Sarah Jessica Parker, attention whorse

I am not one for celebrity worship.

I find the mundane gossip reported by TMZ and Perez Hilton to be quite uninteresting.  I am not concerned about the latest litter that Octomom has whelped, Brad and Angelina’s formidable army of young foreigners or the latest Vegas vixen to proclaim that she once served as the warm and moist fuck-socket for Tiger Woods’ talented seed. 

Unfortunately, boqueen has a fleeting interest in such affairs, so I occasionally find myself sitting on the couch as the blaring picture box dishes out the latest Hollywood “news.”  In such situations, I attempt to shut down brain activity to prevent accidental absorption of the ceaseless drivel.  My attempts are typically futile, which explains why wretched words such as “Kardashian” and “Gosselin” have penetrated my skull and become a part of my lexicon. 

On Saturday, boqueen and I feverishly pecked away at our respective laptops as the picture box served as background noise.  She would occasionally pick up the remote control and change stations, searching for quality programming on a day virtually devoid of entertaining options.  Eventually, she settled on Access Hollywood.

Taking a cue from 9.5 million other programs, Access Hollywood was presenting their year-end wrap up show, entitled “The 2009 Access It List.”

While I simply despise “entertainment news” programs in general, I reserve an extraordinary level of disdain for “year-in-review” shows which allow producers to be tremendously lazy by regurgitating the past 11 months’ worth of content.  The combination of the two sent me into a violent seizure, causing me to fall to the floor, twitching and foaming at the mouth.

I regained consciousness several minutes later.  After brushing the crust from my eyes and mopping the foamy puddle of saliva on the hardwood, I glanced up at the picture box as an interview with Sarah Jessica Parker began. 

I have always admired Sarah Jessica Parker’s strength and determination.  As the nation’s second equestrian actor, she has broken down barriers and paved the way for future generations of horses to enter show business.  Her mentor Mr. Ed would be proud. 

I was inexplicably compelled to watch the interview.  Perhaps it was Parker’s lustrous mane that attracted me, or the funny way she would chew on the apples that the interviewer kept feeding her. 

The narrator explained that earlier in the year, Parker had issued a statement announcing explaining that she and her husband, Ferris Bueller, had employed a surrogate mother to carry their offspring.

Parker decried the level of media attention that the surrogate mother had received.

“I am incredibly outraged by the sort of extraordinary and unprecedented invasion of her privacy,” she said.  Parker explained that the mother had been threatened and harassed, and expressed fear for the safety of the woman and the then-unborn Bueller children.

I found it impossible to summon the slightest amount of sympathy for Parker.  After all, Parker and Bueller had announced publically that they were using a surrogate mother, effectively inviting the media scrutiny.

The companion story on MSNBC.com notes that the couple made the announcement in April, “just as stories were about to break with the news.”  

The notion that the story was nearly inadvertently leaked is absolutely absurd.  I suspect that the source of the “leak” was Parker herself, in a desperate attempt for media attention.

Partnering with a surrogate mother is a highly private family matter.  While the paparazzi is incredibly relentless, often unearthing even the most obscure details of celebrities’ lives, I refuse to believe that the media sleuths were able to discover the arrangement between the Bueller clan and the surrogate mother. 

Very simply, the situation is quite unlike a traditional pregnancy, where Parker’s belly and teats would become engorged.  The surrogate mother is a regular, non-famous layperson like you, completely out of the public eye and the camera lens of the prying media.  The only way the story could have broken is if someone with intimate knowledge of the family refused to keep her snout shut.

Furthermore, no one really gives a fuck about Sarah Jessica Parker.  She is not Lindsey Lohan or Britney Spears or a random blonde penis enthusiast from an MTV reality show.  TMZ cameramen are not parked outside of the Bueller residence capturing images of anything that stirs behind the gates.  As far as celebrities go, she is extraordinarily boring.  She is a devastatingly ugly actress who is married to Ferris Fucking Bueller, an actor who hasn’t had a significant role since he was the voice of Simba in The Lion King.

