It's like this. Generally, I have no use for celebrity, but deep in my heart, I lust after it. Intellectually, I can coolly disdain the cult of personality that is our nation's adoration of a few blessed, beautiful morons. But put me in a doctor's office and I snatch up the nearest People magazine. And every day, like a robot, I read the celebrity news and gossip page at IMDB. Anyway, famous people, I can take em or leave em, though I tend to embarrass myself and my husband in front of them. But there are some famous people who get on my nerves more than others.
Like Oprah. Daytime television is a big part of my new mother lifestyle. I used to have work and napping to fill up those endless sunshiny hours, now I have talk shows. And who would a talk show junkie be without Oprah. Oprah, who maintains that she's just a normal girl at heart who likes to save a buck here and there. Oprah who has John Travolta give her her 50th birthday toast. Normal girl my aunt fannie. And then today, on Oprah, they're doing cute redecoration things, and one of them requires re-making a coffee table. With plywood. And Oprah asks, "Where do you buy plywood?" Maybe she was just trying to get in an extra plug for the sponsor of the hour, Home Depot. But she looked really dumb. And fake. She's the most powerful woman in the country and she doesn't know where to buy plywood. She doesn't have people to tell her how this looks? And let's not forget that the reason she recommended The Heart is a Lonely Hunter to people is that it was Julia Roberts' favorite book. Don't get me wrong, if I needed advice on how to steal someone's husband, Julia would be up there, but literature? Call me elitist, but she's not high on my list of people who know from books.
Jenny's Rule of Celebrity #1
Know how it looks.
Another celebrity who gets on my nerves is Gwyneth Paltrow, but this needs some backstory. I spent an embarrassing number of years obsessed with a rock band you've never heard of (unless you've heard me mention them. In this case, my apologies.). I was eaten up with the desire to be up there in the middle of that. All that fun and style and inside jokes. To hang out with the cool kids, and what's cooler than rockstars? Anyway... here comes Gwyneth Paltrow, daughter of famous people, Oscar winner, no bigger than a minute and she's the love of this internationally famous musician who doesn't suck (if he sucked, even a little, it would be more forgivable). And THEN, she gets knocked up. And there is no scene. Just a quick, quiet wedding and some fucked up baby namage. This is upsetting a) because now we'll probably have to wade through Apple's movie career, too. And b) Mainly because it proves that to have that perfectlife with the happy family and the rockstar boyfriend, you have to BE Gwyneth Paltrow. Not to mention how she LOOKED while pregnant. Let's not go there.
Jenny's Rule of Celebrity #2
Don't rub it in. It hurts when you rub it in.