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Caught in the 'Gossip Mill'

Stacey Skotzko

I could tell you the names of Chicago City Council members, who Joey "The Clown" Lombardo is and the latest job-rigging accusation against Mayor Richard Daley.

I could tell you my take on big box companies moving into the Windy City and how Chicago still needs a police superintendent.

And if you catch me on a good day, I might even be able to rattle off some facts about this season's Chicago Bears.

But-much to my dismay-I could also tell you precisely what happened the evening Lindsay Lohan was arrested.

I could tell you the latest "The View" gossip and how Rosie O'Donnell oddly-and a bit disturbingly-posts poems on her blog. I could explain how tmz.com has some valued journalistic practices and how glorious Eva Longoria looked at her wedding.

This summer, I was sucked into the celebrity world, in all of its trashiness.

Please forgive me.

I interned this summer at RedEye, a division of the Chicago Tribune. It's a free, daily newspaper for commuters in the city-geared toward 20- and 30-somethings-and pushes the envelope of what is traditionally considered journalism. It was a fun, lively newsroom and I was given assignments just like any other reporter. I had some wonderful experiences, from watching a television show filming to speaking with the organizer for Chicago's Pride Parade-all while honing in on my writing skills. It was a journalism student's dream internship.

And I also learned an obnoxious amount of celebrity gossip.

The back page of RedEye-called the RedHots-is a smattering of celeb news. It's a favorite for readers and the newsroom will pick the juiciest, most scandalous tidbits to highlight. Think arrests, allegations, and child custody battles. Think People magazine, US Weekly and In Touch. Think music, movies and the newest reality TV show. It was everything that I disdained.

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I have always hated celebrity news. When my mom and my sister would sit and watch reality TV shows, I would scurry off and read my Barack Obama book. When my friends would pick up People magazine, I would opt for Time. When the girls down the hall would be watching "America's Next Top Model," I would switch over to CNN.

I would recoil at even the mention of Paris Hilton-to me she epitomizes all that is wrong with America.

The idea of Americans gushing over what Britney Spears did last weekend, instead of discussing politics or even the latest movie, made me sick. If the stars had the aura of Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly, I wouldn't feel such a disdain.

But relating Lindsay Lohan to Grace Kelly makes me feel sacrilegious.

As I would sit in those meetings, listening and laughing with what foolish things these stars (I use that term loosely, as Kristen Cavallari from "Laguna Beach" is not quite star-quality in my book) did each weekend, I began to fall into the routine. Names became familiar. The antics became sillier. I learned what was good celebrity gossip, and what was B-List.

Sitting in the newsroom and listening to journalists whom I admired and aspired to become, it was hard for me to understand the importance of celebrity news. Why did people follow these particular human beings so intensely? Why did it matter if K-Fed got child custody or who Jennifer Aniston was seeing canoodling with? Shouldn't we be covering the latest Democratic debate? Why should I care about this junk?

One answer became apparent to me: I should care because the readers cared. I would see people on the "L" immediately flip to the RedHot page, ignoring the fabulous cover story on drunk driving. The readers wanted the celeb gossip. So we had to write it. We had to be snappy, scandalous and witty. And if the readers liked it, advertising revenue went up. Plain and simple.

I didn't like that answer, and it didn't satisfy me. Journalists shouldn't cater solely to advertising revenues and I didn't think RedEye did. It was, of course, factored into decision-making. But it wasn't the sole reason for the obsession with celebrity gossip.

The one person who answered my question wasn't my editor, a fellow reporter or a page designer.

It was Paris Hilton.

The day Paris was released from jail for "medical reasons," her picturesque face smushed and smeared from crying, I read the articles in People. I watched CNN replay the scene. As the debacle circled around the media, I was able to stomach her for a moment on Larry King Live. It wasn't until I was venting about the whole media circus to my mother that the answer came to me.

We love celebrity gossip because it makes us feel sane.

I was telling my mother how I thought Paris completely deserved her prison sentence, and my mom quickly counteracted me. My mom said that Paris was still a girl, who still loved her mother. She was a girl lost in a world she didn't know how to handle. Plain and simple, Paris had issues.

I felt a twinge of sympathy and guilt, as I knew that I had been judging a human being whom I had never met. I realized that amidst Lily Allen's antics, Britney's lack of underwear and LiLo's drug problem, my life was pretty darn normal. Sure, I couldn't have a wedding in Paris or boat through the Mediterranean Sea, but I had a stable family and wonderful friends. My life was just fine.

Even though I haven't logged onto people.com since the last day of my internship and I couldn't tell you who broke up with whom, I don't cringe when I read about Angelina Jolie. These celebrities are people-people who are both normal and psycho. We can laugh at the latest hoopla and then read about the immigration bill in Congress. We can skim the RedHot page and then read about budget plans for the CTA. As Americans, and as media consumers, we can do both.

I can understand why the gossip is addicting.

But I never want to read People magazine again.


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