IT’S not long-awaited. It’s not even very long—but we go with what we have. Introducing the Media Whore. The Media Whore is an admitted celebrity addict. The Media Whore watches a lot of television. The Media Whore loves waiting rooms because they are filled with magazines. The Media Whore is genuinely interested in Mr. Blackwell’s best and worst dressed list. The Media Whore loves famous people. The Media Whore hates famous people. The Media Whore loves to talk about the things the Media Whore hates. 

Thusly The Inner Swine offers up this humble forum, a pulpit from which the Media Whore may rant at the Media Whore’s leisure, and the Media Whore loves leisure above all else (in this ideal, the Swine and the Whore commune blissfully). In the coming months, the Media Whore plans to sit down at regular intervals with a stack of Entertainment Weeklys, a VO5 hot oil treatment, and a Whitman’s Sampler, and pronounce. We will pronounce on whatever comes into our head (possibly hot oil).

A note on celebrity. When the Media Whore speaks of fame, the topic is not all people of ill- or well-repute, nor is it a diatribe on the order of “why is Jennifer Lopez famous?” Despite the common ‘media buzz’ of information overload, the all-pervasive internet, neighbors in the global village, everyone and their goddam fifteen minutes, etc, we do not believe that fame is random or even bestowed upon too many. Just the wrong many. A many of idiots.

People work hard to achieve fame. They are made for it. Despite their many efforts only a few achieve it, even in it’s most fleeting manifestation. Guests do not just “find themselves” on Jerry Springer without years of poor self-esteem and desperate neediness culminating in their moment of exhibitionist catharsis. Monica Lewinsky wasn’t crawling around the floor of the Oval Office looking for an earring and just “found herself” on a Barbara Walters Special. Fame is nine parts dumb luck to nine thousand parts effort, effort to fill the existential void that the rest of us fill with sex, money, designer clothes, Remy Martin, and pizza. 

Further, the MW does not believe that notoriety is inherently unwarranted. Many people, from Nobel Prize winning physicists to Gisele Bundchen, are special and different and deserve to be held up as examples of one thing or another. When the Media Whore speaks of “fame” and “hatred” in the same breath it is not a matter so much of the famous themselves but of what they do with their moment, their utter cluelessness in the face of the star-making machinery, their inability to control their own Behind the Music.  Imagine what could be DONE with a few minutes on national television. Imagine the Oscars as insurrectionary cultural uprising, rather than a chance to air-kiss Joan Rivers. What if stars GAVE interviews to the National Enquirer. What if Cher took off her wig? Imagine Robert Downey Jr. unrepentant. Imagine if O J admitted it. 

Of course all of these acts would end careers and that’s why they never happen. As the Media Whore said, people have to want to be famous very badly and once they are, they’ll do anything to stay that way. Still, it is the possibility that keeps us watching and makes us a whore and not a lady. 

In future columns we may discuss individuals ranging from Stevie Nicks to George W. Bush (and possibly Pamela and Tommy). In the way of research and responsibility the only resources utilized will be television, magazines, newspapers, and the radio, and they will be taken as gospel. Half remembered gospel, embellished gospel, but gospel nonetheless. Right now we need our beauty sleep. Leisure calls. 

If you want to send the friendly neighborhood Media Whore your thoughts before the next column arrives, you can send an email to mediawhore@innerswine.com.