Perez Hilton – I can’t quit you.

I detest what pop culture is doing to America – how it is rotting our brains and making us salivate after the most petty details of other private citizens’ lives. Gossip rags and blogs and reality TV are the worst offenders.

I remember reading about this programming dubbed “reality TV” in a media professionals’ magazine (the title escapes me) back in 1999 and how it was going to change entertainment as we knew it. The first Big Brother having already taken The Netherlands by storm. I scoffed.

I remember looking at magazines like The Enquirer for giggles to see just how outrageously absurd their claims could be. I was so naive…

My dears, this is now mainstream. And I’m a junkie. They say the first step in recovery is admitting that you have a problem. Well folks, I mainline Perez Hilton – every day at least twice-a-day. And it was only last year that I very grudgingly swore away my US Weekly subscription.

Alas, I am not cured and probably never will be – we can’t “Men-In-Black-minderase” yet (at least last time I checked) so I’ll always have to let my fingers linger over the glossies at the grocery checkout, gorge on them at the doctor’s office, and continue to check in like a voyeur on Perez’s latest dish.

I’m ashamed. So ashamed. But it feels oh so good. Delicious.