Yesterday was a first. The first time I ever cracked open a US
Weakly Weekly magazine in my whole life. Somebody left one laying on the floor of the stall in the men’s room. (I think whoever left it there missed their target by about a foot.) Being the adventurous sort, and having time to burn, I flipped it open.
The first thing I saw was several pages of famous woman vs. other famous woman wearing the same gown. The question, in clown-sized crooked font on every page was, “who wore it best”? I’ll spare you the specifics, because what it really boiled down to who had the nicest rack and shapeliest backside. And if neither had either, whoever had the best bone-definition won the day. Of course extra points were awarded to contestants who found a way to reveal more airbrushed skin than their opponent. Fascinating. Absolutely worth $3.49. (Coincidentally, I got a offer in the mail yesterday for another magazine that focuses purely on this sort of figure comparative-analysis for only a dollar an issue. A buck an issue! A steal, you say. You may have heard of it, it’s called Playboy.)
OK, so a bit pointless so far, but not yet annoying enough to stop. Well, I didn’t make it much further through the magazine before I hurled it down in disgust. The next several pages were pictures of famous people doing the mundane things that everybody else does all the time. A gnarled, weathered looking Ricky Schroder pushing a shopping cart. A platform shoe-elevated Eva Longoria buying junk food from a street vendor. Josh Hartnett sporting a serial killer mustache as he jogs under a rain cloud of his own sweat. And of course, it isn’t a story, without the right headline. (That is if a collection of pictures with a single sentence apiece can be considered a “story”.) And that scarce text gem was “Stars- They’re Just Like US!”
Well, no shit. Which is exactly why I don’t see the point of this magazine. I almost think they’re having a joke at their reader’s expense with this. Perhaps thinking “Ha Ha! Just look what you paid us for! Nothing! Who’s your daddy!” I really hope that’s what’s going through the editors mind even now, as he lights up a cigar and has a hearty laugh. Because I can get behind that kind of evil. But I have my doubts. In reality, I’ll bet the editor is probably an aging baby-boomer with a surgically-stretched face who is actually proud of this “article” and is deeply concerned about what Eva Longoria buys at a street vendor.
Probably the biggest reason I’ll never pick up this magazine again is that I don’t like seeing pictures of celebrities being unglamorous and normal. I don’t want them humanized. Celebrities work for me. (And you too, probably.) Their only job is to memorize lines and recite them in believable ways that imply sincerity and/or emotion, as applicable. Well, that, and look really good. That’s all I pay them for and that’s all I want. What they do in their spare time is their business. What they think about religion, politics and the Great Pumpkin is also their business. This kind of information just spoils the movie magic. When I’m watching Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, I don’t want to waste even a synapse on Robert Downey Jr. and his trouble with narcotics. I want to just enjoy the movie.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate celebrities. Quite the opposite. I like celebrities professionally. Many of them do a fantastic, entertaining job of pretending to be somebody else in movies and TV. And it doesn’t bother me that they make millions doing what they do. I like actors with a good track record of great performances in entertaining movies. Once that track record is established, I’ll probably see any movie or TV program in which they star. But when the credits roll, the relationship is over. The transaction is complete: I’ve paid for my ticket, and you’ve delivered the goods. You’re not entitled give me your opinions on life, the universe and everything, and I’m not entitled to see your intimate moments with a shopping cart. And I love it that way. I wish everybody else did too.
However, if you do happen to be the type that enjoys seeing celebrities fueling their cars and taking out the trash, do I have a deal for you! For a mere twenty-five bucks, I’ll take a picture of myself, wearing a Hollywood disguise (hat and sunglasses- fake nose and mustache extra) doing very boring normal things in my neighborhood and send it to you. Hell, I’ll even autograph it for you! I mean, hey, my blog is literally read all around the world, but at least a dozen people a day. If that doesn’t make me a celebrity, I don’t know what does! But you better act fast, once I start appearing in US Weekly, it’ll be too late!