Random sightings. Red Carpet appearances. New movie or TV show premiere parties. Marriages. Break ups. I find it all fascinating and a total escape from my reality.
Where do I get all oif the latest and up-to--date news on these events. Enter People Magazine.
People has all of these happenings conveniently packaged for my reading and viewing pleasure. You had me at ‘Hello’.
What started as a mildly interesting glance at the random issue evolved into an outright craving over the past few years. Mrs. CIBF has an admitted love for this leader of the rag mags as well; but I kept my own personal People interest from her; for a while anyway. A few years ago she was given a one year subscription to People; talk about a gift that keeps on giving. Now, instead of guiltily racing through the issue while standing in line at the grocery store and then, ultimately , over paying for a copy, People was now right at our front door, every week, without fail. Touchdown.
In the beginning, I hardly noticed being drawn in by this paparazzi-infused rabble about meaningless Hollywood hoopla. I would catch a new copy on the kitchen table. Pick it up. Maybe a quick flip through. And that, as they say, was it.
Before I knew it, I was reading a few of the articles in full. Soon I was filling in some portion of the crossword. This little hobby was slowly creeping its way towards a weekly, cover-to-cover ritual.
However, the day I realized my interest had turned into outright craving is when I knew I had a problem.
Summer 2008. I recall it was a Saturday morning. I was sitting at the waiting room of Giant Glass (“Who do you call when your windshield’s busted. CALL GIANT GLASS! 1-800-54- GIANT!” There, now that little gem of jingle will be stuck in your head for the rest of the day too. Enjoy!) As I sat waiting, I noticed a wide selection of magazines on the coffee table. I take a gander at the selection…Sports Illustrated, Men’s Health, Car & Driver, ESPN the Magazine and wait, wait, wait…,yep, there’s my beloved People at the bottom. Sweet! Grabbed that sucker and sat back down.
As I smiled and sat back to check out all the latest headlines from the week in La-La I suddenly got a pit in my stomach.
What the hell is wrong with me?
- The Celtics just won their 17th NBA Banner and here I am checking out what ‘Brangelina’ wore to the People’s Choice Awards.
- The Red Sox were coming off their 2nd World Series championship season while I am learning about the lineup for the next Celebrity Apprentice.
- One of the golf's greatest US Open finishes was just occurred (Tiger Woods over Rocco Mediate in an 18-hole playoff in case you forgot.) and I am more interested in reading the review of Kung Foo Panda.
And just as I could not have been more disappointed in myself, I caught a brief, but calculated, smirk from a woman in the waiting room who watched me make my sissy-man selection. To make matters worse, she was reading one of the CAR magazines!
The only consolation I had was that my guilty pleasure was still confined to my knowledge. Nobody but me and 'Little Miss Spark Plug' would ever become aware of my proclivity for celebs over sports and speedy cars. This awakening would provide me some time to reflect and address this minor, but distributing, tendency.
Unfortunately, a leopard cannot hide its spots (and by ‘leopard, I mean ‘I’ and by ‘its spots’ I mean ‘my complete and utter disdain for myself’)
A few weeks went by since my windshield waiting room Watergate episode. My wife and I were out to dinner with one of my best friends and his wife. As we sat and enjoyed a cocktail before dinner, the girls were making small talk. My buddy’s wife alludes to a celebrity break-up she read about in People and despite every alpha-male/ X Chromosome/testosterone –possessing instinct I had, I quickly interjected before anyone else could say a word.
“I know, can you believe that! What was she thinking? She’ll never do better!”
And just like that, the jig was up. (and by ‘the jig’ I mean ‘I’ and by ‘was up’ I mean ‘completely suck’ )
The table froze and I was on the receiving end of three awkward and embarrassed-for-me looks of surprise. While this moment did not last more than a few brief seconds, it felt like minutes. Before I could jump to my own defense, my friend bursts into laughter, as did the ladies.
“How the hell do you know about that?” he chuckled in disbelief.
Silence.
“I happen to catch uh, well, she has a subscript….ah,” I fumbled.
It was too late.
Cat is out of the bag. (and by ‘Cat is’ I mean ‘I am’ and by ‘bag’ I mean ‘closet’).
However, I bet more than a few of you men have scooped up one of those gossip mags and had your own fill of guilty pleasure?
No? LIARS!
Now, if you'll excuse me I hear there is a new update in the TOMKAT divorce proceedings.
