For the past few weeks, I've been astonished to find there's been no front page news on the life and times of Hilton heiress, Paris. I mean, with America at war, the health care system in disarray, and a presidential election creeping up, what else could possibly be more worthy of breaking news than Paris's recovery from her time in the slammer? We're all praying for you, dear Paris; get well soon.
I'm sure I'm not the only one surprised by this; half of America probably expects Paris to randomly appear on every news station, perhaps speaking at the next State of the Union Address, where - when asked about her feelings on Iraq - she replies, "I'd love to go there; I've never been to Africa" and then concludes her speech with her signature catch phrase, "That's hot." Her dad beams with pride, her mom applauds enthusiastically, her dog Tinkerbell piddles from excitement.
Right — and the world goes further to hell in a hand basket; a designer hand basket, mind you.
Sarcasm aside, I, like so many other people, simply don't get why Paris Hilton is such a big deal. So, she's a heiress to the Hilton hotel chain. So what? I'm set to inherit my dad's one-man janitorial company and you don't see me getting attention (and he has a really expensive mop, people!). So she's blond, tall and thin. I can dye my hair, wear heels, and throw up after I eat. If that doesn't get me Paris-like attention, I guess I could just stop wearing underwear. I will miss you, Fruit of the Loom.
Truth be told, the whole Paris fascination is a bit of an enigma: she's not a big deal, she just makes herself one and that, in turn, makes everyone bite — even if they don't like the taste. Look at this article, I'm doing it, too.
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