I've heard that Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt split.
I mean, honestly, there exists a multi-million dollar industry that serves no other purpose than to catalogue the irrelevant minutiae of thespiatic life. How many times Brittany's been banged, the disintegration of Bennifer, Richard Downey Jr.'s continuing drug abuse, all these and the other assembled trivialities ceaseless relayed to us seem to me so evidently meaningless that I worry for those who think otherwise.
I take this position even as one who enjoys movies and television as a principle form of entertainment. I'll pay the $8.50 to see Harrison Ford in the theatres; I'd almost pay $8.50 to not hear about his relationship with Collista Flockhart. Reality Television has exposed the inherently voyeuristic trend in the American public, and so perhaps it is from this unworthy influence that celebrity affairs are pursued with such ardor. Whatever the reason, it is a practice beneath inebriated gorillas, let alone the populace of a great nation.
This sentiment, I know, is by no means unique to myself. Nevertheless, I today add my voice to the cry. There is only one response to the telling of celebrity episodics: