Ah….Paris Au Printemps!

Yes, Paris in the Spring…or the springing of Paris…or Paris reslammered.

Yeah…that Paris, the Hilton one, not the worthwhile one.

A friend of the lesser one points out, “It was so cruel what has happened to her. She wasn’t allowed to wax or use a moisturizer. Her skin is so dry right now!” My god, Paris with dry skin! Leg stubble! Returning bikini-line hair! How dreadful! “She’s had an awful five days,” the friend goes on. “She wants to see her friends and have fun. She’s been punished enough already.” Five days without a party? My god…cruel and unusual punishment! California’s Guantanamo!

And well-heeled, high-powered defense attorneys to a person cry out that she’s been singled out only because of her celebrity. Right. And those same attorneys say nothing about how their butter’s breaded by the rich and famous.

But you know what? What happens to Paris Heirhead is not the important story. What is of relevance is the national obsession with her and this event. Every t.v. station covers it incessantly, even cutting in for “breaking news” about it, lest they lose advertising revenue if they ignored it as they should. Newspapers are adorned with the story. They’ve reached tabloid heaven. And why is this obsession important? Because it shows us loud and clear and in no uncertain terms just how shallow America has become. Paris Hilton drives all else out of the news of the day! Paris Hilton!…who’s not worth a rat’s aspersion of our time or interest, yet here we are, dominated by her.

If we asked that friend of hers what the american military death toll is in Iraq, do you suppose we’d hear from the friend that it’s over 3500?

If we asked what help she and her friends have given to the poor, or homeless, or an ailing parent, think we’d hear about any meaningful humane efforts?

If we asked about what’s happening in Darfur, think we’d get a knowledgeable answer?

Of course not. Those events detract from party time. Please…all we’d get is more drivel about “poor Paris.” More petitions to “save her.” More websites crying out on her behalf. Or another fan yelling, “She’s America’s Princess Di!” (Another pitiful obsession inexplicably rampant.) All of it is hard evidence of precisely where we’ve arrived in this country: in the shallows of monumental stupidity.

Oui…pauvre Paris au printemps.

Et pauvre l’Amerique.