The Paris in All of Us

Blogging has become so damn cool, but not all bloggers are hip. Take me, for instance. Rather than researching and exposing the White House's Jeff Gannon/James D. Guckert fiasco like some other johnny-on-the-spot bloggers, I took four days off to complete debilitate myself during my send-off to the Monkey (aka A. Sutcliffe) back to England. My only consolation is that he too was in pretty bad shape. For the last few days, I have actually embarked on a three day detox program involving (I kid you not) leek water, diluted orange juice and health drinks (Ensure, not Slimfast). No drinking, partying or spending money. I have pure as the driven slush, people, and I am bored out of my mind.

I like--make that need--to spend a certain part of my day by myself. Most writers do. The trouble is, to write something decent you always spend a little more time than you'd like alone. That's because, sometimes, when you're reading a sentence you just wrote, everything that makes you love literature and books and even literary criticism is the same thing that's making you hate that damn sentence. So sometimes you've spent just too much time alone revising that same damn sentence (or making excuses not to), and you have to go out. Sometimes, the world just demands it. That is the case at this moment.

As you must know by now, Paris Hilton's address book has been hacked. This is a cause of great distress to people other than Ms. Paris. The celebrities, like Christina Aguilera, Eminem, and Lindsey Lohan, whose phone numbers have now become public have reasons to be stressed. But normal folks--like me--are just as stressed as they are. Why? Because someone might be hacking into my cellphone? (Please. It's a tin can). Because the celebrities in her address book are lame and the T-Mobile commercial promised me I'd get cooking tips from Snoop Dogg? (No. I don't cook). No, I am upset because I've discovered that Paris and I way too much in common. I too, can't txt a sentence--or a properly spelled word--to save my life. I too make unfinished lists that no one understands. I too listen to Maroon 5. I too conspire with my girlfriends to leave a boring party early. I too daydream of a day when I can add the words "Entertainment, Inc" onto my last name. I too have even skipped out on a trip to Vegas to stay with an ungrateful beau. My God! (Click here and scroll down. you know you want to know....:)

Needless to say, this all has been quite disturbing. For that reason, I am getting out and going to the post-production party for VH1's series Race-O-Rama. Gabe, who's helping me with the Street Law TV Series proposal, produced the Blackaphobia segment. I remember TV's Illest Minority Moments--done by the same people--was pretty good and have high hopes for this as well. The party should be good and should bring a quiet, but firm end to the fast previously mentioned.