Soman's In the (K)now: A Pop Culture Compedium

Hm, it seems that this e-mail is appearing in lots of Lowellian residents’ inboxes these days. But why won’t anybody publish a biography about me?

Date: Tue, 10 Apr 2001 09:45:11 EDT

From: Portmanbook@cs.com

To: -------@fas.harvard.edu

Subject: your views

Dear --------:

I am writing a biography on Natalie Portman—it will be the first published about her—and I am contacting you to ask if you would be interested in talking to me.

I am interviewing students who have had classes with her or who have had social contact with her on campus. Specifically, I would be interested in anecdotes about her or your thoughts on how other students have reacted to her.

I have written a number of books and you can check me out on amazon.com. The common thread that runs throughout all my books is the effect pop culture has had on America’s economic and political institutions. Aside from innovations in computer software and some areas of medicine, America’s chief intellectual export has become entertainment—and I am interested to know how that has affected Harvard.

I look forward to hearing from you. I have been getting an excellent response from the other students.

Best regards,

James Dickinson

POP CULTURE 101: POP PSYCHOLOGY

If you think about it, anybody who wants to be famous has to be fundamentally messed up. To crave attention, adulation, adoration from the whole wide world means that you aren’t content being happy in your own little corner of the world; a white picket fence, SUV and IKEA furniture in a suburban loft just don’t cut it unless your presence is known, unless you’re a star. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Life wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining if we didn’t have J.Lo’s booty to dish about. (Speaking of J.Lo, have you heard that Puff Daddy is changing his name to “P. Diddy”? What does that mean? Oh and while we’re on the subject of nonsensical monikers, what in the world does “Eden’s Crush,” the name of the WB Popstars group, mean?) But it’s become quite clear over the years that those who go to Hollywood with the explicit intent of becoming famous inevitably end up in AAA meetings, Betty Ford or the adult section at VideoPros. And it’s not just drugs or alcohol—others slip into phobic behavior, sex addictions, obsessive-compulsive patterns, co-dependent relationships, hallucinations, etc. Maybe their mommies didn’t give them enough love. (Hmm, on that note, maybe while I’m off sending Winona Ryder some shampoo—she looks pretty dirty these days—I’ll send Calista Flockhart a teddy bear.) The best part about all this self-destructive behavior is that now we can play doctor and diagnose it! America has become pop psychology central—all of us can recommend a good therapist, self-medicate and blab about codependency, personality and eating disorders, depression, psychotherapy, serotonin, etc. with relative ease. And who better to practice on than these crashing-and-burning stars? Here are some recent case studies:

Patient: Robbie Williams. Diagnosis: Low Self-Esteem. Poor Robbie. Multiplatinum albums, Awards for Sexiest Man Alive from the British Press and Best Butt on Earth from Celebrity Bodies Magazine (there’s a Celebrity Bodies magazine? Yeesh!), and throngs of screaming female fans can’t allay his low self-worth. Recently Williams disclosed that he stumbles into alcoholism every so often to “sabotage” his own success. Williams, who’s known for his cheeky displays of ego (and I mean “cheeky” literally—in the video for Rock DJ, he tears off the skin on his buttocks while receiving oral sex), told a London mag last week that he questions whether he “deserves” his fame and wealth. Um, of course not. But isn’t that the point of being a superstar—dealing with the guilt?

Patient: Kevin Costner. Diagnosis: Delusions of Grandeur and Overall Yuckiness. Though Costner’s career has been nothing if a total muddle, there’s one thing that’s crystal clear: America doesn’t care about him anymore. After enduring drivel like The Postman, Message in a Bottle and For the Love of the Game (I exclude Waterworld because I actually think it was a darn good movie), even the most forgiving folk promised to boycott all future Costner exercises-in-ego. Which meant, of course, that Thirteen Days, his Cuban Missile Crisis drama which opened in December, tanked miserably and didn’t rack up the acclaim he clearly expected. So Costner railed against American audiences in interviews and decided that the movie was, uh, better suited for Cubans. He took the film to Havana, had a screening of it and smoked cigars with Fidel Castro, and according to one eyewitness, is “touring Havana incognito. Many people say he is going round Havana undercover, and is interested in seeing a game of baseball or, maybe like Hemingway, going fishing.” Only one problem—the Cubans don’t like the movie either. Said the Cuban state news agency about Thirteen Days, “The North Americans are presented yet again as the saviors of the world, while Cuba appears in the film, according to some critics, as mere decoration in a sugary film of pure Hollywood style. With more dialogue than action, the film tends to send the spectator to sleep.” Looking back, the Elian Gonzalez brouhaha would have been a lot simpler if we had just traded Kevin for Elian. (Wouldn’t I make a great Attorney General?)

Patient: Jennifer Aniston. Diagnosis: Overanalysis, Low IQ. You just married Brad Pitt, scored a TV-package deal that sets you up for life and are one of the most recognized women in the world. And you’re still complaining? Said Aniston in a recent interview: “There’s been a real intense overhaul—about family, work, everything…I feel, half the time, like I’m one of those teen-age girls…Feeling stupid, feeling good enough, feeling adequate, asking, ‘What am I doing?’—it doesn’t go away.” But at least Jennifer isn’t as bad as…

Patient: Gwyneth Paltrow. Diagnosis: Too Many Disorders to List.

IN THE KNOW SUPERSTARS

It Boy: Christopher L. Pierce ’01. Girls love Chris Pierce. Boys love Chris Pierce. Everrybooodddyy loves Chris Pierce. And why not? He looks like the sixth Backstreet Boy, concentrates in bio-chem but knows how to throw a damn good party, and is an all around fun-loving kid.

SOMAN’S SHORTS

www.somanintheknow.com. An insomniac’s dream…How excited are you about Josie and the Pussycats? I hear it’s terrible, but in that campy wonderful way. I’ll be first in line…Christina B. Rosenberger ’02, my former co-editor and now Arts empress, made the astute observation: “My roommates and I are wondering WHY the model Giselle is going out with Leonardo di Caprio. He isn’t attractive any more (a frat boy paunch without the frat boy is twice as vulgar) and she has plenty of her own money, is the undisputed queen of the super-models and should be able to get any one she wants, or at least get the one she wants to the gym. So we need an explanation. Personally, I think she should pull a Gwyneth and find a trust-fund.”…One of my blockmates asked at dinner the other night, “What are the best hook-up songs?” (translation: “Which CD should I slip in on Friday night after I bring back a pre-frosh from the Grill?) I thought of Janet Jackson’s The Velvet Rope, but that’s kind of kinky. Any thoughts?…So I saw Memento last week and can’t shake it. It’s about a guy with short-term amnesia who’s trying to track down his wife’s killer; in order to keep track of events (since he can’t make new memories), he takes lots and lots of polaroids. One of the most ingenious scripts to ever be filmed. You’re not In the (K)now if you don’t schlep over to Kendall to see it…Last week I talked about how much I hate MTV. Now you allll have a reason to hate MTV. While filming a sequence for a new Jackass-style special called “Dude, This Sucks,” the stars accidentally flung human feces at two girls. (How does one “accidentally” fling poo-poo?)