Guest post: When the gods want to punish us, they answer our prayers.

A reflection on Little Shop of Horrors from one of the show's stars.

I was famous once.

No, seriously, I was. During my study abroad trip to China, I performed in the University's talent show. Little did I know, talent shows are a huge deal in China.

The other kids in my study abroad group and I frequented this one hole-in-the-wall noodle stand on campus. Around lunchtime the tables would fill up with students. After the talent show, the proprietor started bringing me from table to table. He’d say something in Chinese, the students would laugh, say hello and wave at me, and we'd be on to the next table. One day, he was able to eek out the words "English Student" during one of our table stops so I asked, "why does he keep doing this?"

"Everybody knows you eat lunch here."

Everybody? Who's everybody? Next thing I knew, strangers who barely spoke English knew me by name and were saying hello to me on the street. I was signing autographs, I was being asked to spend whole afternoons posing for pictures in front of different landmarks around campus with groups of strangers. No joke: whole afternoons. It had become the kind of thing that everyone in my study abroad group had an, "I had to leave Pogi at such-and-such-place to take pictures with some randoms," story.

Growing up, I often wondered what it would be like if I were rich and famous. Now here I was, in a city where you could get a good meal for about 12 American cents, and my mere presence sitting at the tables outside the restaurant was apparently doing wonders for the aging restaurant owner’s business. And what I learned, during my (albeit brief) bout of fame, is that being famous sucks. It's nothing like you'd imagined it.

In the immortal words of Biggie Smalls, "Mo' Money, Mo' Problems." And as I watch what happens to Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors, I can't help but think, "Damn, Biggie was right." Another, possibly more apropos, quote that comes to mind is from Oscar Wilde: "When the gods want to punish us, they answer our prayers."

I recently watched a documentary on the Dalai Lama, and having seen the poverty of Tibet first hand during the aforementioned study abroad trip, I was struck by one section of this documentary where the Dalai Lama talks about how the poor in Tibet can always be seen smiling, juxtaposed with stoic, even glum, images of Tibetan and Chinese elite. The Dalai Lama's insight is that the Have-Nots of the world tend to be grateful for the little bit they do get while the Haves are overcome with worry about either maintaining their wealth, or preoccupied with strategizing how to amass more wealth, and are therefore unhappier with their current state.

But the rise and fall of Seymour isn't specific to the streets of Skid Row. We've seen a Seymour-like pedestal ascension recently. Remember Ted Williams? "The man with the Golden Voice." But his man-eating plant wasn't from outer space. His "God given gift" got him on YouTube, and when it went viral via Facebook, he found himself having to try and satisfy the insatiable hunger of the American media in the era of the 24-hour news cycle.

For a few days, he was an American Hero. Many people on both YouTube and Facebook were saying that he deserved a second chance. It all seemed innocent enough. Everybody was pulling for him. After all, he was just this sweet older guy who had fallen on hard times. And as he stood at that off ramp hoping for some spare change, I suspect that he dreamed, like many of us have, about how much better his life would be if he were rich.

But what I started to wonder, and what I wonder about Seymour and the other inhabitants of Skid Row, is would he have been better off without all the attention, all the fame and fortune? They say it’s better to have loved and lost, but is it better to become famous, even if it ruins one’s life, than never to have had the attention at all? For those of us who say “I’ll be happier when…” are we capable of seeing the downside of what we might otherwise consider our big break? When that proverbial snowball of “good fortune” begins innocently rolling down the sledding hill of life, can we keep our wits about us and be able to hit the brakes before things get really out of hand? The Dalai Lama would encourage us to find our bliss in the present moment, and, since hindsight is 20/20, I suppose Seymour would, too.

by Eric "Pogi" Sumangil