Paris Stoned: Observations from Wonderland

Four years ago, that was the first time I heard the words "Paris Hilton."
I was taking an English class when my late 30s, bachelor of a teacher said something like, "…Paris Hilton, who's never done anything of worth in her entire life…" That was the only thing I remember from that day, that, and googling "Paris Hilton" as soon as I got home.

I bring this up now because as I laid down to my usual book skimming before sleeping several nights ago I happened to turn on FOX News, always a breath of fresh air; I was not disappointed. Bill O'Reilly's heated discussion with himself had been going on for a while on the nation's current drama—the downfall of Paris Hilton. What's more, for the next hour we were promised still more commentary—"Hannity and Colmes" style—on the Paris plight. There would be no book skimming. No, I and the rest of the world were ready to see new, revealing pics of Paris in an orange jumper suit. We would also have an exclusive interview with one of Paris's ex-friends from the third grade, live on the FOX set, speculating on just how Paris may have come undone.

Personally speaking, Paris Hilton has always been a source of charm. With the lone exception of her appearance in House of Wax, I've long admired her from afar. Besides the fact that she would not only be on my top three list of "best party of all time" invitees, there are no false pretenses with the babe. Like the Good Son, hypocrisy bothers me more than any vice or "vice." For this reason, gents like Al Gore and Rush Limbaugh, both smoldering hypocrites, do not particularly rank high on my list. Paris does.

Last year, I stayed two nights at a Hilton hotel in Arlington, VA. I don't remember much other than walking those long, empty, curvy halls, with the attractively patterned carpet and closed door after closed door. I love walking quiet, empty halls. During some more inspirational moments I even imagined Paris walking by with a smile and a "hi," this being the limit of the fantasy, for fate or selection has kept me from experiencing supremely cool moments such as that.

During a commercial break my thoughts wandered off to Dr. Tucker, my English literature teacher/Paris Hilton hater.

One can understand why the professor might be a little upset, a little envious, if you will. Even some…rage?…yes, rage, rage in the more…quiet moments. Those soon forgotten Friday night moments. When yet another week passes without getting it.

You wash down your seething disgust with another Heineken. For sure, full of damned sureness, you knooooowww, see, know that things will turn for the better soon, not sure when, but soon, soon. Your sureness, you try, to help shout down that bit of doubt, invincible doubt that insists that next Friday night will be full of Heinekens and quiet curses and reruns of Thirtysomething. It pisses you off to no end that you're smarter than Paris, you're older, like, worked—and worked damned hard—in your life. Why the hell does some hussie like Hilton make more money than you? She didn't even graduate from high school, for chryssake. Before you taught at Penn State, you were at Boston College, instructing kids on the deeper meaning of Gertrude Stein's Brewsie and Willie. Now you're beginning to write your life's magnum opus on Jane Austen's classic, Sense and Sensibility. You hope to tell the world your theory—how Austen's work shows the conflict between classicism and romanticism and how this conflict ironically ushered in the romantic age…And then you look at that Paris bitch. And you hate her because…who the hell is she? But then…Paris…a woman…reminds you of your last significant other…her name is…Joanne. You're both on amiable terms now. Friends, actually. Indeed, she works just three rooms down the hall teaching philosophy. And you think, Joanne has more talent in her little goddamned finger than that bitch. You have nothing to do. Can't sleep. Friday night is not Saturday morning. So you go online, aimlessly going from site to site, link to link. Until you end up on some celebrity porn site. There is a Paris Hilton archive at the top, with a fire-fonted "NEW!" next to it. You click on the link. And you want to hate, but, ignoring the tightening, you know on some level that you're better than that Paris…you then go to your favorite, more sobering, websites like salon.com and treehugger.com. It bothers you when you think of Paris and the world…Paris vs. the world…because…how could she have so much fun when the world suffers so? You think of African children and Bono and your $20 monthly contribution to the Lifetime network and those sad polar bears made homeless bears because of the new Toyota Sequoia. How the hell could that stupid blonde have so much fun? You love to see her in jail and you love to see her cry.

Coming to, a debate between one of the FOX hookers and a genuinely concerned woman who personally knows Paris caught my attention. The Fox girl said that because Paris first drove drunk and then later drove without having a state license, she therefore committed an action that was a "danger to society." Yet, as I slumbered in preparation for another scintillating day in the Keystone State, while Paris whooped it up 3000 miles westward, it remains a bit unclear as to how I was in danger, presuming, of course, that I am included in the FOX babe's definition of society. Just which society was left unexplained. Nor was any comprehensible definition of society adduced.

The FOX ho, however, appeals to a certain audience—the fiery guy and the zealous lass who see their America crumbling, and who are certain that through only "punish, punish, punish!" may it thereby be saved. Seeing Paris cry, seeing her in orange—especially in light of the Hilton family dissing a court of law, or so FOX reminds us—these things assure them that all is right in the republic, and that Providence does perhaps work through our law interpreters in particular and our state elected officials in general. To mock our high priests and bring disgrace to the City upon a Hill is well-nigh heresy and must thus be eradicated.

As this blog concludes, the dust is now settling. The nation has cleansed itself; has undergone yet another religious rapture; has corrected another heretic; has stoned another whore.