Renee Smith's Open Salon Blog

Gonzo Gifts: A Night of Storytelling with Morgan Spurlock

Tue, 18 Oct 2011 11:10:54 -0400

I don't know it there's anything more punk rock out there these days than documentary filmmakers. These guys are the new version of the investigative reporters that I looked up to years ago. Now the old regime is mostly gone, except for Matt Taibi and his few likes, but renegade filmmakers are out there, and certainly along with Michael Moore, Morgan Spurlock is leading the pack.

Like most of us, I first became acquainted with Spurlock in his groundbreaking monster film Supersize Me that not only told the tale and gave the facts... he did what people who do this work dream of--he opened eyes and created change. Because of Spurlock, millions have changed their eating habits at least in some way.... SuperSize Meals are gone, and fast food has started seeking out healthy alternatives to add to their menu. He guinea-pigged himself, created a film, instigated change, made a difference.

Just like Joe Strummer set out to do with the Clash. Get yourself thinking right. Get yourself heard. Create change by creating your art.

Last night I was fortunate enough to attend the University of North Carolina at Wilmington's lecture series with Morgan Spurlock. I knew Graduate School was going to rock, so this being made possible was the proverbial cherry on the top. It felt like such a gift, such a blessing, to be here on a Monday night experiencing this, hearing the almost two hours worth of stories and tales from social change agent, Academy Award nominated gonzo filmmaker Spurlock.

He's just like you'd imagine if you've seen any of this work--witty and hilarious, profound and thoughtful. Spurlock is a story machine. The bulk of his talk involved his latest film POM Wonderful presents The Greatest Movie Ever Sold and not only of its inception into the production office, but the mechanics of how it came to be.

If you haven't seen it or head Spurlock speak, The Greatest Movie Ever Sold well, do. It's out on DVD and On Demand.

Spurlock was devilish as he explained how once they had determined the concept--having a movie about product placement entirely funded by the advertisers--how long it took and how flexible, creative, and, well determined he had to be to complete the project. For some reason....hmmmmmm many many brands did not want to work with him. It took some pretty innovative companies to realize that by being the butt of his jokes, but by being IN on being the butt of his jokes, the companies looked smart and forward thinking. Fear of the McDonald's fallout seemed imminent and it took Spurlock nine months to sign on his first brand. From there, 14 others came aboard and the film was made--cheeky, smart, and eye opening. After the rough cut premiered at Sundance, other brands who once turned him down, clamored to be onboard. These are the stories Spurlock shared, along with anecdotes surrounding his son, faux son and a miniature horse, Ralph Nadar's own product placement, and the perfect cheeseburger.

The audience led the show, with half of the time spent to a Q and A. A nice young man in a suit jacket came to warn Spurlock that he needed to wrap up if there was to be time to sign DVDs after the talk. Spurlock motioned to the long line of audience members, mostly film students, waiting to ask him a question and declined to stop suggesting instead that despite his two airplane trips he'd taken that morning, he was going to stay until it was finished and he'd stay later to sign. Like Billie Joe Armstrong telling the bouncers to back off the kids at a Green Day show, Spurlock was still working and wanted to give the audience what they came for. Generosity.

Generosity of spirit. Spurlock gave and gave to his audience. He answered anything asked of him, and gave far more of an answer that anyone would expect. He actually thought about the questions and told stories surrounding his thoughtful answers. It's no surprise that someone who would be willing to spend one month eating nothing but McDonald's for the sake of his art would be giving enough to actually talk to the people who took the time to spend their Monday evenings with him.

Spurlock's almost stand-up tales explained how he'd survived on credit card while making Supersize Me and went way past the line of safety and financial reasonableness, further, he admitted, than his friends would have gone. He explained that only 2 percent of the brands he called agreed to be a part of The Greatest Movie Ever Sold. That's 98 out of every 100 hung up or said no. Some went further--apparently Abercrombie and Fitch explained in a very personal way why they would not participate--Spurlock wasn't attractive enough to wear their clothing. Standing up to this kind of rejection took perseverance and dedication, and that was the bottom line message of the night. This is how I did it, he said. This is how I did it. It isn't glamorous. I am willing to be the joke of my story, so you will understand. Generosity.

