EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #13: JUST STOP CARING

Everyone’s a little bit guilty of this one, even me. You read a news story about something ridiculous a celebrity has done, and awestruck, you start complaining to someone else about how utterly stupid so-and-so is. It sometimes gets to the point when you start wondering why someone is so famous.



Here’s the answer: because you care. It’s an ugly truth, and I hate to admit it, but these people are famous because we make them famous, all because of their occupation. Maybe their job isn’t quite as frivolous as it seems at first—entertainment is actually pretty important—but when it comes right down to it, the paparazzi exist because of you. Because they know that if you see a picture of Merryl Streep with her fat hanging out, or Clint Eastwood with varicose veins, you’ll buy whatever rag you happened upon in the check out aisle at your local grocery store. Or if you’re watching TV, you’ll tune in whenever some airhead host with a fake smile and even faker personality says, “Guess what celebrity recently went out for a night on the town . . . without her underwear on!”


But when it comes down to it, why are we so interested in these fuckers? They’re just doing their job, pretending to be other people. Why is that so fascinating? Take James Spader, for instance. He’s not above admitting that he sometimes takes a role just for the paycheck. That’s his explanation for taking part in STARGATE. If these guys are merely collecting money, just like you and me at our day jobs, why should we care?


Perhaps it was, at first, a way to live vicariously. So that’s how Joan Bennett spends her time. Isn’t Rita Hayworth’s dress so opulent? And what about Errol Flynn? Isn’t he just a dashing young man? The common man has always been interested in what high living looks like.


But things are different now. We seek out celebrity disasters. We want to see Shia LaBeouf get in a drunken fight with someone. We want to hear what Mel Gibson’s going to say next. And we want to know what Nick Nolte’s done this time. And that guy who played the loveably kooky guy on SEINFELD said what?! Taking this into consideration, perhaps we want to see the high and mighty come crashing down to a level lower than our own, because we, the pure salt of the earth, would never get in a drunken confrontation. We’d never threaten to burn a former lover’s house down while demanding a blowjob from them. We’d never get caught driving by the cops after giving ourselves a dose of the date rape drug. And we certainly wouldn’t be caught calling anybody a "nigger" in public (that’s just for when we’re among “safe company”).


We also seek out porn featuring the daughters of rich men. How else can we explain the fame of Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian? These names meant nothing to us until they showed off their poor fellatio skills.  But yes, even if you're related to someone important and as a result are stunningly rich, we want to see your holes filled with cock to be reassured that even the high and mighty have sex.


To everyone who cares about this shit (and sometimes, this includes me), here’s my advice: stop. If you stop caring, these people will no longer dominate your attention. A supply is only provided so long as there is demand. Business 101.


Some of you might be reluctant to break your addiction to famous people, so let me help you out. No matter how much you want to believe it, these people are not the same as us. Hollywood is a place of desperate identity. These people work very, very hard to get you to believe they are people that they’re not, even when they’re not acting on screen.


Take, for example, Rock Hudson. He was a leading man, a man of action, a hero of the silver screen. That was the cover story. In real life, he was crazy for cock. He wanted dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick DICK (how many dicks is that, Tarentino?). There is absolutely nothing wrong with this attitude. If all you want on your menu is a smorgasbord of penises, more power to you. But poor Rock couldn’t let ANYONE know about it. Why? Because people don’t accept you as a leading man if you’re gay. So instead of being free to be who you want to be, you have to lie. You have to seek out male prostitutes behind everyone’s back. You have to spend nights in cheap motels, pursuing what you actually want out of life.


How about Cary Grant? How many of you knew he was into LSD? A fucking lot of it? But he couldn’t let on because he wanted to continue being the object of Middle America’s affection.


And speaking of Errol Flynn, did you know that his body was a cesspool of sexually transmitted diseases? But no one wants to know about that. They want their image of him preserved.


I’m not going to rattle off a long list of Hollywood folks and their secret pleasures. You can find out for yourself why Tom Cruise can never admit to the world what everyone else knows in their hearts. If this is your thing, read James Ellroy. He knows EVERYTHING about Hollywood, on the QT and very hush-hush. (More recommended reading: the classic expose of celebrities, HOLLYWOOD BABYLON, and Clive Barker’s COLDHEART CANYON, and any issue of CELEBRITY SKIN.)


What I’m getting at is this: the people you worship and follow through the pages of tabloids and between commercials on TMZ and E! are pathetic beyond measure. They can never let the world know who they really are. They have their stories, and they have to stick to them in order to continue receiving your adulation.


The argument can be made that a lot of ordinary people experience the same thing, that we all have secrets we don’t want other people to find out about. Once upon a time, that might have been true, but if you seriously believe this, perhaps you haven’t met the Internet yet. The star of everything online is YOU. There is tons of you splattered all over the digital scene. Social networks have made it possible for you to notify everyone you know about your every move. Your phone will even check you into locations on Facebook. We know when you pick your nose, take a shit, eat too much McDonald’s, and fuck a fat chick. We know because you tell us.


And then, after it all, like some kind of coda, you’ll tell us with a sad-but-not-really FML, as if that absolves you of all your dirty inclinations.


No. I don’t feel sorry for celebrities who want their privacy restored. This is part of the deal, and they knew that going in. And I don’t feel sorry for people who live secret lives to preserve an image of integrity. But I do implore you to give up your habit. Stop following the movements of these people. They’re not worthy of your attention. Let them do their jobs. Leave ‘em the fuck alone, and they’ll stop gracing your news shows with stupid stories.


In the interest of full disclosure, though (and I do indeed live an open-book lifestyle, as many of you are painfully aware), I should mention that I do feel sorry for one celebrity: Tony Danza. You’ve all seen that picture of him after a skateboard he was riding slipped out from under him. The cameraman caught him at the perfect, most painful moment. You can see real anguish on his face. Sure, you guys can laugh and make WHO’S THE BOSS? jokes, but I can’t make fun of that kind of genuine pain. He looked like he was going to cry, for pity’s sake.


But fuck him, otherwise. What do you think? Am I off base? Should these people be worshipped as idols? Let me know in the comments below.