Friday, November 21, 2014

Monster in the Box

I've always been fascinated with monsters who create such a genial, non-threatening image for themselves.

Fictional monsters are one thing.  Real-life monsters are another.

No one has mastered the illusion better than Bill Cosby.  We all loved him.  He was a master comedian and all-around great guy, funny, goofy, in tune with how kids thought, and a self-proclaimed expert at being a father.  How painful the truth has become this week.  At some point, the accusations become so numerous and overwhelming that the odds of every woman making up such stories are statistically impossible.  It's sort of like Holocaust survivors making up their stories to bring down a nefarious Nazi.  I tend to believe the Holocaust survivors and I'm finding myself completely believing these women.  Added with their testimony is the evidence that Bill Cosby was in real life a not-very-nice man and a narcissist.  He actually fits a profile from this book:

Actually, this whole messy, ugly, truly sad affair brings up another messy, ugly truth that I’ve been in denial about for the past 20 years.

It’s so hard to acknowledge that some of our greatest artists may in fact be sexual predators worthy of our contempt and revulsion.  The issue isn’t how quickly we judge, but how easily we turn a blind eye.