funny Hats.

Imagine that organization’s annual award gala:

“For best wrist wave in an open carriage, the award goes to …”

“For best impersonation of a sincere expression while accepting posies from a street urchin, the award goes to…”

“For bagging the most birds on a grouse hunt in the Scottish highlands, the award goes to…”

The royals are most definitely to be commended for sticking to inspecting the troops and hosting dinner parties for a thousand of their closest friends.

So, where are the awards for the people who really deserve it: Parents who work two jobs, but still summon the energy for meaningful time with their children? Children who suffer from painful catastrophic illnesses, but still flash bright heart-breaking smiles? Soldiers who trudge through the unbearable desert heat and sand in constant fear of IEDs, at the will of a nation that most of the time forgets they are even out there?

Come up with an award show for them, and I’ll be right in the front row.

Taking a byte out of Steve’s apple

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Close your eyes, if you will, and imagine a world without ITunes, IPhones, IPods, IPads, IPots, IPans, IPigs – somebody, stop me! Whew. Anyway, if you were one of the two people who in imagining such a world sighed deeply and thought it would be IPfree Paradise, you would have had your world had I been Steve Jobs’ mother, teacher, employee, friend or guru.

Had I been his mother, I would have grabbed him the minute he came within reach, and locked him in the bathroom until he came out smelling like a garden after a spring rain, so that he would have learned that cleanliness is as much about being cognizant of the sensibilities of others as it is about hygiene.

Had I been his teacher, I would have taught him that winning the race, or demonstrating a superior intellect is but momentary glory, as true fulfillment comes not by engendering envy and awe, but by earning respect.

Had I been his employee, I would have documented, notarized and tucked in a vault everything I ever produced for him or suggested to him, if necessary to be used in a court of law, to make him aware of the rights of others to their own ideas.

Had I been his friend, I would have asked him to step outside his ego, and use his keen powers of perception to see the world from another’s point of view, to tread lightly on the feelings of others, as vulnerability is our common bond.

Had I been his guru, I would have had him meditate on the thought that cruelty is the path to torment; peace comes only through an unconstricted heart, and that we are all chosen, each with our own part to play in the advancement of the human spirit.

The implication is that had Steve Jobs not been allowed to exercise his narcissism, he could not have created an empire that helped take communication a quantum leap forward.

And where would that have left us?

I don’t know, for me, with more questions than answers.

Could Steve Jobs have accomplished what he did without his narcissism? Were cruelty and remorselessness and irresponsibility and his distortion of reality vital to his success?

Was Steve Jobs the only person who could have taken technology to the point of providing trillions of megabytes of both helpful and inane information first to our homes, and then through our phones?

Does the fact that we have to play by his rules, use his Genius Bar, rely on Apple in order to find out what’s wrong with our I Anything, even as simple as needing a new battery in an IPod, mean that Steve Job’s is still exercising narcissistic control of us from his grave?

Was Steve Jobs a technological Messiah or a mere mortal?

Did that apple from which he ate fall from the same tree as Adam’s?