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I studied German for two years in high school; German One and German One. It's not that I was incapable of learning German, I simply repeated the course to continue my friendship with its instructor – Herr Kohler. Kohler shared my love of language and linguistics. He was a psychologist who, after years of listening to people complain, decided to become a teacher.
I learned that a good shrink never stops prompting and counseling.
We loved idioms and took inordinate pleasure in ferreting out colloquial gems both in German and English. Much of the German language is comprised of compound nouns such as schadenfreude; which joins “damage or harm” with “joy.” Such a curious emotional response to another’s misfortune seems to be unnamed in modern English, unless one digs up Robert Burton’s 1621 treatise, The Anatomy of Melancholy where the word epicaricacy appears in its original Greek form, attributed to Aristotle.
Epi –upon, Chara -joy, Krakon – evil. Joy upon evil. I love the Krakon bit. “Release the Krakon!”
Gluckschmerz is translated as “Luck pain”; the agony caused by another’s good fortune.
Twenty years after graduation, I was living in the American capital of schadenfreude and gluckschmerz; just a few blocks from its iconic, hillside Hollywood sign. Like many other many other fresh-faced hopefuls, I wanted to act or write or direct films. I faithfully auditioned and worked nights as a stand-up comedian, all the while furiously writing and networking.
My future looked bright, but Tinseltown’s siren call masked a desperation that lies just below the smiles and cheery bon mot of its “rising- and super-stars.” There’s a short lifespan for those not accepted in the so-called Hollywood Community. It’s known as “wearing out your face.” Audition overexposure. Casting people get an fixed impression of you from a minute or two of dialogue and, thereafter, you are seen as “THAT” guy or gal. Pigeonholed. Relegated to extra work.
Show Biz is a veldt where entertainment hyenas feed on carcass grief or are dismayed by another’s successful kill. I saw the most extreme cases of these chronic, moral muddles in La-La Land.
Oscar Levant, the king of mordant comedy said, “Strip away the phony tinsel of Hollywood and you'll find the real tinsel underneath.”
“So and so landed the part? What a loser. He couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag!”
“She blew the deal for her Comedy Central special? That’s great. She’s a funny as a rubber crutch! Nice to see they’re culling the herd!”
I left Hollywood when I found myself happy that actors I didn't like got terrible reviews, sad when middleweight comics I knew got a series or lucrative tour bookings. I laughed and shook my head when arrogant Rock idols and actors OD’ed and laughed harder when pompous film Exec’s lost everything in a divorce decree.
My emotions were disordered by L.A.’s socially-condoned, habitual sociopathy; an absence of conscience, psychological need for control, and a sense of imagined self-importance. This last, clearly affective illness - delusional grandiosity - leads ordinary people to broadcast advice as though being a celebrity endowed them with preternatural wisdom.
Sadly, when they are revealed as brainless meat-puppets, I smiled at the schaden that would flummox Freud.
BTW: That smog above Los Angeles is not car exhaust or wildfire smoke… it is a haze produced by the burning souls of sacrificed creatives. Wildpyres…
In a hasty act of self-preservation, I left the L.A. scene and headed up to San Francisco where the artistic climate was not yet so hostile. L.A. is a “market town” where one auctions their time and talent, but San Francisco was a “factory town” where you can perfect your craft without the life-or-death competition.
It was then I ceased all affiliation with politics or social movements. They are like Big Time Wrestling events. The ring-actors perform Low Theatre while the fans work themselves up into a lather yelling at the wrestlers, arguing with other audience members, or berating those who seem unmoved by the travesty on the mat.
Me? I’m way up at the concession stand, sipping a beer and watching the big audience show that gets carried away by the center-ring show.
* * *
Copyright © 2020
Martin Higgins
all rights reserved
BTW: Kummerspeck is a German compound noun composed of Kummer (grief), and Speck (bacon, or lard), so translates literally as ‘grief bacon/lard’. It means the excess weight you gain from emotional upset.
I learned that a good shrink never stops prompting and counseling.
We loved idioms and took inordinate pleasure in ferreting out colloquial gems both in German and English. Much of the German language is comprised of compound nouns such as schadenfreude; which joins “damage or harm” with “joy.” Such a curious emotional response to another’s misfortune seems to be unnamed in modern English, unless one digs up Robert Burton’s 1621 treatise, The Anatomy of Melancholy where the word epicaricacy appears in its original Greek form, attributed to Aristotle.
Epi –upon, Chara -joy, Krakon – evil. Joy upon evil. I love the Krakon bit. “Release the Krakon!”
Gluckschmerz is translated as “Luck pain”; the agony caused by another’s good fortune.
Twenty years after graduation, I was living in the American capital of schadenfreude and gluckschmerz; just a few blocks from its iconic, hillside Hollywood sign. Like many other many other fresh-faced hopefuls, I wanted to act or write or direct films. I faithfully auditioned and worked nights as a stand-up comedian, all the while furiously writing and networking.
My future looked bright, but Tinseltown’s siren call masked a desperation that lies just below the smiles and cheery bon mot of its “rising- and super-stars.” There’s a short lifespan for those not accepted in the so-called Hollywood Community. It’s known as “wearing out your face.” Audition overexposure. Casting people get an fixed impression of you from a minute or two of dialogue and, thereafter, you are seen as “THAT” guy or gal. Pigeonholed. Relegated to extra work.
Show Biz is a veldt where entertainment hyenas feed on carcass grief or are dismayed by another’s successful kill. I saw the most extreme cases of these chronic, moral muddles in La-La Land.
Oscar Levant, the king of mordant comedy said, “Strip away the phony tinsel of Hollywood and you'll find the real tinsel underneath.”
“So and so landed the part? What a loser. He couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag!”
“She blew the deal for her Comedy Central special? That’s great. She’s a funny as a rubber crutch! Nice to see they’re culling the herd!”
I left Hollywood when I found myself happy that actors I didn't like got terrible reviews, sad when middleweight comics I knew got a series or lucrative tour bookings. I laughed and shook my head when arrogant Rock idols and actors OD’ed and laughed harder when pompous film Exec’s lost everything in a divorce decree.
My emotions were disordered by L.A.’s socially-condoned, habitual sociopathy; an absence of conscience, psychological need for control, and a sense of imagined self-importance. This last, clearly affective illness - delusional grandiosity - leads ordinary people to broadcast advice as though being a celebrity endowed them with preternatural wisdom.
Sadly, when they are revealed as brainless meat-puppets, I smiled at the schaden that would flummox Freud.
BTW: That smog above Los Angeles is not car exhaust or wildfire smoke… it is a haze produced by the burning souls of sacrificed creatives. Wildpyres…
In a hasty act of self-preservation, I left the L.A. scene and headed up to San Francisco where the artistic climate was not yet so hostile. L.A. is a “market town” where one auctions their time and talent, but San Francisco was a “factory town” where you can perfect your craft without the life-or-death competition.
It was then I ceased all affiliation with politics or social movements. They are like Big Time Wrestling events. The ring-actors perform Low Theatre while the fans work themselves up into a lather yelling at the wrestlers, arguing with other audience members, or berating those who seem unmoved by the travesty on the mat.
Me? I’m way up at the concession stand, sipping a beer and watching the big audience show that gets carried away by the center-ring show.
* * *
Copyright © 2020
Martin Higgins
all rights reserved
BTW: Kummerspeck is a German compound noun composed of Kummer (grief), and Speck (bacon, or lard), so translates literally as ‘grief bacon/lard’. It means the excess weight you gain from emotional upset.