The world of the ‘stalkerazzi’
Published 2:47 pm Saturday, July 5, 2008
It’s 3 o’clock, and time for another fire call.
Our pony-tailed and productive photographer, Eric Johnson, is on a much-needed vacation, leaving myself remembering my days of standing on the side of highways, driveways and fields after hearing the scanner blare with reports of some situation in need of law enforcement or fire department assistance.
‘Tis the life of the journalist.
Your ears perk as listen to the dispatcher report the call on the scanner, then race out to locate the address — while trying to avoid a speeding ticket — assess the situation’s photo-op-worthiness, sigh with exasperation and return to the office (or your house), or gather information and shoot the fire/drug bust/accident/cat stuck in tree/meth lab exploding.
We know this doesn’t make some people think very highly of us. We get it. Yes, there’s an adrenaline rush, particularly if it’s a big story and even better if you beat the other media there, but we get the perception — paparazzi.
Just the word itself is pretty insulating. Images come to my mind of sloppily-dressed photographers lurking in the bushes with cameras the price of small cars as they peak their mammoth-sized telephoto lenses out for a shot.
I am being completely honest when I say I do not buy tabloid magazines largely based on that premise.
While a photojournalist may capture a family’s life changed forever, a long-time criminal handcuffed and hauled away, or a weather catastrophe wiping a town off the map, a paparazzo has no objective fueling his or her career other than repulsively exorbitant amounts of cash, e.g. $50,000 for a shot of Paris Hilton carousing at a Los Angeles club or “Bradgelina” with their gaggle of assorted children.
What do people find so magnetically fascinating about stars’ social lives? Why does it matter if Britney is as mad as a hatter or not? Who cares what hideous getup Cher wore to the Grammys?
Personally, I think there’s an obviously sad reason: the lives of glamorous stars are way more interesting than our own. They have break-ups! They struggle with eating disorders! They fall victim to tacky fashion trends!
But really, isn’t that just like us, only Gucci-clad, underweight, overpaid and talentless?
We know this, yet we continue shucking out the four bucks for their glossy covers and airbrushed star stories, giving ourselves body image complexes and remorse for not hitting the road to Hollywood or New York after high school for the good life. We turn the clicker to the time-suck luxury of gossip news shows and star reality disasters.
Tonight, do yourself a favor. Turn off the TV, put down the trashzine, and step outside. Maybe stop by the public library. Go for a walk instead. It’s beautiful outside.