Lizzie McGuire = Big Mac

I know know know that I would write more if I had my own computer con internet. Every time I'm in Houston, I'm writing.
Needless to say, I'm in Houston. Richmond to be specific. James and I are at his mom's for second Thanksgiving visitations. We had first Thanksgiving at my mom's on the 24th.
Whatever.
That's not what I came here today to talk about.
I came here to talk about nothing in particular. I guess I just wanted to listen to myself type.

Am I wrong for finding Hilary Duff revoltingly annoying?
Marilee, my common law sister-in-law, is watching the Lizzy McGuire movie. It just started and I felt little curds of revulsion jiggling in my tummy while watching her trite and so blatantly rehearsed "I'm singing and dancing alone in my room and no one's watching" fiasco.
I ain't a hater.
She's cute, and I'm sure she's a sweet person, but she's, as far as I can see, talentless and her work is unoriginal.

Do movies like Lizzie McGuire fall into the Arts category?
To be sure, all film, including both movies and television, have their origins in theatre, an art in which I'm not too well versed (it's never been my thing), but I know is a display of people in exaggerated situations, exaggerating emotions in order to bring them to the front of our consiousness and look at them, both on a stage and in ourselves. But come on.
It's like trying to call a Big Mac a product of the culinary arts.
There's garbage mass produced for mass consumption, by people with less discerning tastes.
And then there's creation.
To create is to push beyond our mere animal nature. It is to become divine. It is evolution.
It is as beautiful as birth. It is the same thing, only it comes from our mind and soul, not just our bodies. It is pushing our potential. It is transcendence, the transcendence of ourselves.
To create is to acknowledge that which is God-like, that which is divine in all of us.
To mass produce is succumb to the instinctual fear of famine, which translates itself in our modern times as greed. When we must have as much as we possibly can, for fear there may not be enough, or difficult times may come. Capitalism.
(No, I'm not a communist. I'm a Candice-ist. I can think for myself, thank you.)
So, in summary, Lizzie McGuire is not art. It is a Big Mac.

That hurt my brain, all that thinking I just did.