Can one have a favorite celebrity? I don't know these people. They don't come to my home, make me sandwiches or impress me with their banter. The best ones are dead. Why? Because they're a closed case, a finished story. I know they won't let me down with their next film, their next movie, their DUI charge. They won't get caught berating their 10-year-old on a cellphone or murdering their ex-wife. They won't burn out slowly, erasing the good memories of everything they've done. I've met some pseudo-celebrities, but I don't know them as people. They're as awkward and blotchy and silly as anyone else.
So my favorite celebrities? David Hasslehoff's first wife
, because she bought me a stuffed animal one Christmas and had lovely freckles and let me do line reads with her while she got her makeup done. Frank Deliah
because he had great Easter egg hunts and my first dog was named after him. Jerry Stahl
, because he was the funny, bitter one that my parents told me I'd be like if I wanted to be a writer.
Or Mae West. Or Hunter S. Thompson. Or Wakko from the Animaniacs, because when we're talking about people that exist only on a page or a screen for me, they might as well be fictional.
Who am I sick of? Celebrities who "work" their celebrity. And every single person who thinks that they have a stake in a celebrity's life because they know all the details of it. These are not imaginary characters, there to dance for your amusement. These are genuine human beings who, let's face it, have some sort of sick need for love and attention because they continually need to sacrifice themselves at the altar of publicity.