When I was 14 years old, in the mournful winter days of a pre-millenium February, my very first girlfriend ever broke up with me after 8 months of earnest yet naïve dating. Of all possible days to break up with me, she chose Valentine’s Day. And she did it over e-mail. The e-mail consisted only of the lyrics to the song “Believe” by Cher, followed by the words “I’m…I’m sorry.” For a brief simulation of how this must have felt, please briefly visit this unknown person’s GeoCities page, and then come back right away.
Upon receiving the email, I hadn’t actually heard the song yet. It was brand new on the radio, so all I had were the words, detached from their peppy and empowering musical context. For those of you unfamiliar with the song, let’s experience it together.
In the first verse, we find out that Cher is: “So sad that you’re leaving / Takes time to believe it / But after all is said and done / You’re going to be the lonely one, ohh oh.” We go on to experience verse 2, in which she states: “I need love to feel strong / ‘Cause I’ve had time to think it through / And maybe I’m too good for you, ohh oh”.
These verses are punctuated by the chorus, during which Cher asks if you believe in life after love, because she feels something inside her say, she really doesn’t think you’re strong enough now. The song culminates in a brutal (yet catchy) victory cry, where Cher and my ex-girlfriend join together in a triumphant duet, proudly declaring: “I don’t need you anymore / Oh I don’t need you anymore / I don’t need you anymore / No I don’t need you anymore!”.
In the days following, I tried very, very hard to imagine what might have inspired her to do this to me, but I’m still a little stumped. The best I can up with is she was probably doing aerobics in her house, jazzercising around her room in sync to Cher’s peppy little pop tune and thinking to herself, “I feel empowered! I’ll break up with Kevan! Yeah! And I’ll do it by sending him the lyrics from this vicious and cold-hearted break-up song!”
I bet that synthetic whoosing sound in the intro and modulated auto-tune thing really made it seem like a good idea at the time, huh? Well, guess what: it wasn’t. Especially when the only thing accompanying the lyrics were the shattering sounds emanating from within my chest. Jeez, it’s been like, over 8 years since it happened and I still get all misty-eyed when I hear Cher’s digitally manipulated voice telling me she doesn’t need me anymore.
I guess I just wanted to advise you all to be careful. Whenever you feel that maybe a quote from a song might express your emotions better than you can, you are wrong. There are many songs out there which seem like nice songs when you first listen to them, but were actually composed by Satan himself in his special studio on the bottom level of hell. These songs include Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me A River,” that song “Too Little Too Late” by Jo-Jo (because I know one of you was thinking of using it), and pretty much anything sung by Bright Eyes or Chris Carrabba. As Bambi’s mother said, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t expect the lyrics from some pop song to say it any more tactfully. And good grief, don’t say it over e-mail.
Showing posts with label syndrome. Show all posts
Showing posts with label syndrome. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Celebrity Worship Syndrome
3 am!
11 degree below zero. I sleep with my eyes open (a marvel I mastered to help me survive dentistry lectures). I realize that I’ve been watching the E! Celebrity marathon for the last hour and a half. And after the break, the special candid feature about Paris Hilton! My face lights up like some Peshawar bound truck loaded with 3,000 mini bulbs with those God forsaken colors.
Shut up Vincezero! That’s my dog, named after an Italian mobster. Brags on and on like a Turk, even eats cannoli like his mother was a peasant in the Vatican. I said shut up you mutt, the grand event is here. And I make a little movie in my head. But no! The theme is “Paris buys a lollypop for 20 dollars from a local kid”, and drives away in her SUV. (rap video?)
It occurs to me then, why hasn’t some telemarketer called me to sell me the same brand of candy she’s got. “Douh”! (in the vocabulary of my greatest inspiration Homer Simpson) they got to me. My masculine fantasies have infected me to the deadly celebrity worship syndrome (CWS).
A third of people in the Untied Kingdom alone suffer from "celebrity worship syndrome," a fascination in the lives of the rich and famous that for some becomes a potentially dangerous addiction, according to New Scientist magazine.
People obsessed by this syndrome ask themselves questions like "I am obsessed by details of my favorite celebrity's life", "I consider my favorite celebrity to be my soul mate" and "If he/she asked me to do something illegal as a favor, I would probably do it." In addition, celebrity fans are significantly likelier to suffer from anxiety, depression and social dysfunction than non-worshippers.
And here’s the interesting part, the condition isn’t just physiological, it goes on to become pathological. The devotee develops an "intense-personal" attitude towards an idol, such as the belief that he or she had a special bond with the star.
At this point, celebrity worship is becoming an addiction. Those in this category are often neurotic, tense, emotional and moody. At its most intense, celebrity worship is "borderline-pathological," a condition found in 1 out of 4 Britons. These include celebrity stalkers and people who are willing to hurt themselves or others in the name of their idol. They correlate with symptoms of psychosis, such as impulsive, antisocial and egocentric behavior.