The result of this generosity was hope. He showed, rather than told, just as his films show, that it's worth the effort. That your passions are worth following and the hardships you face can be overcome if you believe--in yourself, your work. If you follow your passion. Passion has to come first and the rest will follow. Amidst the wild stories, sarcastic comments about disparaging companies, peeling back the uglier side of filmmaking, hope shone through. If this guy can do it, I can do it. If this guy can believe, I can believe. Go forth and tell your stories, he blessed us with. Go forth.

Act II

Sun, 19 Jun 2011 17:06:33 -0400

Act II

What started with a life saver couldn't end with an e-mail

but instead, a small ring in the shape of a mouse

an obscure reference to a Russian novel

that is shining the light on their

future

In a room fraught with history of who they are and who they were

their separate childhoods intermingled

with words and limbs

and Seinfeld and Maher and

All Along the Watch Tower

Apologies, truth, and fear

Their history a calm still in the dark

North Carolina night

Around them laughter rang, their hearts beat

the miracle of love.

A comic on the lam

A poet on the rise

Kindred spirits locked,

words regardless.

Miss Darling Is Pink-Slipped

Fri, 3 Jun 2011 17:06:54 -0400

When Miss Darling received the warning Pink Slip on March 31, she was alarmed to say the least. It felt like a fist had punched her in the stomach, her eyes teared, but she refused to cry. No! No! No! and well, if it's Yes, maybe it's a sign of some kind. The fact is that Miss Darling had been worried.... all teachers in the US are worried.

What was once considered a secure job--teachers and nurses are always needed! Everywhere! At all times!--was now one up on the chopping block. Teachers have been laid off in record numbers. Apparently we are shrinking in the number of teenagers and children? No, no we're not. In fact, we are growing in numbers... and with these children having new children at a ridiculous rate, the numbers would have to be monumental in a few years.

But what else could explain teacher lay-offs in a country that so values EDUCATION.

I mean, we do, right? We say we do.

Politicians harp on it. Everyone knows it. We care!!!!

We have state testing and mandates to prove it!

We say it, therefore it's true.

Sadly, it's all a pack of lies and soundbytes.

America does not give a damn about education. Period. End of conversation.

But wait! No, you say, no! We do care! It's the most important thing in the world, the children are our future, we want an educated populis, we care, we care! No. No we don't. Now I will give you the facts to prove this.

If we the people cares about education..........would we be raising or taking the cap off classroom numbers? As Seth Meyers would question on The Weekend Update: really? really?

How many people out there honestly believe that raising classrooms to over 30 students, sometimes as high as 40 or more, equals a quality education? By quality I mean, the student actually learns something. The student is known by the teacher. There might even be one-on-one interaction between student and teacher. If the student is slipping through the cracks, the teacher will be able to intervene and swoop in and hopefully catch the student.

It is not possible.

One teacher cannot give this level of care to approximately 350 students per year--or more. Could you? With a 187 day school year, students are in English, Math, Science for about 150 hours for each class.... with 350 students per teacher, a student should average 3 hours a year face time with the teacher IF everything is fair.

Can a child learn what they need in 3 hours one-on-one and the rest of the time be motivated to (by whom?) to work independently and dilegently? Hmmmm..... not in Miss Darling's experience.

And this is education and therefore not fair, so Miss Darling is here to guarantee you that students are not given 3 hours one-on-one time. This is not because of weak intentions by our public school teachers despite what Michelle Rhee has tried to convince you, dear Public. This is because our classrooms are both babysitting arenas and the dumping ground of students that no one knows what to do with. If even a third of a class is spent trying to reign behavorial issue students in? How much is left? And who does it go to? The kids who yells the loudest or the quietest ones? How much energy does a teacher have left?

