James Dean didn’t die for your sins; he died because he wasn’t paying attention.

Cults of personality worry me in ways that I cannot possibly express in words (though obviously I am going to try). The recent death of Heath Ledger has I’m sure given Hollywood something to cry and moan about for the next decade, as they always do when one of their own bites it before 30.

There are too many people out there who have this ridiculous “live fast and die young” mentality, and anyone who fits the description is immediately elevated to hero status simply because they died before they completely outgrew adolescence.

There isn’t much to admire about someone who dies early, especially if they had a hand in their own demise, as 94 percent of our dead heroes have. But in the end, what is so important about it? Why are they suddenly so much better now that they’ve died?

Anytime a celebrity dies, any material that they put out suddenly gets snatched up like a cut of meat in a den of wolves, as if there will be something more there, now that the person is no longer walking among the living.

Back when I was still living in Indiana, I had the misfortune of passing through Fairmount during the James Dean Festival, where I was subjected to a bunch of kids in leather jackets and 50s cuts who were smoking candy cigarettes and mumbling every single thing that they said.

I stuck around out of curiosity, and I can tell you this: there are few things more annoying than having a room full of people occasionally speaking lines in chorus during a movie. If that’s what (dead) celebrity worship is all about, I’ll have none of it, thank you very much.

People, the fact is, you can admire the way a person portrays a character or sings a song, but they’re still a stranger to you when they die. It’s completely understandable to say it’s a shame and maybe shed a tear or two (I know how uniting a thing art can be), but having some annual festival for that person like they’re some kind of a pagan god is really, really disturbing.

In fact it’s downright creepy. Not trying to pop anybody’s bubble here, but Kurt Cobain or whoever did not save your life.

People, pull the nails out and let the boys and girls take a walk. Something to believe in is one thing, but the people that our celebrity-loving culture puts up on pedestals have had horrible lives just like many of us.

Sinatra was a hoodlum for years before he hit it big. The point is that all of these people have their faults just like we do, so it’s a little pointless to put faith in people who are just as flawed as we are.

My point is, the only faith that I think any person should have is in themselves; if you entrust your well-being to other influences, you’re only setting yourself up for disappointment.

Every once in a while some loony just decides to knock one of these false deities off for it. If someone inspires you and changes your outlook on life, then focus on the message, rather than the guy giving it to you.

What has always bothered me about Christianity is that instead of a guy on a rock preaching, which is what Jesus was supposedly all about, we are saturated with images of this poor guy dying on a cross.

It negates the message, and even if it’s pseudo-blasphemy to say so, celebrities are our deities in this odd little society of ours. The trick is to focus on the part that attracts you, instead of the person who is selling it.

Eventually, you have to let mommy and daddy go, remember what they did that benefited you and so it is for celebrities. James Dean didn’t die for your sins; he died because another driver wasn’t paying attention.

Make your own way, and let dead famous people lie.

> Comments