I know, I know. It's Paris Hilton, the talking Barbie doll whose entire "career" is built upon the previous surrendering of privacy. But I can't help but feel there's a difference between being on a reality TV show and having personal photos and phone numbers scattered across the internet, as Defamer so elegantly puts it, "like blow on a compact mirror."
There's a lot I genuinely love about this town, but sometimes, the way people can glory in the embarrassment of others... Schadenfreude is a natural human impulse, I suppose. But there's something so inhuman about it.
In other news, I saw Hotel Rwanda this weekend. Holy shit. Now that was a helluva movie.