Miss Darling has worked in a situation where if students had behavioral issues, it was considered her fault because her lessons were not creative and inspiring and motivating enough.... it was not that the kid was out of control, not-parented, not given consequences for actions at school. A teacher who sent students to the office or wrote up one too many were written up themselves.

What do you think happened? Yes. The out of control kids stayed in class, cussing and spitting and acting the fool. And your kid was in this class, dear Public... and they were not learning.

Overflowing classrooms will not work.

More evidence........ We do not pay our teachers well.

Teachers are professionals. We want the best doctors and lawyers, politicians and plumbers, car mechanics and computer experts.... we say we care about education yet we don't pay well enough to grab the attention of the best and the brightest--unless, like Miss Darling they have a special calling, ah-hem! And guess what, Public? Teachers do. It is fine for Michelle Rhea to play the blame game and point her sharp lying fingers at teachers and say "you're fault, you're fault, nanananananana!" But it's not the teacher's fault. Miss Darling has worked in four schools in two different states and have met very few (actually no) teachers who didn't honestly-from-the-bottom-of-their-hearts -cross-their-heart-and-hope-to-die care. Teachers do care. They work hard. They have integrity. They are doing their best with the little they have to work with. They spend their own money to buy supplies and take classes... they work ungodly hours.... they take the hard way almost every time... they battle parents who don't care or won't accept that their little terrors are not perfection in human form...they deal with administration who all seem to have forgotten what teaching is the second they cross the threshold of an administrative office........ they take work home.....

Even teachers whose methods aren't that stellar, but believe what they do is important make a big difference. Just caring about kids makes a difference....

.....let's say this one more time, Public....with the rare, rare Marilyn Monroe rare exception... teachers are not to blame.

Yes, there are teachers who are worn out.There are indeed. Why are they worn out? Begin this article again and read from the top, and scroll down and up on this site and read Miss Darling's other postings.

If we cared about education, we'd pay our teachers well. Period. Recent surveys of International Education reveals that US teachers work the longest hours coming in at #1 (woohoo! Nothing to be proud of winning--more does not equal better, it equals burnout!) and coming in #11 on salary behind Switzerland, Germany, Denmark, the Netherlands and only a fraction about Australia. We are ranked Average in Learning on a World Ratings Scale, averaging 500 out of 1000. This might explain to me why my students are happy with a 70--Hey, I passed, Dude!!!!! If we as Americans who are so cut-throat and born to succeed are so okay with a 500/1000, who can blame the kids? We aren't even at the 70 mark, Public. We are FAILING.

So knowing this, in spite of this, we are laying off teachers. And these lay offs are not related at all to need or to ability, but to time spent by the teacher at that particular school and where oh where can we save enough..... money. People are always ranting about tenure.... It takes 5 years at the same school in most states to earn tenure. Miss Darling does not have tenure. Apparently the states don't even trust each other in terms of granting tenure. The teachers being laid off are ones that have less than 3 years at their given school (in my state, many more are laying off tenured teachers as well) . So if you changed schools for whatever reason.... you, my friend, are out of luck.

Some of these teachers are "hired back" when final budgets are in. Most are not. Miss Darling will not be. Her school had to cut two postions. They have chosen her's and a Social Studies teacher. The Social Studies teacher will not be replaced.....so therefore that department is outraged as their class sizes will increase... not to mention the teacher herself. She's a brand new out of college first year with energy, ideas, dreams... now she's considering changing professions.

In the case of Miss Darling, the position is Reading. This is a seriously interesting and revealing cut. Miss Darling's Reading is a high school reading class for 9th grade students who did not pass the 8th grade state Reading test. These kids are below proficient in reading. Reading. Yes, reading--what they need to be able to do to perform well in all subjects, including, yeah LIFE. So these kids with low lexile scores take reading to accompany English to build their reading levels. There is a 9th grade state Reading test they will need to pass, in additon to the previous sentence. And then a 10th grade Writing test, and reading and writing are linked, without one you can't do the other very well. These kids now have no supplement.