Just worshipping a celebrity does not make you dysfunctional, but it does put you at risk of being so. There is this progression of behaviors, and if you start, we don't know what's going to stop you.
People tend to get interested in celebrities at times when they are looking for direction in life, as in their teenage years. The situation isn’t much different in Pakistan either. View any moderately good-looking to a knock off local singer’s discussion forum. One can see 14-19 year olds proclaiming their love for the marasi... I’m sorry... singer!
Let’s see now…? Who to blame? And we have a winner! It’s the breaking up or non existence of family structure. Adolescents and teenagers have no one to look upon for reference, no one they can identify with and most importantly no mentors or role-models. So now they do the obvious, yes! Turn to the celebrity for guidance.
So if you find yourself rushing to ebid.com to buy Ben Affleck’s used napkin, or Brad Pitt’s Gucci underwear (no fight club fans, he really does wear Gucci) or Tony Blair’s office stationary (yes, being in the spotlight makes him worshipped), then you my friend need help!
The worst part is, a decade ago, you were famous if you were special. These days you’re special if you’re famous. Hence to say, celebrities have no criteria.
As for me. I’ll go back to watching TV with Vincezero in the sub-zero Quetta winters. Damn you ever image changing pop artists; you get to watch it with your girl. Well, at least he winks like Neha!
11 degree below zero. I sleep with my eyes open (a marvel I mastered to help me survive dentistry lectures). I realize that I’ve been watching the E! Celebrity marathon for the last hour and a half. And after the break, the special candid feature about Paris Hilton! My face lights up like some Peshawar bound truck loaded with 3,000 mini bulbs with those God forsaken colors.
Shut up Vincezero! That’s my dog, named after an Italian mobster. Brags on and on like a Turk, even eats cannoli like his mother was a peasant in the Vatican. I said shut up you mutt, the grand event is here. And I make a little movie in my head. But no! The theme is “Paris buys a lollypop for 20 dollars from a local kid”, and drives away in her SUV. (rap video?)
It occurs to me then, why hasn’t some telemarketer called me to sell me the same brand of candy she’s got. “Douh”! (in the vocabulary of my greatest inspiration Homer Simpson) they got to me. My masculine fantasies have infected me to the deadly celebrity worship syndrome (CWS).
A third of people in the Untied Kingdom alone suffer from "celebrity worship syndrome," a fascination in the lives of the rich and famous that for some becomes a potentially dangerous addiction, according to New Scientist magazine.
People obsessed by this syndrome ask themselves questions like "I am obsessed by details of my favorite celebrity's life", "I consider my favorite celebrity to be my soul mate" and "If he/she asked me to do something illegal as a favor, I would probably do it." In addition, celebrity fans are significantly likelier to suffer from anxiety, depression and social dysfunction than non-worshippers.
And here’s the interesting part, the condition isn’t just physiological, it goes on to become pathological. The devotee develops an "intense-personal" attitude towards an idol, such as the belief that he or she had a special bond with the star.
At this point, celebrity worship is becoming an addiction. Those in this category are often neurotic, tense, emotional and moody. At its most intense, celebrity worship is "borderline-pathological," a condition found in 1 out of 4 Britons. These include celebrity stalkers and people who are willing to hurt themselves or others in the name of their idol. They correlate with symptoms of psychosis, such as impulsive, antisocial and egocentric behavior.
Just worshipping a celebrity does not make you dysfunctional, but it does put you at risk of being so. There is this progression of behaviors, and if you start, we don't know what's going to stop you.
People tend to get interested in celebrities at times when they are looking for direction in life, as in their teenage years. The situation isn’t much different in Pakistan either. View any moderately good-looking to a knock off local singer’s discussion forum. One can see 14-19 year olds proclaiming their love for the marasi... I’m sorry... singer!
Let’s see now…? Who to blame? And we have a winner! It’s the breaking up or non existence of family structure. Adolescents and teenagers have no one to look upon for reference, no one they can identify with and most importantly no mentors or role-models. So now they do the obvious, yes! Turn to the celebrity for guidance.
So if you find yourself rushing to ebid.com to buy Ben Affleck’s used napkin, or Brad Pitt’s Gucci underwear (no fight club fans, he really does wear Gucci) or Tony Blair’s office stationary (yes, being in the spotlight makes him worshipped), then you my friend need help!
The worst part is, a decade ago, you were famous if you were special. These days you’re special if you’re famous. Hence to say, celebrities have no criteria.
As for me. I’ll go back to watching TV with Vincezero in the sub-zero Quetta winters. Damn you ever image changing pop artists; you get to watch it with your girl. Well, at least he winks like Neha!
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