Author's Note I wrote this a bit ago for my college newspaper as an editorial, thus the "article" mention and dated news event. The _____ is my school.
On Thursday, September 7, America’s own princess, Paris Hilton, was arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol. So raise your hand if you heard about it. No, seriously. Raise your hand. Odds are, you won’t be seeing raised hands around _____, and it’s not because people are too shy (I like to think my prose has gotten to an all-powerful level…). It’s because, barring the few obligatory articles that happened the day after, most likely featuring Paris striking a pose to one side while clutching a cell phone to her ear, no one’s heard about it! No, it would seem that the press has not exercised their power for this particular princess. Wanna know my opinion? Of course you do, that’s why you’re reading my article!
Celebrities are better than us “normal people.”
Just think. Celebrities have everything that normal people have: food (check), clothing (check), and shelter (yes, check). But what they have in these fields far outstrips anything that we could ever wish for! Celebrities dine at exclusive restaurants while the rest of us microwave Easy Mac, they wear designers that we can’t even pronounce correctly, and they live in homes whose costs would pay for our entire existences. It sort of makes us feel, well, insignificant, doesn’t it?
So now I’m that I’m thinking about this, I definitely wanna be a celebrity. So my first job is to find something to be a celebrity about. Let’s just go with acting, because, heck, I’m a reasonably good liar. (I mean, golly gee whiz. Lying? Horrible at it. Just. Plain. Rotten.)
Let’s see, the next thing I have to do is… get a famous boyfriend! Cause if I do that, then, well we’ll both just get more famous off each other, right? Oh, and I guess there’s that whole relationship, trust, loyalty, love, stuff. But that’s SO unimportant, I mean everyone else is together for like a week anyway and there are so many hot guys in Hollywood and so much Katharine to go around!
And then of course we’ll need a name. Now, celebrities can’t even name their relationships the same way, oh no. Instead of taking a half a second more to say both my name and my hot Hollywood boyfriend’s name, you’ll have to say both our names together, because we’re famous and special that way. So. Katharine and… Orlando? Jude? Ashton? Leonardo Di Caprio? All right, so Katharine and Hottie instantly becomes KatTie, so all the media attention we automatically get can be condensed to one picture of us clinging to one another, the caption KatTie, and a 30-second story about something that’s probably totally inaccurate. But that’s okay, because all publicity is good publicity, right?
So, my hot Hollywood boyfriend (what was his name again?) and I move into a kajillion dollar house, which all you normal people will see from helicopter views, and maybe catch a glimpse of KatTie sunbathing by our pool, or maybe even having barbecue out back (“See, we really ARE like normal people!” Yeah, except our grill cost about $300,000, and then we re-lanscaped our yard because the shape of the platinum grill cover really messed with the whole feng-shui of the place).
And then my movie will come out. I might win an Oscar, or maybe I won’t. But I’ll be on all those Hollywood shows, Extra, Access, you know the ones, talking modestly how it couldn’t have been possible without all the crew members, but thinking all the while about how it was all ME! I told everyone what to do and I acted the way I did and YES! I DID IT ALL!!!
From there, I’ll go from good movies to bad, from good boyfriends to bad husbands, till eventually you’ll see me crying my heart out on E!’s True Hollywood Story. Except for, even THAT won’t be true, because it will all have been scripted and planned to get the most out of my story so that I can get a publicity boost for my next movie, which I really hope to be my comeback, even though I’m an aging hag at this point, and I look older than I should because I’ve had a little too many facelifts than the doctor recommended. I’m really excited about the next movie, though. It’s about an aging actress who finally gets her chance when she plays a role she wouldn’t have considered playing in her youth. No, no. Not autobiographical at all, why do you ask?
And at the end of my life, with all my friends, family, and ex-husbands surrounding my private room deluxe deathbed at the Hollywood Hospital, mostly filled with recovering plastic surgery patients, as I take my last breath, I’ll say, “You know, I think I should’ve stuck with being a normal person.”