You Gets The Vapors.

Vince Vaughn's recent supposed tryst with a sorority dipshit has me in a contemplative mood. Not because he clearly has awful taste in women (anyone who cheats on that sweet as punch little Jennifer Aniston obviously does). I mean, this sub-literate, bland as can be cookie cutter "hot girl"? Do you smell something?

Oh, it's the reek of just-attractive-enough-to-be-a-Hooters-waitress and it's coming from "Mal". Bleech. Her pithy observations on Europe make me, personally, ashamed to be an American. God forbid any unsuspecting European espies her offering body shots from her navel out front of the Vatican while her totally wild Tri Delt Sisters hoot and holler, and, thereby, take her to be a representation of this fine country.

I digress.

I am loathe to befriend people who drop names too easily or who make a constant point of knowing you know who they know. It feels creepy, and gross and just, ick. It also, when put into print casually on your poorly written, infantile blog, looks pathetic and eager and lame. Big fucking deal. You met someone who acts for a living. In the case of our gal, Mal: You also may have met a maid in your Italian pensione- where's the blog entry about her? She had to clean the semen off your sheets, I think that makes her a superstar. I am also absolutely certain that you have made the aquaintance of many, many bartenders. Where's the poorly-spelled line about them? End use of dimwit, horse-teethed college Greek broad as whipping boy.


I'm not immune to celebrity, of course. I get excited when I see people who I admire who are actors/musicians/writers/basic cable superstars out and about. I call Sara and shriek and giggle about how I'm shrieking and giggling because I saw BOTH Kyan AND Ted from Queer Eye within 24 hours of one another in different locations around Manhattan!!! I read GAWKER and DEFAMER and cackle like a plump hen at the panty-deprived antics of whatever doped-up flavor of the day "starlet" is being handed a healthy helping of steaming "Poor Little Rich Girl". But I take it for what it is- it's a job, this whole celebrity thing. No more and no less. Let's leave it at that. Just because I'm friends with my mail carrier, doesn't make me a better or more interesting person. If I happen to know someone who's been lucky enough to achieve some modicum of commercial success in the entertainment world, that's nice, I guess. No big deal in the whole scheme of things, though. It's not a reflection on me. You will never see me type out, "I had drinks the other night with [INSERT FILM ACTOR WHOSE NAME WOULD IMPRESS SOMEONE WHO GREW UP IN A REALLY SMALL RURAL TOWN]." This I swear. I'd rather try (and, inevitably, fail) to impress you with my own drunken, clumsy antics, thanks.

End tirade.