Paul Potts and Susan Boyle (click on pic for youtube video)

I absolutely love the string of talents coming out of UK’s Britain’s Got Talent (from which US borrowed and turned into American Idol). First Paul Potts, now Scot singer Susan Boyle.

It’s not that I would listen to anything from Les Miserables, but what stood out for me was the moment she got onstage. The horrendous looks from the “beautiful” people in the audience, though no great surprise, shocked me more than anything that could come out of Boyle’s lips.

How did we, as an enlightened society, get to the stage where we presume that certain appearances guaranteed quality, and others did not? It could be argued that all this can be traced back to the days when primates selected their partners based on healthy physique and complexion, instinctively knowing they will improve their chances in the next generation. Darwinists could go on about the survival of the fittest, and phrenologists can sell you the Brooklyn Bridge. Maybe Denzel Washington got his honorary Ph’d because scientists claim he has the most symmetrical face. I think Mt. Fuji may be next in line for a doctorate.

I think it’s really Cultural Darwinism at work. Jared Diamond, in Guns, Germs, and Steel posited that technology played a heavy role in the West’s eventual dominance over Eurasian continents. Technology today, in the form of media, continues its relentless march towards molding our expectations, and shaping the way we think.

Through movies, tv, internet, and CGI films, it’s the “beautiful” people who make it to the end of the story. It’s the “beautiful” people who can do more, fight better, think quicker, sing better. What BGT judge Amanda Holden forgivingly calls “cynicism” (on behalf of the audience) is really nothing but downright brutality in the social caste system of our supposed Rousseauian mindset. Even Christian Amanpour uttered the phrase “lowered expectations” when reporting Boyle’s story on CNN. Had a gorgeous girl stepped onstage, there would have been no pre-performance frowns, no surprises, no ecstasy, no twitter showboating from Hollywood stars.

Why do we trust appearances so much that we assume people can’t deliver before we even see the results? I think it’s better to assume people can, and detract only when you need to.

Marilyn Chambers in The Mitchell Brothers’ Behind The Green Door is a perfect example of how forbidden things grow greater when left pristine in one’s imagination.

As a child, I heard people talking about it. I even saw posters of it when walking past 42nd street clutching to my parents’ arms. In my mind, I conjured unspeakable acts flashing across the screen…(at that age, unspeakable acts probably consisted of having a morning bowl of Kellogs Yellow Corn Pops with skim milk). Years later, that which was forbidden continued to grow in my imagination. After all, eroticism, of all things, elevate in the unseen: when one’s body is hidden behind layers of clothing, the mind’s eye runs amok. Nudity is the death of mystique.

Of course, when I finally saw Behind the Green Door at age 20. I summarily yawned, pressed the fast forward on the BetaMax to speed to the end so I could go back to playing with my stuff animals.

For me, I think the greatest moment for Westport CT’s own Chambers, who passed away on April 13, 2009 was her appearance on the Ivory Snow soap box when the 60s turned into the 70s. The moment Proctor and Gamble, whose product slogan is 99 44/100% pure found out about her other talents, they pulled the product from the shelves. The timing was so propitious, even Warhol and his factory was stripped of all irony.

Time, as well as life, is a series of labyrinthine paths. History could have taken the less travel route; and if it did, maybe none of us would be here today. I compare Chambers’s soap box to the magazine ads for Ivory Snow when the 40s turned into the 50s:

If Chambers continued with Ivory Snow and turned down the Mitchell Brothers, maybe I’ll be driving a minivan today, loading a plasma screen TV into the back next to the 2 kids and 1.5 dog. You know what they say about storms: A Yale graduate rolls a fatty in Kennebunkport, and somewhere in Bombay, a butterfly pours a Kalyani Black Label on the street for its homies.