The Paris Hilton Chronicles: Enough Already

If I am witness to one more ludicrous little nugget of something pretending to be newsworthy regarding the Paris Hilton circus, I am going to hurl. Yes, hurl. It's no secret that I have officially reached the bounds of tolerance on this particular media event and wish to be force-fed no more. Why was it ever considered news anyway? That's what I'd like to know. Personally, I couldn't give a hoot in hell about anything related to She-Who-Is-Famous-But-No-One-Knows-Why.

Not so much as a hoot.

Her allure is nothing more than the glorified swirl of wonder and fascination brought on by the Bearded Lady, parading around in a booth outside a big, striped tent full of bears on tricycles. A freak show. A taste of the bizarre. Only Hilton is less intriguing. Waaaaaay less intriguing. I'd yank on the bearded one's whiskered chin and marvel over the strange phenomenon long before I'd crowd around to see Paris pluck so much as a single nose hair-let alone be led to the clink in shackles and shame. And yet the media explosion surrounding said glamour gal would suggest otherwise. It completely defies logic. Then again, so did Borat's popularity. Even I succumbed, adding his ridiculous flick to those I consider woefully stupid, yet outrageously funny.

Quite frankly, I was appalled to learn that something as insignificant as a celebrity's error in judgment and subsequent punishment would be considered important enough to be plastered everywhere-as if there's nothing else on this planet to discuss or report. I found it downright disturbing actually, to be reminded yet again of the media's inherently warped set of priorities and ravenous appetite for all-that-is-entertaining. Furthermore, I was more than just a little peeved about the vat of hoo-ha associated with her early release back at the beginning of her sentence. Without question, the recounting of such foolish tripe was infused with massive quantities of hype and it definitely sent the wrong message to society as a whole-one that resoundingly stated, "Good things come to those who whine!" Generally in the form of pity, pardons and publicity.

My kids know better. And they're only six. They can't even tie their own shoes (not well anyway) and yet they have fully understood the ramifications of errant behavior for eons now. Well, for a good chunk of their lives anyway. What's more, they've got the time-out thing down cold. If we direct them to, "Sit in the red chair for X number of minutes because we said so and because it isn't nice to whack each other with golf clubs-never mind plastic ones," they don't stand on their heads in the middle of the blue chair and gripe about the mental anguish they're suffering as a result of being unduly incarcerated. And they would never dream of mentioning there may be a book deal in the offing-especially if they happen to find religion as a result of their harrowing ordeal. Nor would they even entertain the idea of squawking about their so-called wretched existence to a tree, to a rock, to a pet goldfish or to anyone-least of all to the pandering news parade. And they certainly wouldn't be dim-witted enough to request a lesser sentence-or a cushier chair. That's because they're not stupid. They've seen this act before and they know how the system works.

They simply face the music, plunk themselves in the designated spot for the duration and go about their business once released-attitudes adjusted appropriately for the good of all. Amazingly enough, they sometimes willingly opt to remain in their chairs for a few additional minutes-recognizing that they are not yet prepared to return to a world full of temptation. Naturally, I don't argue with such introspective realizations-even from a couple of six-year-olds with a penchant for whacking each other.

If only things on Planet Paris worked so well.... Or in the complex and oh-so-surreal worlds of Nicole, Britney and now Lindsay. No doubt about it-the circus is in town.

Copyright 2007 Melinda L. Wentzel