There’s a moment in the movie Being John Malkovich when Catherine Keener’s character, Maxine, picks up the phone (not a cell phone, a stationary phone), dials, and says in a minxish voice: “Davey? It’s Max. Can you get me John Malkovich’s home phone? …That’s great. Love ya and owe ya.”
We never learn much about her character’s backstory, but the knowing way she laughs at what “Davey” says in response to her request gives us a window into who-all she could be.
At the time that movie came out in 1999, I thought, “Wow, she’s so connected she can just call someone and get a famous person’s private number. Wow.”
Back then, when it came time to call a stranger, the rest of us non–film characters had to try our luck with the phone book, and if it wasn’t in there, you were pretty much out of luck.
In 1993 I finished reading the book Love, Janis, written by Joplin’s younger sister Laura, and I wished to talk to her. The dustjacket said she lived in Denver. So I went to the library and asked the librarian for a Denver phone book. There was an “L JOPLIN” listed in it.
Then I went over to my parents’ house to make the long-distance call. I took the cordless phone into my old bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and pressed in the number (don’t say “dial” if the phone is not rotary). It didn’t ring, but for a blippy moment it made that whirring fax sound, but then someone picked up anyway. A chirpy female voice said, “Hello?”
My heart stopped, but I managed to say, “Hi, is this the Laura Joplin who is Janis Joplin’s sister?” The guarded, suspicious way she responded with “Who is this, please?” answered my question for me.
I did some fast talking: “I just read your book and loved it [white lie; I only liked it], so I wanted to call and tell you that. I’ve always been a big fan of your sister. That’s about all I wanted to say. I’m not crazy, just a fan.”
“Well thank you!” she said in the Texas twangy voice I remembered from the documentary Janis, in the scene where Janis goes to her 10th annual high-school reunion to gloat about her fame and laugh at everyone. Laura figures prominently in that footage. “It’s nice to know people still care,” she continued, with sincerity I believed.
My parents were sitting in the TV room, and as I came down the stairs I said to them: “Hey, you’re gonna have a long-distance charge on your next phone bill, it’s to Denver. I just called Janis Joplin’s sister.” They nodded.
I thought it was a big old kick in the pants to talk to the sister of one of my idols, and was proud of my cleverness in finding her number and boldness in calling it.
_____
I’ve been thinking a lot about the ins and outs of fame—I was going to say “lately,” but that isn’t true. I’ve been thinking a lot about fame ever since I was able to think.
Laura Joplin is married; she could go by her married name, but she chooses to go by Joplin (as far as I know). I would venture to guess she is able to go to the grocery store or anyplace she wants completely anonymously and unbothered by unwanted attention. At most maybe when the cashier sees her credit card she will say “Are you related to JANIS Joplin?” and Laura can choose, based on sizing up the person (how fast does she want to get out of this grocery store?), to say yes or no. In the same way she waited for a second to admit to me on the phone that that’s who she is. “L” stands for Laura. You’ve found me.
So, let’s sum up: She has a famous sibling, and she wrote one book and did an extensive press junket for it, and I think she is in co-charge of overseeing the considerable Janis Joplin estate and all the licensing and that. But she’s not famous. She’s not anonyfamous, either: That is a term I coined for people who have been mass-exposed to the public without the public knowing their name, like “that guy” in “all those commercials.” I guess she is fam(ily)ous. She’s part of a fame-ily.
A big-shot blogger said to me once, “We’re all famous on the Internet.” But something about his quasi-Warholian statement didn’t sit right with me. It’s a tempting thought to think is true, but…
Then I found the differentiation I needed to elucidate what was wrong with the blogger’s statement. It’s in a book about the way the Internet has changed everything, called Here Comes Everybody: The Power of Organizing Without Organizations, by Mr. Clay Shirky.
Leaving aside questions of what one did to “earn” their fame, and focusing on the dynamics of fame itself, Shirky writes: “[F]amous… means… [being] the recipient of more attention than [one] can return in any medium.” I think based on context available in the rest of the book, you could/should insert “one-on-one” in front of the word “attention” and after “return” in his definition. Because a famous person can certainly broadcast (tweet?) his or her thanks to the masses, which is a form of returning attention.
He uses the example of Oprah Winfrey, saying of course she has an email address she uses, but if it ever became public it would be immediately flooded and she would have to stop using it. That’s the “rub” in the Malkovich scene I described above. The private, personal phone number or email address is like a tiny portal into their famous world, which is what the film dramatizes with its weird portal/chute into Malkovich’s actual body, which anyone can pay to use.
Shirky fleshes it out: “The famous are different from you and me, because they cannot return or even acknowledge the attention they get, and technology cannot change that. … Whatever the technology, our social constraints will mean that the famous of the world will always be with us. The people with too much inbound attention live in a different environment from everyone else…” (emphasis mine).
I want to live in that environment! I want to receive more attention than I am ever able to return individually! Instead, my friends don’t even return my emails. Nobody notices what I do, period. I’m a abject loser.
But it helps to at least read a cogent explanation of the simple, enduring mathematics of fame, so I know how and why I’m not famous. Do you think I should see if Clay Shirky is listed in the phone book, so I can call and thank him?
REMEMBER PHONE BOOKS?
