When I stopped writing for Popdust a few weeks ago, I never thought I would lose interest in celebrities.
Having to write about them every day involved a total immersion in their real and made-up antics. I labored over the Daily Mail, looking for some news or photos I could spin into a post. I refused to just copy something that had already been posted somewhere else. Even though my writing and the website itself were garbage, I took a pathetic pride in being original.
I became an expert on Kim and Kanye.
My husband had to ask me several times when we were out walking to stop talking about Kanye. I found it hard not to share the contents of my knowledge base. I thought about Kylie and Khloe and Madonna and Gwyneth even when I was off the clock. I started checking in on them several times a day, worried about missing something.
I followed Rumer Willis on Twitter, and tried to decode her tweets to her sister, whatshername.
Now, I am blissfully unaware of Rumer’s musings, and I don’t know where Kylie stands with Tyga.
Without any deliberate detox plan, I quit celebrities, just like that!
It feels like a miracle. No longer preoccupied with celebrities, I haven’t become more productive and I haven’t developed a new interest, but at least I don’t talk about Kanye. I think it’s a win.
On the other hand, I may have a lot more free-floating rage and hatred. But I will need it for our Insane Clown President.
In fact, given Matt Taibbi‘s brilliant nickname for Donald Trump, it would be wonderfully fitting if Insane Clown Posse and a few thousand juggalos could perform at the inauguration! Please, universe, make this happen.
Where once I could rant about Taylor Swift with the passion of a crazed zealot, now I have no idea what she’s up to, and I wonder how I could once get so worked up about her.
Maybe it’s the emergence of actual villains that has drained my hatred for celebrities, or maybe familiarity really does breed contempt. Getting some distance from Kim Kardashian’s ass has helped me to refocus on my own ass, such as it is.
If you fear that you are a hopeless celebrity addict, take it from me, you can live without them. Step 1 is to renounce the Daily Mail, and if I could do it, so can you. Then, move away from your computer and start thinking about your ass.
*photo by Juggalo4U
I read the DM purely for the ridiculousness of the content. Both celeb and “news”. I dont think I could ever give it up! People mock the DM as not really being factual news, but lately I dont know if I believe anything being written by anyone at all.
Everything has a spin to it, a hidden agenda, or a sponsor. I am happier not really knowing what is going on anymore. Which is sad.
The Queens cold is getting better, so at least I am up to speed.
Meanwhile I’m thinking about taking up smoking again. At the very least I should stock up on some cartons so I can trade them for slaves because slavery is coming back in a big way and the nuclear winters are going to destroy all the tobacco crops.
Going to get so fucking stoned right now I may never come back. Fuck this shit show.
I thought it was because I was monumentally depressed that I lost all interest in the Kardashians and other horrible celebrities. I now know that it was my body’s natural cleansing process, like when pus pools around a splinter until the infection forces the splinter out.
My wife reads the daily mail. The way the stories are written and the time taken for the 3000 pictures per story to load, I don’t have the patience for that shite.
I occasionally read Paper Mag, which is as badly written and equally mind numbing (but it loads quickly.) The constant Kanye/Kardashian arse kissing is sickening. At least the Daily Mail has the balls to be critical.