I love pop culture and celebrity gossip as much as anyone else. However, I live in L.A., so whenever my world and that world collide, I'm left confused, unable to discern my fiction from their reality. I usually feel a slight twinge of guilt too, because I know some stupid tidbit about the person. Like when I used the bathroom at a certain Ocean's 11 actor's house and saw his dirty laundry strewn all over the floor, it made me sad to see it. Or when Paris Hilton's mom sat at a table near me at The Ivy, making sure that the paparazzi had a good view of her--I wanted to send over some onion rings. Or when the least famous Arquette uses his semi-status to hit on me--precisely how many Arquettes are there, anyway? And worst of all, I take the occasional self-help course and they're teeming with B-listers, who readily confess their most intimate problems. The truth is, I prefer to read the dirt and keep a distance rather than see their vulnerability up close. I don't like to see them lose their sheen.
11:18 PM // Tuesday August 31, 2004 // permalink