SAY S.T. INTERESTING ABOUT ACCESSIBILITY THEN AND NOW
There’s a moment in the movie Being John Malkovich when Catherine Keener’s character, Maxine, picks up the phone (not a cell phone, a stationary phone), dials, and says in a minxish voice: “Davey? It’s Max. Can you get me John Malkovich’s home phone? …That’s great. Love ya and owe ya.” We never learn much about her character’s backstory, but the knowing way she laughs at what “Davey” says in response to her request gives us a window into who-all she could be. At the time that movie came out in 1999, I thought, “Wow, she’s so connected she can just call someone and get a famous person’s private number. Wow.” When it came time to call a stranger http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Whenastrangercallsoriginal.jpg, the rest of us non-film characters had to try our luck with the phone book, and if it wasn’t in there, you were pretty much out of luck. In 1993 I finished reading the book Love, Janis, written by Joplin’s younger sister Laura, and I wished to talk to her. The dustjacket said she lived in Denver. So I went to the library and asked the librarian for a Denver phone book. There was an “L JOPLIN” listed in it. So I went over to my parents’ house to make the long-distance call. I took the cordless phone into my old bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and pressed in the number (don’t say “dial” if the phone is not rotary). It didn’t ring, but for a blip of a second it made that fax sound, but then someone picked up anyway. A chirpy female voice said, “Hello?” My heart stopped, but I managed to say, “Hi, is this Laura?” The guarded, suspicious way she responded with “Who is this, please?” answered my question for me. I did some fast talking, like, “I just read your book and loved it [white lie; I only liked it], so I wanted to call and tell you that. I’ve always been a big fan of your sister. That’s about all I wanted to say.” “Well thank you!” she said in the Texas twangy voice I remembered from the documentary Janis, the scene where Janis goes to her 10th annual high-school reunion to gloat about her fame and laugh at everyone. Laura figures prominently in that footage. “It’s nice to know people still care,” she said with sincerity I believed. “I have one more suggestion. I read somewhere that you are working on a play or a movie about Janis, and I don’t know if you’ve heard of her, but I think Edie Brickell would make a good — do you know her? — she’s a Texas singer, and she kind of looks a little like Janis, and… well, it’s just a suggestion. You should check her out.” “Mm-hm. I’m writing it down,” she said. The play actually did get produced, but they didn’t cast Edie Brickell. I never saw it, because I hate “biopics” and “bioplays.” Prefer documentaries. My parents were sitting in the TV room, and as I came down the stairs I said to them: “Hey, you’re gonna have a long-distance charge on your next phone bill, it’s to Denver. I just called Janis Joplin’s sister.” They nodded. I thought it was a big old kick in the pants to talk to the sister of one of my idols, and was proud of my cleverness in finding her number and boldness in calling it. I’ve been thinking a lot about fame… I was going to say “lately,” but that isn’t true. I’ve been thinking a lot about fame ever since I was able to think. Laura Joplin is married; she could go by her married name, but she chooses to go by Joplin (as far as I know). I would venture to guess she is able to go to the grocery store or anyplace she wants completely anonymously and unbothered by attention. At most maybe when the cashier sees her credit card she will say “Are you related to JANIS Joplin?” and Laura can choose, based on sizing up the person (how fast does she want to get out of this grocery store?), to say yes or no. In the same way she waited for a second to admit to me on the phone that that’s who she is. “L” stands for Laura. You’ve found me. So, let’s sum up: She has a famous sibling, and she wrote one book and did an extensive press junket for it, and I think she is in co-charge of overseeing the considerable Janis Joplin estate and all the licensing and that. But she’s not famous. She’s not anonyfamous, either: That is a term I coined for people who have been mass-exposed to the public without the public knowing their name, like “that guy” in “all those commercials.” A big-name blogger said to me once, “We’re all famous on the Internet.” But something about his quasi-Warholian statement didn’t sit right with me. It’s a tempting thing to think is true, but… Then I found the differention I needed to explain to me what was wrong with the statement. It’s in a book about the way the Internet has changed everything, called Here Comes Everybody: The Power of Organizing Without Organizations, by Mr. Clay Shirky. Leaving aside questions of what one did to “earn” their fame, and focusing on the dynamics of fame itself, Shirky writes: “[F]amous… means… [being] the recipient of more attention than [one] can return in any medium.” I think based on context available in the rest of the book, you could/should insert “one-on-one” in front of “attention” and after “return” in his definition Because a famous person can certainly broadcast (tweet?) his or her thanks to the masses, which is a form of returning attention. Shirky fleshes it out: “The famous are different from you and me, because they cannot return or even acknowledge the attention they get, and technology cannot change that. … Whatever the technology, our social constraints will mean that the famous of the world will always be with us. The people with too much inbound attention live in a different environment from everyone else…” I want to live in that environment! I want to receive more attention than I am ever able to return individually! Instead my friends don’t even return my emails. Nobody notices what I do, period. I’m a abject loser. But I’m glad to at least read a cogent explanation of the enduring formula of fame so I know how and why I’m not included. Do you think I should see if Clay Shirky is listed in the phone book, so I can call and thank him?
Tags: Being John Malkovich, Catherine Keener, Clay Shirky, Here Comes Everybody, Janis Joplin, Oprah