I wrote all of this on purpose.

I know I work at a celebrity magazine and everything, but very little gossip news dictates my emotions. I admit to being fascinated by the whole Anna Nicole Smith death thing at first because, while the death itself was hardly shocking, the whole scenario was about far more than her dying. And, of course, I'm happy when there are things to be happy about (Kiefer Sutherland — usually wearing a flak jacket — on my TV every. single. week. hotness.), sad when there are things to be sad about (myfavoriteshowever, Gilmore Girls, ending its run this month), and flabbergasted when there are things to be completely befuddled by (Tom and Katie, even as a concept). But it's fleeting, and I move on. I get lunch or something. Except with the Gilmore Girls thing. I'm not over that one yet.

But Paris Hilton getting sentenced to 45 days in jail carried me through the weekend. I wonder when I've ever known such happiness. As my dear husband is so fond of saying, "I love it when people like that get it." (And then he goes on a five-minute-long rant about how unfair life is when Cartman on South Park never gets it, but that's entirely irrelevant here.)

I want to send that judge presents. Dinner for two at the restaurant of his choosing, perhaps. Some might say (well, Kathy Hilton, for one) that the justice system is making an example of PoorLittleParis, but it makes no difference to me. I find her reprehensible, her sense of entitlement repulsive — and the only sad part about all of this is that she'll come out the other end (without having served out her entire sentence) even more famous than before, and this time, her fame will be linked to an actual reason/event/ordeal, as opposed to her current fame, which hinges on what exactly? Showing her vagina at will? Smelling like a ho? She'll (have someone ghost-)write a book, she'll launch The Simple Life: Prison, she'll (have someone else)design a line of clink-friendly crotchless, bejeweled jumpsuits. Paris Goes To Jail (TM) is going to be a brand, and we'll never hear the end of it. All of this pales, however, to the effervescent joy I feel in just knowing she, even briefly, is being stripped of the creature comforts she worships so much. Because without the money she had nothing to do with earning, who is she? Ultimately, I know I don't know this person, and I'm not one of those gossip-rag people who delights in the misery of others, but this is just awesome. Even if her public persona has nothing to do with who she really is, her public persona is so douchey — I don't care how much she loves animals — that this cannot be classified as anything other than a delight.

It's reported she told the judge, "I'm very sorry and from now on I'm going to pay complete attention to everything. I'm sorry and I did not do it on purpose at all." (And then proceeded to blame all her troubles on her rep, the cop, Mother Nature, Mother Jones, the Tooth Fairy, Homer Simpson and Alec Baldwin.) More than anything — more than her skeevy demeanor, her public stupidity, her wonky stink-eye, her inexplicable fondness for unbelievably huge sunglasses — that statement, for me, is the complete embodiment of who this girl is. She's the type of person who feels protected when she spins her behavior into something that was not done "on purpose." She feels absolved if she says she's sorry. She's safe when she plays dumb. And she thinks that if she wears her headband like a halo, she'll be sent home with the apologies of the court and the bailiff's phone number.

(Tangent: What's the deal with celebs wearing headbands to court, anyway? Didn't work for Winona, didn't work for Paris. Maybe the innocent thing will read more true if they wear those rubber bands with the marbles at the ends of them. That totally worked for me when I got caught cheating on a math test in third grade.)

The whole "I did not do it on purpose" rigamarole makes. me. CRAZY. TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR ACTIONS. Own up to the fact that you opted out of your own life so you wouldn't feel stressed or inconvenienced. It should never be expected, of course, that Paris Hilton would take responsibility for her own actions — look at her parents, for pissakes — but it's not just Paris. It's people in general. How long can someone live an honest life while shucking their motivations onto others so they can just coast? I'm seeing it so much around me lately, and maybe I'm not completely innocent either (where are those rubber bands?), but I just feel like educating yourself to the details of your life and progressing with them in check is, to borrow from one of my favorite movies, "a moral imperative."

Hm. My soapbox smells like Irish Spring.

Oh, and a free pair of marble rubber bands who whomever can name the "moral imperative" movie.