Tabloid junkies should consider privacy

If you’re anything like me, you enjoy reading tabloid
magazines.

Wait, scratch that ““ you live for reading the
tabloids.

Now before you judge me as a complete airhead, hear me out.

I’m not talking about that
mother-ate-her-baby-and-slept-with-Bigfoot junk that fills the
bottom row of every news stand. I’m talking about the fancy,
celebrity-studded gossip that lines the pages of such
ground-breaking publications as Star and Us.

Why won’t Justin marry Cameron? Is Nick and
Jessica’s marriage on the rocks? Is Kirstie Alley too fat?
These are the questions that I need answered in my life.

So being the avid reader I am, I’ve learned many different
lessons from my weekly skim through my favorite magazine. For
example, this week’s lesson:

Britney Spears is trashy.

Sure, there was “the kiss,” and then that overnight
wedding in Vegas, and of course that whole “Crossroads”
movie, but for me that just convinced me that she was human and
makes a mistake every now and again.

But, as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words, and
seeing the princess of pop running barefoot around a gas station
bathroom with a cigarette in one hand and a Wal-Mart shopping bag
in the other really gives new meaning to the term “Beverly
Hillbilly.”

Star Magazine, which now has taken to referring to her as
“the barefoot one,” has photographed Spears numerous
times in the last few weeks doing everything from throwing milk
shakes at overzealous paparazzi to waving the finger as she drives
away in her white Mercedes convertible, complete with her dirty
feet propped comfortably on the front dashboard. Not really what
most would consider to be the celebrity lifestyle.

But besides these lessons, reading these magazines has left me
wondering what it would be like to live the adventurous life of a
paparazzo.

With just a map, a camera and an iron will, I would travel
Hollywood waiting to catch a celebrity when she least expects it.
And lucky for me, the other day I got a taste of this
“dreamy” lifestyle.

I was eating lunch in Westwood when along passed by a woman
dressed in baggy clothes and dark sunglasses, who looked almost
exactly like Meg Ryan, holding the hand of a boy that I could only
assume was her son. With her short, blond hair, she looked almost
exactly like my “You’ve Got Mail” friend, but I
couldn’t get a good look so I casually dismissed my
theory.

A few minutes later as I got up to leave, I could see the two
figures coming right toward me. I knew it was her.

Maybe it was the paparazzo in me, or maybe it was the fact that
I read too many tabloid magazines, but I knew what I had to do.
Almost instinctively I swiped my camera phone from my pocket like a
gun from its holster and held it up as if I was calling
someone.

As she got closer I steadied my hand and aimed it at my victim,
all the while thinking how deceptive and wonderful my handy piece
of technology was.

But to my surprise, I wasn’t as sly as I thought I was.
Ryan, spotting my attempt to snap her photo, started to look at the
ground in discomfort.

And I know it might not sound like a big deal, but the look I
got from her son (or whoever it was she was walking with) as I
tilted my viewfinder at the side of her head, which she was now
covering with her jacket, just made me feel like such a jerk. Like
I was violating something more than just their privacy.

Ultimately, I didn’t even get a good picture, and ended up
erasing the shot from my camera, not to mention my memory.

I’m not saying we all need to completely boycott these
celebrity magazines, or that we should follow in Ms. Spears’
example and attack any paparazzo we see.

But I definitely think that at least for a week or so, I’m
going to think twice before picking up the latest celebrity
tabloid.

This one’s for you, Meg.

E-mail Scott at [email protected].