Lessons from Star Jones

There are a lot of names that flash across the tabloid conscience, and while they all milk their fifteen minutes, we can, for the most part, recognize the foundation of their fame. Not that there is a discernable relevance to these figures in relation to our own trials and tribulations, but watching the rise and fall of public figures can sometimes add humor to our own life experiences. Some of us can relate to the unfortunate relationship a certain intern held with a person in high powerful office. Others can sympathize with a celebrity's addictions. We read "US Weekly" and "InTouch" to form a connection with those in the spotlight; similarities can bind us to our most beloved Hollywood figures.

There is also a type of celebrity that cause instantaneous disdain, derision, and disgust: the "why-are-they-famous ?" celebrity. Not knowing how or why this person is on the cover of "The Star" can pique ire rather than curiosity.

My case in point: Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt.

They're famous for being on a reality soap-opera that was actually scripted. In "real life" they have become engaged. With the engagement has come Star Jones-sized demands.

They have demanded (and I use that word puriently) that every aspect of the wedding be donated, ala Star Jones. They expect to pay for nothing.

These are two bimbos that have blown their paychecks on night after night of partying, being out at "hot spots" to ensure they catch the media's eye. Now that the biggest days of egoism have arrived, they are left unprepared.

They have turned being pseudo-celebrities into a cash cow, only they've milked the teat of fame dry and the pail is empty.

So like every member of the "me" generation they have decided that the public owes them everything fo, forgetting the land-slide of negative press Star Jones received after her donated wedding.

I didn't have anything donated for my wedding.

We made our invitations on a laptop and printed them, at our own expense, on colored copy paper at the Kinko's. We couldn't afford to go home to Illinois for the ceremony, let alone have everyone come out to the west coast, either. There was no reception, no cake, no limo. We made the best of what we had and we managed to have a rather spectacular day. Everything came out of our own pocket.

My Dad didn't have his health insurance or mortgage paid for by others when he was laid off. He didn't have Volkswagon buy the van we took on family vacations. Wall Drug Store didn't pay for us to get to South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore.

A donation is a charitable gift, for one not able to buy the given item. Food is donated to starving Third World countries, books to schools that operate on shoe-string budgets. Disaster relief is an answer to a cry for help. Donations are given to a good cause.

For the life of me, I cannot phathom how these two self-absorbed ego-freaks believe they constitute a good cause..

Wamt to experience a day as recipients of donated goods? Walk your fake-and-bake asses down to the Goodwill. That tent you want? Sleep under one in a reugee camp in Chad. Free food? Wait in the soup kitchen lines of New York.

It's not that they are celebrities for no reason that bugs me, but rather, that the centerpieces of the "me" generation are ironically asking that same generation to give to others.

To be fair, you are supposed to get something "old, somthing new, something borrowed"....

Make Mom Proud

Today is Mother's Day and convention would have me extolling the virtues of my own mother and motherhood in general. I'll leave that to Hallmark and the ladies on the View. Today, I want to comment on an article I read in this Sunday's paper.

This last Friday there was a dance held. A prom, really. There was a DJ, decorations, girls in long flowing dresses. The ubiquitous chaperones. Actually, there were chaperones for every guest. And every guest was proud to have their chaperone there with them. These guests were stars in their first big feature, the spotlight shining on each of them individually and equally. They wanted to be watched over. They wanted to be seen,
These guests were patients at the Shriner's Hospital, kids who face life-long struggles with illness or injury and have had to subbordinate normalcy for treatment and ongoing care. These are the kids who have never known a spring break, intra-mural sports, sock hops, sleep-overs. What they have known is isolation, gossip, teasing, staring, gawking, fear, and indifference. Because of their conditions, they have never had the opportunity to "fit in" and consequently have few friends.

Almost every television program geared toward the teen-set seems to be grounded in viciousness, self-aggrandizement, glamour, cliques, materialism, and selfishness. The Hills. Gossip Girl. The O.C.. Keeping up with the Kardashians. Nothing of value, but still held as the standard for teen behavior, if not by teens themselves. Look at the examples of cruelty and brutality streaming on You Tube, videos of "girl fights" and school bus riots. Schools today have become venues of torture not seen since the Inquisition under Torquemada.

And then there was Ariel Rogers. Her picture featured in both photographs for this article. She's a beautiful girl. The prom queen in her own right. Without reading the headline or the story below, at first glance, she appears to be able to fit right in with the "beautiful people" in a strata removed from the rest of her high school peers. But look closely at the picture, look closely at her eyes, and you see something missing from today's youth: compassion. Not feel-sorry-for-you compassion, but a compassion filled with hope and real caring. Here is a girl who breaks the stereotype of beauty by showing the beauty of a person most never see. I have long ago lost faith in our future generations. Our culture has become one of rampant selfishness and immediacy. How incredible a relief it is to sometimes be proven wrong, or at least hasty in coming to a conclusion. Ariel Rogers is evidence that we haven't completely lost sight of making the world around us a better place.

Here I have spent the last year of my life selling $300 toasters to plasticene Lexus-driving Barbie dolls. Ariel Rogers has spent hers making sick children smile.
My future is filled with doctors and needles and pills and appointments. It's aggravating, frustrating, annoying. But I get to live at home. I have freedom of mobility. I have friends. I have poor health but I can function normally in soceity. Do I have room to complain? I got to go to my Prom (I actually went to three of them). I had a steady girlfriend throughout high school. I had it pretty easy. And now that I'm sick myself, I think I have the right to shake my fist at the powers that be?

I find myself full of regret that I was not the big enough person to do back then what Ariel Rogers does now. I do not know her but through this article, and yet, I am immensely proud of her and those who volunteered with her. Looking again at these pictures of kids in wheelchairs, dressed to the nines, smiles big enough for their own zip codes, I can see what real honest joy and gratitude looks like. And it makes me ask myself, again, what am I doing to make someone happy who could not otherwise find happiness themselves? And what is is that drives someone like Ariel? Drives her to break out and be different at the risk of being called different herself? At least these kids, usually labelled as "different" weren't so for one incredible night. In fact, they probably had the most drama-free prom ever held.

So the tie-in to Mother's Day? Don't just send her a card or take her out to brunch. Give her the better gift: do something to make her proud; make a difference in someone's life. I guarantee you, Mrs. Rogers is a very proud mother indeed.

(The article in question can be found in the Metro section of the May, 11 2008 edition of the Oregonian: http://www.oregonlive.com/news/oregonian/index.ssf?/base/news/1210474508111150.xml&coll=7

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