What message does this send? They aren't cared about. They aren't worth it.

It's all a lie.

And oh yeah, English teachers, you have no back up or support, so you get to take all of your kids to the 10th grade level, including those who are at 8th, 6th, 4th grade levels.... all in 3 hours a child.

And guess what? Not a single coach, of many, was let go.

Miss Darling is sad.

Miss Darling has an exit plan for herself that will probably work okay, but she is sad indeed.

Miss Darling is very brave. Yet for our future, Miss Darling is afraid, very afraid.

And Miss Darling is sick of the lies. We do not care about education. We don't. Admit it. We'd rather have a new cell phone than educate our kids. Miss Darling is not a conspiracy theorist, but is beginning to believe that our elected officials and school adminstrators could not be this stupid. 1 + 1 does equal 2.

Either we are aleady stupid beyond reason or we are intentionally trying to create a stupid population--easily manipulated, easily controlled. Either option horrifys Miss Darling. Being an English/Reading teacher and all, Miss Darling has read her 1984 and Animal Farm, in addition to Farenheit 451.

Moving to Tree Hill.... and there is only One (a love story)

Sun, 22 May 2011 14:05:59 -0400

Growing up a misplaced girl in Texas I always knew I'd move. I never felt comfortable in the spread-out broiling landscape of Houston....... an avid reader and fan of Woody Allen and Al Pacino since Juinor High (or maybe before) , I knew my rightful homeland was New York .... or being an anglophone, perhaps London. Period. My love of Texas Icons--our music and our Tex Mex and our Art Cars and our Austin and Robert Rodriguez--filled and fills a certain part of my soul, but my heart wasn't settled.

Simply put, I never felt at home.

My family isn't a family of movers. We stay put, in the state anyway. Actually finding a way to pick up and pack up and move far away-- a bright, shining toy beacon--was something I couldn't wrap my head around the practicality of actually doing it.

Then my daughters got older. And my youngest, Tallulah, decided that Duke University was the only school for her.

Her decison was based on many things, but certainly one of them was the way North Carolina had begun to snake itself into our psyches.... all of these things she loved, and then her sister and I adopted and loved too...were North Carolina based. Pretty soon, North Carolina became the Dave Foley of states--it made appearances everywhere. You turn on the TV to watch a rerun of The New Adventures of Old Christine or Will and Grace, and there's Dave.....

........ you find a new band you love and they're from North Carolina. A new book? An American Idol contestant? Movie? Writer? TV show? North Carolina.

This would probably be a good time to mention our family's love of One Tree Hill. I'm not sure when it happened. For awhile, Tallulah was the only Tree Hill junkie... a soap opera phenonom about two fine looking guys who were rivals and brothers who both played basketball in an idealic community in North Carolina (where else) where chcerleaders were punk rockers and bad girls and the adults were more screwed up that their children--sort of a CW presents Blood Brothers for teenagers. What's not to love?Then in some magical moment--as mystical and illusive as the last time I read Goodnight, Moon one lost bedtime years prior--One Tree Hill was a family ritual, just as Friends and e.r. before it. The Scott Family was our family. Brooke Davis' dreams? Ours.

One Tree Hill carried us through more family drama than was on the screen... illness, poverty, academic struggles, job hunts, break-ups, deaths, betrayals. You know, life? And it did so to the beat of Gavin DeGraw who we discovered because, yeah, creator, writer and musical guru, Mark Schwahn put him on the show and it's his voice you hear over the opening credits--the bluesy intense..........

"I don 't want to be......

