Rusted Sky

My parents are using my house as their mailing address. As such - I'm getting my mother's magazines and my father's junk mail. I've already received permission from him to dump the get-rich-quick offers, which comprise most of it. That leaves my mother's magazine - the Enquirer, the Star, and one other the name of which mercifully escapes me at this point.

I'm rather agast at these things. Sure, they're a celebration of pop culture - but the culture they celebrate is that of the media star - of the Paris Hiltons and Brittany Spears of the world, caught in all their misbehaving 'glory'. A little of it goes a hell of a long way.

What is there about paparazzi and magazines like the Enquirer that seem to go for the cheapest shots and try to persuade us that the things they cover are really IMPORTANT, that this stuff matters? Who show bulges on midriffs, who'll gladly take photos of stars sans makeup and hair stylist attention and gleefully print them? What's the impulse that makes them do that - and why do folks find it so (apparently) interesting?

And HOW do all the male stars/objects of transitory interest seem to be sporting about a 4-day stubble? Is there a particular razor that'll give you a guaranteed seedy look?

Sigh.

It seems to me that they're debasing the coin they try to spend. What is an actor or actress or singer got but their talent? And these tabloids... when they get into the sleaze they're not looking at the talent. But then, the subjects of the pictures and articles aren't exactly worried about how they'll come across to their fans - they figure the job's locked in, so why be concerned?

Maybe the tabloids are just trying to show their subjects are simply people also? That they smoke, drink, do stupid things? (Never mind the characters they project on screen or stage - THAT'S simply an act, one they get paid well for.) So... Well, yeah - they're human. And it's all about the sales, isn't it? Get the eyeballs, get them to buy it at the checkout counter...

And the world gets a little uglier, when X's wrinkles or Y's stretch marks are plastered up in three-color glory or the details of V and B's split are hyped like crazy. Someone will buy it - so why not go ahead and publish it, right?

J.