Friday, June 17, 2005

Stick a fork in me. . .

I know, I know. The onus is on me to look away, to avoid the aberrant click to Defamer for all the gossip from the frontlines of the industry serfs. It’s like rubbernecking – yes, it’s more tasteful and refined to look away, but this isn’t the front parlor of the Junior League.

The relentless parade of nonmomentary lapses of sanity and public overtures step beyond acceptable realms of beard-dom or shameless promotion. I am officially sated. Celebrity gossip is interesting because it’s gossip – stuff I'm not supposed to know. When I know too much, I stop caring. Sort of like how moments of sleep are sweeter when I’ve hit snooze three times than after I give in and call in sick. Does “Tomkat” not remember “Bennifer” (part I)?

I’ve heard more than enough about religious conversions, cupcakes, the Eiffel tower, and the ‘best friend’ on staff to keep Katie Holmes on the straight and narrow.

I want to read about Hugh Grant buying vegetables, Lisa Kudrow walking her dog, or Peter Krause being hot. I think it’s high time to take stock of the celebrities who’ve chosen not to saturate the blogwaves and grocery store checkout lanes with ridiculous self-promotion and general insanity. How about regular, good-natured actors who tolerate some mild paparazzi now and again? Let’s give a hand for the Reese Witherspoons & Ryan Phillippes, the Tom Hanks & Rita Wilsons of Hollywood.

If there’s a silver lining to the nauseating obsession with Tom Cruise’s abduction of Katie Holmes' soul (and chances of working on anything other than Scientology recruitment videos), it’s that I may hate Paris Hilton a little less.

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