Call Me, Arianna!

Have to say, I'm very ambivalent about Arianna Huffington's Famous-Guy Group Blog. The thing's got its heart in the right place, but.... Celebrities. Goddamned celebrities.

Celebrities spend most of their time -- and by "most of their time," I mean every minute of every waking hour -- cultivating their celebrity. This is as true of Janeane Garofalo as of Ron Silver. Like 'em, identify with 'em, hate 'em, wish 'em dead, it doesn't matter -- the reason they're famous has extremely little to do with anything other than the amount of time they and their publicists spend shrieking LOOK AT MEEEEEEEE at the top of their voices.

You don't get famous unless you do that.

Ask Cintra Wilson. Or, god knows, ask my brother, who spent his twenties and thirties trying to crack the Music Business and is, let's say, a trifle jaded about Famous People and How They Got That Way.

So what among the foregoing renders, say, John Cusak's thoughts about Hunter Thompson one tiny whit more valid or interesting or insightful or valuable than, oh, say, I dunno, mine? Yeah, John gets invited to Hunter's memorial service -- is that because he's a Trusted Family Friend, a Valued Contributor?

Celebrity Culture is disgusting.

(Arianna, if you put me in your Blogroll, I will publicly eat a 200-thread-count bedsheet with this blog-post printed on it in badger poo. Call me!)