(The producers of Sex in the City successfully sold the greatest lie in the history of civilization, convincing the world that the four lead actresses are actually sexy women.  Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a horse, and beastiality is a perverse activity that is outlawed in most states north of the Mason-Dixon line.  The red-haired one is a disgusting ginger with boyish features.  I wouldn’t be interested in the old blonde broad’s wrinkled genitalia if I was Hans Moleman from The Simpsons.  The brunette is actually pretty cute, but she is getting old, too.  I might finger-bang the brunette, but that’s it.)

Parker won a fuckload of Emmys for her work on HBO’s Sex in the City.  After the series ended in 2004, she faded into relative obscurity by Hollywood standards.  The low point of her career came in 2006, with the romantic comedy Failure to Launch.  While the film grossed over $128 million at the box office, she costarred in the film with the vapid douche-nozzle Matthew McConaughey.  Sharing screen time with McCounaghey is the acting equivalent of hitting rock bottom.

Parker’s fortunes changed last year, with the release of the Sex in the City: The Movie.  The movie grossed over $400 million dollars.  Suddenly, the entertainment media starting paying attention to her again.  She’d trot down the red carpet sporting Louis Vutton horseshoes as flashbulbs flickered and paparazzi clamored for her attention.  It was glamorous. 

In a few weeks, things returned to normal.  The media remembered that no one really gives a shit about Sarah Jessica Parker.  The spotlight dimmed and she returned to Bueller manor.

The fleeting glimpse of superstardom reminded Parker of what it was like to be on top.  She reminisced about a time when she was winning so many Emmys that she would use the statuettes to scratch her ass.  Soon, home life seemed mundane.  Every single day, she would stare at Bueller’s pork chop side burns and receding hairline, yearning for the captivating thrill of being the focal point of media attention.

Last spring, Parker thrust herself into the media spotlight once again by announcing her and Bueller’s decision to hire a surrogate mother.  Predictably, the entertainment media quickly worked itself into a lather, hounding the mother and scrambling like starving jackals in search of a photo, video, sound bite, story or any other shred of inane content to feed the mindless celebrity gossip machine. 

I do not assert any knowledge of the arrangement between Parker, Bueller and the surrogate mother, nor their relationship.  However, Parker’s public disclosure of her family’s choice to employ a surrogate is incredibly irresponsible and a breach of trust by any measure.  A surrogate mother is a fertile uterus-for-hire, not a pawn to be used in a self-serving effort to draw the attention of Perez Hilton.

::

As Parker explained her concern for the safety of her unborn twins, I began shouting at the picture box.

“You fucking horse-faced whore!” I exclaimed, “You have no one to blame but yourself!  You outed the surrogate, you deserve whatever happens.”  

boqueen gazed at me as if I were stark, raving mad.  I pulled the gnawed end of my cigarette from my mouth, gathered my composure and explained my position. 

It seemed quite insincere for Parker to admonish the media for following the surrogate mother around.  The rental period for the uterus had nearly expired, and the mother successfully lived in anonymity.  By announcing the surrogacy to the media, Parker was inviting the inevitable scrutiny which would ensue, and would have to face any of the resulting consequences.

If the mother had a miscarriage due to the stress of having her picture taken while moving her bowels in the Hardee’s restroom, it would be the direct result of Parker’s actions.

Parker would have to live with the ill-advised choice for the rest of her life.  Essentially, she risked the lives of her unborn children in order to advance her own fame.

She understood my point, but felt that the title “I hope Sarah Jessica Parker’s twins die in the womb” was a bit too callous. 

I later discovered that the interview that caused me so much consternation was filmed in the spring and that the two foals were born in June. 

In retrospect, I am happy that the Buller clan has two healthy infants.  I do not intend to wish ill-will anyone’s child.

That said, I wouldn’t feel that bad if I found out that, due to stress in the womb, the children had developed equine colic and were put down and turned into glue.   

2 responses to 'Sarah Jessica Parker, attention whorse'

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1. And here I thought I was the only one who thought SJP looked exactly like a horse.

   Pete

   12.09.09 07:47 AM

    

2. Wow, that image with Hans Moleman is so good
   I really would love to be in his place and touch those delicious boobs

   Roberto

   02.03.11 01:06 PM

    

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