Living Out Loud: : Dear Paris Hilton

Try to imagine how much I care

Dear Paris Hilton,

How it's going?

You know, I'm not much for celebrity news; but when it's thrown in my face on a constant basis, I guess I need to pay a little attention to it — and you've been in my face a lot lately. Last week I finally took some time to try and figure out what the big deal is about you. I went online and did a little research. Here's what I found out.

You're a party-hopping socialite. You're the great-granddaughter of hotel magnate Conrad Hilton and the daughter of real estate millionaire Rick Hilton. In November 2003, a home video was published online with you fucking your former boyfriend Rick Solomon. You are in a reality television show called The Simple Life. You made a hamburger commercial deemed too sexy for television.

You have a Chihuahua named Tinkerbell. You like to get into fights with your famous friends and lovers.

Basically, you sound like a person I couldn't care less about; and just for the record, I hate Chihuahuas. But I want to try and be somewhat nice to you, my new friend, because I need a favor.

You have money. You apparently have influence. Would you mind making a few phone calls to the network media and some to the print press? Sorry, but a lot of us are getting sick and tired of reading or hearing about you. I'm hoping you can try and help stop it.

Please don't take this the wrong way, but most of us don't give a shit that some of your old diaries went missing and soon will be on sale for over $20 million. Most of us get by paycheck to paycheck and don't have time or money to purchase your journals or to interpret your airhead thoughts. (Sorry. I meant to say "meaningful" thoughts, not the other.)

Can you try and kill stories like the one where a restraining order was issued against you by event producer Brian Quintana? He claimed you threatened and harassed him because you wanted to rekindle an old relationship. With all the horrible things going on in the world, a lot of us are simply not interested in your childlike behavior. (Sorry. I meant to say "misunderstood" behavior, not the other).

According to the press, police are now investigating whether you and some of your friends got preferential treatment from police after a car crash outside a nightclub in Hollywood. You and your buddies allegedly left the scene after the crash and got pulled over later, because there were too many passengers in the car. You weren't given an alcohol test; and that just looks bad, Paris. You need to kill this kind of story. You don't want a person to think you're a rich bitch who's above the law. (Sorry. I meant to say rich "heiress," not the other).

I'm sorry, but I don't think it's real news when I read that you're being sued for slander. You simply needed to keep your cool with diamond heiress Zeta Graff and not spread vicious lies about an altercation with a romantic rival at a London nightclub. And this stuff about fighting with her over a diamond necklace was way over the top. You need to know that, in the press, you came across as a vindictive, drunken slut. (Sorry. I meant to say "wronged, slightly intoxicated, beautiful young lady," not the other.) I wonder what your parents must be thinking.

While I don't watch television, I read that your show, The Simple Life, will be returning soon. But there will have be a format change, because you're no longer talking to co-star Nichole Richie. I guess, if I cared enough, I'd find out who this bimbo is, too. (Sorry. I meant to say "starlet," not the other.) But I just don't.

I went to Google and did a search to find out what you look like. You are a very pretty young woman. You're the same age as my daughter, who's also pretty and seems well adjusted and happy in life. Are you happy and well adjusted, Paris? I don't think so.

I could make this letter longer and talk about how your cell phone was stolen with all those celebrity phone numbers on it or how your Chihuahua was supposedly kidnapped but it's all so ridiculous, you know? You're flat-out screwed up and, to be honest, you come across in the press as a spoiled fucking brat. (Sorry. I meant to say "privileged sexual goddess," not the other.)

Why some find your misadventures interesting, I don't have a clue. Frankly, I think you're sort of a train wreck and feel sorry for you.

Here's a thought: After you make those phone calls to the press (and I truly thank you for that), why don't you go check yourself into rehab or go see a therapist and stay the hell out of the news for awhile? It would be a well deserved break for all of us.

Again, thanks for your help. Give my love to Tinkerbell.


Larry Gross

Larry Gross' book "Signed, Sealed and Delivered: Stories," is in or can be ordered from bookstores everywhere or purchased at Amazon.Com

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