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Lazy Sunday # 77: Paparazzi

There are generally two kinds of people in this business. Those who are creative and those who feed off them.

Please don't read that assessment as being harsh. Because that which the creatives create is meant to be consumed and exploited and copied and used to provide a livlihood or cultural enrichment for others.

But lately an entire industry has stepped to the fore wherein the creatives themselves are consumed, leaving less worth exploiting and a pervasive feeling of emptiness.

We call this industry Gossip or tabloid journalism or the cult of celebrity, with that last term accurately defining it as a false religion. A false religion whose high priests are called the Paparazzi.

It's gotta be tough making your living capturing, manufacturing and trying to sell celebrity news. One week you have a movie star making a salacious exit via a hotel closet with all the shock value you can dream of, but choosing a closet so far away that some Bangkok weekly scoops you with "the good stuff" and makes you look twice as shameless in the process.

The next you're run off your feet as big names drop like flies without regard to deadlines or previously crafted specials and eulogies.

And not being all that creative, you need to scramble to find something to say, opting for questions like "What's the mood of the family?" revealing either your own lack of intelligence, empathy and life experience or how stupid and out of touch with themselves you believe your audience must be.

And then some little floozie you thought you helped make famous, calling herself Lady Gaga, comes along and simultaneously nails and outdoes what you're all about in seven minutes of inspired creativity with more eye-popping moments than an entire season of pretty much any reined in and micro-managed television series.

This is somebody creative operating at the inspired level.

Drink your fill as she intended.

And enjoy your Sunday.