Scandalous!

A friend of mine recently accused me of being obsessed with celebrity journalism.

Television brought into American homes all over the country, the lives of other Americans, either through sitcoms, dramas, game shows or the real meat on media's bloody bone, the news. As a faux-intellectual and all-around slacker, my knowledge of television and newsbroadcasting history is limited to reviews I've read of George Clooney's "Good Night, and Good Luck." However, I'm nearly 79% percent sure that the daily exploits of Jennifer Aniston's alleged affair with giant/actor Vince Vaughan wasn't what Edward R. Murrow had in mind. But in today's disaster-saturated media, maybe he would have found it more worthwhile than that unpleasant business going on in Iraq. I mean, Vaughan and Aniston? Together? Why it's like two fish from two very different ponds! Will it work? Is she over Brad? Can we expect a dirty fourgy around the corner with either Brad/Angelina or Courtney Cox-/David Arquette? Hell, get me a pad and a stiff brandy!

But in spite of all the warring, rioting, genociding, and just plain ickiness of America's and the world's affairs, celebrity journalism continues to thrive. And one of the most popular mediums through which you and I receive our gossip is television. E! and Vh1 not only seem to be leading the pack, but I'm pretty sure they're the same station. Tell me, has anyone ever seen E! and Vh1 in the same room together? Or E!'s "It's Good to Be..." with similar "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" rip-off, Vh1's "The Fabulous Life Of..." rocking the same imitation Louis Vuitton tote? I think not. But these two networks' disturbing similarities are only representative of what their viewership wants, or rather what the networks thinks its viewer's want. Vh1, once a video channel for the geriatric set, is now a full-blown celebrity stalker with such braindead fare as "The Surreal Life" and "But Can They Sing?" For the record, of course they can't. The "they" in question are faded celebrities struggling to hold onto that one last shred of distinction in exchange for their one last shred of dignity. And I couldn't be more supportive of that. After all it's better to be a has-been than a never-was.

Now, my friend and I were watching E!'s flagship series, "True Hollywood Story: Supermodels: Beyond Skin Deep." I forced her to sit through the trials and tribulations of Naomi, Cindy, Heidi, Tyra, Christie, Elle, Carol, Linda and the queen mother, JANICE. Two hours of enough backstabbing, shoulder pads and cocaine to make Joan Collins' head spin, what could be better? For me, though, the pleasure in watching celebrities rise, fall and inevitably rise like the phoenix from some other skinny bitch's expertly-coiffed ashes is not in the people, but the stories themselves. These are modern-day Dickensian tales. Or at least I assume it is, since I haven't really read much/any Dickens. Though, I do enjoy "A Muppet's Christmas Carol." It is the American dream to go from nothing to everything as fast and as easily as possible. Hence models make the perfect vehicle for this dream as they can pout, vamp and sleep their way to the top, without even breaking a sweat. Some might think it easy, but if it was, why can't you and I do it? Because we--well, you--are ugly. But that doesn't really make a difference.

There used to be a time when in order to be famous, one had to be either talented or at least reasonably attractive. It seems that time has passed us by. There was also a time, when celebrities represented America's very own royalty; glamorous, sophisticated and aloof. Now...well we have "One Night In Paris." The problem is, it's pretty easy to become a celebrity now. It's only hard to maintain it. What with the fluttering of a mosquito's wings taking our full attention away from who won "The Apprentice" to who's weave just got pulled on "Making the Band 3."

With television, weekly gossip rags and my medium of choice, "blogs", detailing every moment in a celebrity's life, they're no longer those larger than life beings. They're just like you and I, only rich and shiny. The Internet, cable and all that high tech stuff being developed hourly, have domesticated the once elusive Star. Still, we as a nation, are inclined to follow the exploits of the rich and shiny and our bloodlust is satiated by the "Access Hollywoods", "US Weeklys", "Defamers" and many many others so in a sense it becomes more difficult to ignore gossip journalism when it is shoved down our throat, like so much cock on the bathroom floor of Opaline.

Personally, though, I welcome that dick. Hell, I'd swallow it whole if given a glass of water and some flavored lube. The only thing is, though, as I fellate that manmeat, I'm thinking of Lindsay Lohan's life as a teenager thrust into superstardom when she might not have been ready for it. I don't condemn her for hoovering up enough powder to pancake herself up like a geisha and service the needs of current beau, Jared Leto. No. I take her and her actions with a grain of salt because I understand the heartbreak of a movie not opening at number one, of recording an album of sub-par alt-pop to lukewarm reviews or even the pain--physical and emotional--of crashing a $100,000+ luxury car into a blue collar worker's van/sole means of support. And no $7.5 million dollar paycheck will ease that pain.

So, yes, I do enjoy reading, watching and wallowing in celebrity journalism. But am I obsessed? Of course not. Because I'm a professional and I know to keep my distance; to become wrapped up in someone else's story is to lose your vantage point. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check perezhilton.com to see if there are anymore pics of Jake Gyllenhaal stuffing his trousersnake into a Santa hat.