I'm not one to get in a tizzy about cultural phenomena. Heath Ledger? His death wasn't news to me -- it's sad when anyone dies, but I'm hardly shocked when an actor or singer or other celebrity dies in a drug-related fashion. But as much as I'm unsurprised at the death, I'm also not surprised at the reaction. We're a country that loves our celebrities - love to love them, love to hate them. Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down.
And while I don't buy Life & Style magazine for the articles (I promise, I just read it for the pictures), I do take my daily and barely even guilty pleasure in reading Perez Hilton. I won't turn up my nose at celebrity news, but neither do I worship at the TMZ altar.
So I hope you, fair reader, understand where I'm coming from when I say that I can only shake my head at a world that gives us the new perfume Kathy Hilton My Secret. I don't care who she married -- she might have been a well-known New York socialite, but she's famous for being the mother of Paris Hilton, who is famous for, well, nothing. So Kathy Hilton is famous for even more nothing than her daughter, if that is possible. Next thing you know, Dina Lohan will have a handbag line and Britney Spears' sister's baby daddy will have a talk show.
(And rest assured that I don't have a chip on my shoulder over this, but I do have a tongue in my cheek.)