Andy Warhol famously predicted that everyone would have their “15 minutes of fame.” With today’s technology, it’s more like “15 milliseconds of fame,” but it’s fame, nonetheless. Being famous, simultaneously curse and blessing, is something most of us imagine but precious few of us achieve.
The Latin fama, meaning “talk, rumor or report,” the basis of our word “fame,” was derived from the Sanskrit base bha, “to speak, tell or say,” the same root used in various ancient languages associated with the voice or sound. As ancient language differentiated, in some dialects the “bh” sound changed to a “ph” sound and eventually led to both “fame” and “fate.” Perhaps some are simply destined to be admired by others. One fact is undeniable; our gossipy tongues have been wagging about others for a very long time. In Roman mythology the goddess Fama was the personification of rumor, a version of the older Greek goddess Ossa or Pheme (there’s that “ph” again). Ossa, it was told, was a messenger of Zeus, who apparently enjoyed spreading rumors. Who knew tabloids are the voice of god?
The most famous among us become “celebrities,” which as a word began with the Old French celebrité meaning “solemn rite or ceremony” and which was itself derived from the Latin celibritatem and celeber, “multitude” and “populous,” respectively. Thus it is that celebrities are honored with Academy Awards and Golden Globes and when in their dotage are paid to endorse adult Pampers and Metamucil.
We call our most famous and acclaimed celebrities “stars,” which is a relatively recent designation circa 1824 meaning to “perform the lead part” in a play or drama. One is tempted to associate “star” with the word “stare” for this is certainly a prime activity of our star-fixed preoccupation. “Stare” comes to us through its Old English roots starian, “to look fixedly at” which itself flowed from the Pre-Germanic language star, “be rigid.” All these words reflect an ancient Proto-Indo-European base root, ster, meaning “strong, stiff or rigid.” For some inexplicable reason, Brad Pitt comes to mind. But whatever our physical reaction to stars, the word itself is unquestionably related to the celestial stars (Sanskrit, tãrã), the sparkling awesome beauty of the heavens.
Today we are all atwitter about being famous, literally, and going beyond Warhol’s keen observation one must ask why? The internet (blah, blah, blah) has bestowed a public voice to millions, and we’ve all become town criers. To be sure, some voices rise above the others in an unpredictable and often surprising way, but for the most part, claim to fame rests upon thin ice. Grandiose answers to “How many friends do you have on Facebook?” and “How many people follow your Tweets?” are not, ultimately, a substitute for substance. Perhaps the pursuit of fame is to simply confirm our own existence.
Certainly fame is not all it’s cracked up to be. Tiger Woods, perhaps the most famous sports hero of modern times, has come crashing down unhandsomely, now more renown (from Old French renomer, “to make famous”) for the prodigious power of his putz (from the Yiddish, pots, “penis”) than his putter. Before him lay strewn the darkened reputations of other burned out stars whose careers went super nova before becoming asterisks (* from aster, Greek for star) in footnoted Hollywood history.
Andy Warhol famously predicted that everyone would have their “15 minutes of fame.” With today’s technology, it’s more like “15 milliseconds of fame,” but it’s fame, nonetheless. Being famous, simultaneously curse and blessing, is something most of us imagine but precious few of us achieve.
The Latin fama, meaning “talk, rumor or report,” the basis of our word “fame,” was derived from the Sanskrit base bha, “to speak, tell or say,” the same root used in various ancient languages associated with the voice or sound. As ancient language differentiated, in some dialects the “bh” sound changed to a “ph” sound and eventually led to both “fame” and “fate.” Perhaps some are simply destined to be admired by others. One fact is undeniable; our gossipy tongues have been wagging about others for a very long time. In Roman mythology the goddess Fama was the personification of rumor, a version of the older Greek goddess Ossa or Pheme (there’s that “ph” again). Ossa, it was told, was a messenger of Zeus, who apparently enjoyed spreading rumors. Who knew tabloids are the voice of god?
The most famous among us become “celebrities,” which as a word began with the Old French celebrité meaning “solemn rite or ceremony” and which was itself derived from the Latin celibritatem and celeber, “multitude” and “populous,” respectively. Thus it is that celebrities are honored with Academy Awards and Golden Globes and when in their dotage are paid to endorse adult Pampers and Metamucil.
We call our most famous and acclaimed celebrities “stars,” which is a relatively recent designation circa 1824 meaning to “perform the lead part” in a play or drama. One is tempted to associate “star” with the word “stare” for this is certainly a prime activity of our star-fixed preoccupation. “Stare” comes to us through its Old English roots starian, “to look fixedly at” which itself flowed from the Pre-Germanic language star, “be rigid.” All these words reflect an ancient Proto-Indo-European base root, ster, meaning “strong, stiff or rigid.” For some inexplicable reason, Brad Pitt comes to mind. But whatever our physical reaction to stars, the word itself is unquestionably related to the celestial stars (Sanskrit, tãrã), the sparkling awesome beauty of the heavens.
Today we are all atwitter about being famous, literally, and going beyond Warhol’s keen observation one must ask why? The internet (blah, blah, blah) has bestowed a public voice to millions, and we’ve all become town criers. To be sure, some voices rise above the others in an unpredictable and often surprising way, but for the most part, claim to fame rests upon thin ice. Grandiose answers to “How many friends do you have on Facebook?” and “How many people follow your Tweets?” are not, ultimately, a substitute for substance. Perhaps the pursuit of fame is to simply confirm our own existence.
Certainly fame is not all it’s cracked up to be. Tiger Woods, perhaps the most famous sports hero of modern times, has come crashing down unhandsomely, now more renown (from Old French renomer, “to make famous”) for the prodigious power of his putz (from the Yiddish, pots, “penis”) than his putter. Before him lay strewn the darkened reputations of other burned out stars whose careers went super nova before becoming asterisks (* from aster, Greek for star) in footnoted celebrity history.
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