Anything other than what I've been trying to be lately

All I have to do
Is think of me and I have peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms
Wondering what I've got to do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me"

Life got harder and like a lobster slowly boiling, I didn't know for a long time that I was in fact dying. Actually, literally dying just as my soul was metaphorically dying in the hot wasteland of Houston freeways and the agony of abuse that was standing teaching in a North Houston urban classroom (check out Miss Darling. Her teaching posts reveal all.) I didn't know at the time that I was Celiac and that was the reason for chronic migraines eating away at my brain 4 to 10 times a month and rendering my digestive system out of order. What I did know was that driving a 25 mile commute to Abuseland, surviving a heat index of blow torch, and feeling totally alone in a city of millions was shrinking my soul to less than zero.

What I did know was that this was a city that made my oldest daughter Seymour feel like an alien, a nondriving shut in, one of too many who couldn't survive..... And I knew that my youngest had talent and an academic pedigree to present on the World Stage and that Houston had little to nothing to offer her.

And like Christopher Robin and Winnie-the-Pooh, we had to find our True North.

And I knew that the harder we worked, the worse we got. Illness abounded. Absenteeism, legitimate absences based on simple survival, became too commonplace. Migraines, allergies, exhaustion, swine flu, depression, unexplained dizziness... I was threatend constantly by my boss. ... He once made me sit down and listen to him list the mornings I'd been late.... from 30 seconds to 15 minutes. My daughter's high school had me on speed dial.

An episode of OTH was titled:

My Attendance is Bad but My Intentions are Good.

Our family creed was born.

We went to visit Duke University the summer before Tallulah's senior year. My friend since forever Connie lives in Western North Carolina, so we hung out in the mountains, then drove to the campus. It was indeed love at first sight--a gothic fairyland of promise and beauty. Tallulah then asked, begged to visit Wilmington. It was only 2 more hours.... and on the East Coast of the Atlantic.

What the hell is in Wilmington?

It's where they film One Tree Hill. It was also Dawson's Creek.

Say what?

We hit I-40 and made it there by midnight.

Over the next two days we drove every inch of Wilmington seeking out film locations. We blared "I Don't Want to Be" when we found the 6th Street Bridge.

We stood in awe on the actual River Court.

We found Peyton's house,

the Scott house (for sale!),

Tric,

Clothes Over Bros.

It was all there. And as I drove that town, I fell in love. Deeply deeply in love.

What the hell is in Wilmington? Every damn thing.

Beach, river, bridges--including a draw bridge,

a quaint downtown chock full of bars and restaurants in seriously old beautiful buildings, college kids, bars, the largest film studio east of L.A., quirkiness on every corner (they could teach Austin about keeping the freak on) , civil war history, a battleship, theaters, a shop-local mentality, farmer's markets, 100 year old houses, really attractive people, a film festival, resident celebrities..... and this feeling of quiet and peace and understanding, kindness and tolerance.

Here I could breathe. Here I could build a new life. Here I could save my own life.

We had a tire blow out while there, and the mechanic told me when I said in passing that I might just move here--people who do, never leave.

I told Tallulah that when she got into Duke, I would move us all to Wilmington. She did. I did. We're here.

Somehow I found the strength to make it happen. I will never know how. I guess, really, I felt I had no choice. Like Pooh said, it was my True North.

Who knew my True North was a small town on the East Coast of North Carolina and not New York? Not London? Certainly not Houston?

One year later, we drove up to our rented 100 year old cottage, 1 block from the Cape Fear River, less than a mile from the heart of Downtown.... and oddly and accidentally (as I rented it online never having seen the property) sitting directly beside Tric.

We were exhausted traveling with 3 cats and a dog in the cab of the U-Haul.

Our car was falling off the dolly. We had left so much back in Houston. I ws jobless. I was home.

(Tric, I later found out, also shared fame with Blue Velvet....that in fact... everything here is Blue Velvet.. that Wilmington is Lumberton.

David Lynch filled the film entirely on location here, another reason I am quite certain the recongition of this town was immediate and profound).

My world here is part reality and part cinematic fantasy. I taught high school for a year and am now heading for graduate school taking steps toward a life-long dream of a PhD. I shop, I cook, I feed my animals.... I diagnosed Celiac and am reclaiming my health inside and out..... I receive notices on my door when One Tree Hill is filming in my backyard....

