“It is a rare and difficult attainment
to grow old gracefully and happily.”
Getting old.
Not just the age thing.
The worn-out thing too.
Could be they’re the same thing when it comes to Lady Madonna. I’m her senior by enough years to know all about old. Like in the tired old cliches of life and culture.
We read recently that the old broad wants to get a tat on her twat. Now that’s culture. Last month it was free oral sex for Hillary voters. And not long before that she was strutting around in an outfit designed to showcase her sagging buns. Who does that sort of thing? Someone terrified of the dark outside the spotlight. But running around like a clown, chasing the spotlight in the circus’ center ring only serves to scream “I’m old! I’m old!” This Eveready Bunny’s out of juice.
If you insist on getting that tat, Madame, here are a couple of suggestions: “Out of Order.” Maybe “Dry Well,” or even “Free!” I’m sure others will forward some zippy suggestions.
Oh, I know about old alright. Anyone who tells us growing old is a picnic is either fooling herself or lying. It’s Destiny having its way with us. There is no escape. The best we can do is do nothing to make it worse. Or relax, stop chasing elusive spotlights, enjoy the people and things you love that are still around you. Otherwise all those who have cursed and hated you finally get their revenge: your old age.
Now here is a lady who refuses to negotiate with the reflection in her mirror. Apparently unwilling or unable to age gracefully. I seem to recall Camille Paglia saying pretty much the same thing. It probably hurt more coming from Camille because she has female creds and I have none. I don’t want them. We over-the-hill-male-vampires live in the penumbra, averse to bright light.
I say to all these old ones, those who never stop doing stupid things in order to draw the spotlight toward them; get the hell out of the way. Let the younger clowns get their brief time in the center ring. Recognize, for most (though not all), the spotlight won’t warm them for very long. So what’s the big deal, dear Lady? You made your fortune, got your awards and name on The Walk, and managed to corrupt an entire generation of young girls in the process. Congrats. What the hell else do you want? Be on your way, Lilith! Lead all those other never-let-go celebs and politicians into the Valley of Shadows.
This phenomenon of things and people unable to adjust to getting old is a sad one. I recall, as a long-time-ago newbie in the creative field, that the guiding mantra was “don’t do it the old way.” Don’t be a hack. Find a fresh, memorable way to get your ideas across. And way back then, during the 1960s-1970s “Creative Revolution,” when we had Peter Max, The Beatles and Warhol, we were finding new ways. Back then, it was a shock to see beautifully published photographs of black men with ‘fros in sexual poses with alabaster women. To see sophisticated women smoking slim cigarettes. To hear 80-year-old ladies curse in tv sitcoms. To see a reclining Namath in nylons... oh wait...forget that.
Now all that shocking “new” stuff has gotten old. It’s all become a boring, unclever exercise in repetitive cliches done by new people with little if any creative talent. And it’s all still fawned over by shallow critics with even less talent. Which may suggest that we have either run out of ideas, or that real creativity now resides in other realms. What could be more creative than the digital revolution and all the amazing things which it has set upon us? And it’s only just begun!
Which is why it’s all the more tiresome seeing old cultural cliches continuing to be used in entertainment as if they still raise eyebrows. The good-looking but tough lady President. The gay priest. The latest moronic manifestation of Spicoli. The good-looking, silver-haired, crooked Senator – yeah, that one always was way too realistic to be shocking. Let’s not overlook the gullible or desperate woman who reveals her breasts, or opens her legs for the hungry camera, or tattoos her privates in the spotlight. But cheese melts quickly in the hot light.
So what next, Lady Madonna? Already the light dims.
