Apres Paris, Le Deluge

I have nothing to say about Paris Hilton's hi-jacked cell phone documents. I don't care about Paris Hilton's hi-jacked cell phone documents. Nothing could matter to me less than Paris Hilton's hi-jacked cell phone documents -- no, that's not strictly true. One thing matters less. Paris Hilton.

It's sad to me that this is the state of celebrity in our culture. I mean, at one time, didn't you have to actually DO something to become a celebrity? Wasn't there some talent, or at least some involvement in a scandal required? -- And don't tell me that all of Paris' sex tape stuff qualifies as scandal -- she was already famous when that happened. What has this woman actually DONE? She was born rich with a famous last name, and used it to go to a bunch of high profile parties. She's got blonde hair. She's indiscreet. That's IT. Big deal. This is worth miles and miles of copy? Others have done all of that and also were able to act, or fornicate with a Senator or something...

The one thing I'll give her is that she is the perfect celebrity for the Bush Era II. She is all flash, no substance. She provides a distraction from the real stuff that's happening in the world. Spending time salivating over the evidence of her shallowness and stupidity prevents us from thinking about how much worse OUR lives are now than they were 5 years ago. She's junk food for a junk culture, and her picture makes copies of the "The Daily News" sell. There's no "there" there. In the new millenium, people are fascinated by shiny things.

It's all so sad. "That's Hot" is a catch-phrase? It's about as creative as "Do you want fries with that?" -- Which is what the rest of us are saying at our new post-Bush jobs. We can't seem to get it together enough to depose the American Juan Peron, but we push each other aside to devour the latest tidbit about Paris. Has she become our EVita? Picture it -- Paris OD's in a few years on bad party drugs, and the funeral becomes the event of the century. There's our Paris perfectly preserved in her glass topped coffin, little dead dog on her breast, be-jeweled cell phone pressed to her waxy ear while the millions weep. Laura Bush lays a wreath, Nancy Reagan does a reprise of her weeping at the bier routine. Andrew Lloyd Webber writes a musical. Lindsay Lohan as "Paris!"

Wake me when it's over...