......and I have sushi in the same restaurant with Brooke and Julian (Sophia Bush and Austin Nichols)... I notice The Rock crossing the street.... I pass Juliette Lewis on my way to the hair salon. Which is real life, which isn't? It doesn't matter.

Here life is beautiful--from the Cuclourus Film Festival to the subversive film series at the Juggling Gypsy hookah bar, from the fireworks shot off for every reason to snow falling on the beach, from the pride of local farmers at the weekly Farmers Market on Front Street to the bar tales of knife fights and Marine Mayhem at the port bars downtown to the Soapbox laudromat and music venue that shares space with a tattoo parlour to the ever changing and always surprising movie and TV filmings that pop up like the beloved azaleas all over town all of the time.

To paraphrase Elvis Costello: I used to be disgusted, now I'm amused.

Every single day.

By the carriage horses with bunny ears and tails at Easter, by Zac the hippie who sells Freakers, by the Soul Saving Station....by the kindness of the guys at Gravity Records by the charm of Jamie and Matt at Jester's Cafe....

.....and enchanted....

like the secret mailbox at Wrightsville Beach.......

By our first real snowfall covering the fairy tale world in white....

...even the beaches................

..........by the never-ending beauty of the view from the River Walk.......

.......and I stand in my backyard and listen to... silence. The wind blows. My cats wander. I am at peace.

Each day when I drive over the majestic Cape Fear Memorial Drawbridge with downtown Wilmington glistening to my right and a stretch of river to the sea on my left, I breathe. Deeply. Profoundly. Gratefully.

The intensity of that beauty rests my eyes, tired from concrete and traffic and ugly. I am calm. I am healing.

And inside me I know what Mark Schwahn doesn't.....and what I didn't tell him when we met him one night outside our house and he gave us a private tour of Tric.....

That One Tree Hill saved my life.

My Bad Romance with Lady GaGa: Understood at Long Last

Fri, 22 Apr 2011 10:04:26 -0400

Okay. I can admit it. I have issue with Lady GaGa. I finally finally sorted it out. I had this ephiany last night while watching Katy Perry on American Idol. Do not misunderstand me..... I like GaGa. A lot. Her music is totally hot and fun. "Bad Romance" is a finely crafted pop song right up there with the best. I never, ever get tired of hearing it--the louder, the better.

Being a lifelong fan of shock rockers and performance artists starting with the glory that was 1070's --Cher, Alice Cooper (in his heyday with Eva Marie Snake), Bette Midler (have you heard her Sophie Tucker jokes and seen her spectacles?), and Elton John in his platforms and feathers-- as an adolescent (I was an odd kid and probably grew into an odd adult), falling head over heels for Bowie Bowie Bowie, then Lou Reed.......Iggy Pop...Patti Smith..... .the Sex Pistols... then Madonna... Marilyn Manson.....Green Day with Billie Joe literally showing his ass...... and never forget Laurie Anderson...... GaGa should be right up my alley.

And she is.

And she isn't.

Why??? Why can't I fully embrace her? We share the same social cause. Of all the things my bleeding heart bleeds for, it is equality among humanity that is my lifelong dream. I fight, hope, and dream for my gay brothers and sisters. I believe in a lot of things--environmental issues, Health Care for every living human being, local farmers & healthy foods, educational reform, ending poverty, ending AIDS in my lifetime, supply water to the world, preventing abuse to animals, children, women, polar bears and the great gorillas, tigers, and wolves--but nothing, I mean nothing is ANYTHING without basic human rights. Being treated equally regardless of sexual orientation is a god given right. It is the one bumper sticker on my car. It would be my celebrity cause if I were a celebrity. Clearly GaGa in her meat dress believes this, too.

