One of the reasons I'm having trouble in starting this blog (see post below) is that I've got no throttle. I've either got writer's block or I'm in continual stream of conscious mode. Most of the time I'm worried about structure rather than dumping my ideas out.
I'm probably not suited for writing this stuff.
Case in point: Last Saturday, I was thinking, "What can I do to start this blog?"
The answer came as I noticed a local radio contest in naming Clinton's proposed talk show. Before I knew it, I was writing a Soapbox for GIGO. Here it is:
You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
-- Carly SimonIn ancient Greek mythology, Narcissus was the handsome son of the river god Cephissus. So beautiful was he that everyone would fall in love with him. Unwilling to return the love of others, the Greek goddess Nemesis cursed him so that he would fall in love with his own image. When he came upon a pond, he saw his reflection and he was unable to turn away. Eventually, he withered away and a flower, which now bears his name, sprouted at his final resting place.
The Modern Narcissus instead seeks the approval of the crowd. A litany of extra-marital affairs provided a salve to insecurities. He sought to fill the void in his psyche, apparently because he does not receive the quota of attention he craves. For the modern model, it is not that he has extraordinary good looks, but that he has a political charisma. He also has the appeal of the lost soul, the irrepressible rapscallion, a Tom Sawyer-type of skullduggery that attracted the Aunt Polly in unwed mothers and soccer-moms. They swooned. They voted.
The attention of the presidency was a sweet nectar. As George Will was to frequently remind us, he was a daily guest in our living rooms -- whether welcome or uninvited -- by the power of television. This is a boon to the Modern Narcissus, because now he is no longer tied to nature's reflecting pool. He is able to see his reflection by way of the modern media: television, radio, and print.
He internalized the notions spoken by fawning sycophants that he was a great president. But through the cruel machinations of the Constitution, he was unable to seek another term. The cruelest blow was to come on September 11. Not possessed by self-doubts whether he might have been to blame for the lapse of security or for his pale efforts to punish terrorism, he ruefully regretted that he was not given the opportunity, the crisis, to test his mettle. He was reduced to the lamentable lament that he almost got bin Laden.
Alas, the interest in him waned. His successor was able to handle the first crisis of the twenty-first century. The successor was able to obtain high approval in polls though his skills in crisis rather than the split polls during scandals that divided approval of job performance and approval of Narcissus as a man. How much did the people really love this fallen angel? He appears not to have noticed that they may have loved his office despite the man.
But the need for the spotlight is too great. Such is the vainglory of the Modern Narcissus, that he believes that he could be the next Oprah Winfrey. Yet the event of September 11 was an unwelcome dose of reality for a generation of narcissism. No longer could the charms hide the fact that his was a frivolous presidency, dangerously frivolous. Contests sprouted throughout the fruited plain. From Rush Limbaugh to local radio, from the Washington Post and NRO to blogdom, the question was asked, "What should his TV talk show be called?" Not befitting the dignity of a former president, the answers played on his foibles and sins.
Perhaps even the cruel jokes provide nourishment. It may be a feeble sustenance, but at least he is able to see his reflection in the modern reflecting pool. Even pity is a form of attention. The cruelest punishment would be to forget this pathetic creature, to stop broadcasting his image, to stop chattering about him in gossip columns and blogs.
Ironically, he probably thinks this essay is about him.
Whew! All I really wanted to say was: Hey Guys! You all said that you were tired of Clinton. You all said that he craved attention. Well shuddap already!
As I always do, I did research for this piece. Readers of the blog will get a little extra. I found this page from an Australian psychology magazine. I don't know how long the page will last... the site seems to be undergoing a re-organization where the archived pages (such as this) are paid for. The article is Narcissism: A Nine Headed Hydra? Exploring Types of Narcissism. Also, I found the Nebula Award nominated short story by Lisa Goldstein The Narcissus Plague. It's worth a read.
Oh, and you'll find the complete lyrics to Carly Simon's song at her official website.
Posted by Bob at May 6, 2002 05:41 PM