We once had a boss who was fairly well-to-do financially, but it wasn't the money that drove him. He didn't care about the trappings of success (well, no more so than the rest of us); for him, the greatest part about wealth was the access it provided. He wanted money only as a means to furthering his own fame. Nothing was more important to him than being talked about, discussed, gossiped over.
We're kidding; we still have that boss. (At least until he reads this.) But today's article in the Times about fame and its seekers struck a chord with us: We know way too many people who are desperate to get on TV, desperate to be in the magazines, desperate to have their faces somewhere, anywhere. Even Starz.
But you know what? Fuck fame. As Liz Smith points out today in her column about Paris Hilton (and the fact that we just typed that phrase should give you a pretty good indication of how incredibly "snake disappearing up its own asshole" the theme has become), you don't really need to do anything these days, apart from sucking cock on camera, to be famous. "Paris Hilton is exactly what the 21st century wants. A statement without explanation." We hate to say it, but that hits the nail right on its shiny head. We're as guilty as anyone in perpetuating the illusion of celebrity, but, c'mon, can't we do better than this? Stop wanting to be famous or caring about people who are. It's so whenever-Angelina-had-Brad's-baby ago. Read a fucking book (and not that Nicole Richie one, you cretins) and forget about it. Fame is already over.