So what's my problem? As I watched Katy Perry's absolute joy at frolicing on the Idol stage last night in her pink light up alien costume, and started thinking of her appearance on Sesame Street, I got it. Lady GaGa seldom, if ever, appears to have fun. She takes herself so seriously that I don't think I've ever seen her even smile in her performances. (since first writing this, I did see her give the one joyous performance I've ever seen--on Oprah, while playing the giant high heel piano--I mean, it was for Oprah... )

I started flashing on Billie Joe Armstrong's performances. A man of social cause, when he is performing he is loving every single minute and it shows. The joy pours from his body into the crowds or through the tube, and you are there with him, ready to follow him anywhere, ready to fight a revolution if he has a call to arms... ("one 21 guns lay down your arms...") He is a serious man and a huge rock and roll star and knows that the two can live happily ever after.

Patti Smith, too. When Patti sings "The people have the power..." I know they do and I'm ready to hit the streets to show mine, unified as one with my fellow human beings. Paul McCartney has his famous PETA videos flashing on screen prior to concerts... then he walks on stage and sings "Elenor Rigby" and we love him and his right to his cause all the more. Michael Stipe? Dead serious beliefs, rock star extravaganza. And Bruce Springsteen.

I need my rockers and beloved celebrites to have social causes, to be socially responsible, and Bruce Springsteen is THE MAN. George Clooney? God bless you. Leonardo? I think he can save the planet. So what is the difference?

Back to Katy... there is something so authentic about her. She wears extravagent costumes--she does shocking things. One of the best things I've ever seen was the Merry-Go-Round Dress that she wore on the European MTV Awards a few years ago. Remember when she rode that huge tube of lipstick? I have never had the impression she sits at home thinking, what can I do to shock and convince.... what she does is truly connected to herself... it is a continuous Katy Perry fantasy. You can almost see her thoughts, I love candy. I'm going to dress like candy. .... She doesn't live on a soapbox. Lady GaGa does. That's the difference.

Madonna smiles. All the time. When she performs, she is happy. It shows. Her joy spreads.

Lady GaGa never, ever leaves it at home. And she is treading dangerously close to Bono Territory. Like some of GaGa's, I really do love almost all of Bono's music. I also believe in his social causes. I think, like GaGa, he sincerly wants to change the world for the better and probably has the very smarts needed to do it. He is a quiet man. He is a repected man. He meets with Politicans and Religious Leaders.

And he's become, to me, a self-proclaimed Ambassador of Everything Right. And soemtimes it's just frankly too much. I appreciate it. I admire it. And sometimes I just wish he'd be a rock star. But the fact is that Bono earned his right to be this ambassador of Everything Right. He delivers song after song that embraces his politics.... think of "Sunday Bloody Sunday." He didn't come out of Ireland preaching...he came out singing... and in time, with his artistry respected and his name equivalent with honesty and integrity, he transcended the throne of Rock God to that of Peacemaker, Speaker for Others.... He did not pop out of a jack-in-the-box in a bloody face wrap demanding to be heard.

Gaga has skipped steps that she honestly needed in order to have a platform of integrity. She is not convincing other's to follow her path, she is turning them away.She is preaching to a choir. And yes, that is important. People need outlets, they need validation.... but I wonder for how long will she be able to hold this reign. Even die-hard fans are starting to tire of the constant barrage of images... not all of them are good... The impact is lessoning when they become diluted and worn and dim from lack of orginality. Every performance can't be a spectacular. Either Gaga is going to have to go into hiding and reveal herself only occasionally or she is going to have now and then tone it down. Her latest performances on SNL were... ah, lame. They offered nothing new.... she herself diluted her own good music. The power of "Born This Way" was reduced to little more than a sideshow with costumes that looked like they were thrown together minutes before the show and the hideous birthing scene........ History is there for a reason. Bono and Madonna, Bowie and Cher have survived the ages... by being human. By revealing thier Passion. And by embracing their Humanity. The Sex Pistols, with their full-on shock sensory died within months....... Take a breath, put on some jeans, and be human Mother Monster.