I love the tabloids. I really do. Not only do they provide a window into our meaning-starved, navel gazing, brand-obsessed shriveled little souls they also cause the most unintentional of amusements.
Unless you don’t own a TV, haven’t been to a bookstore, or don’t eat anything but McDonald’s happy meals you’ve probably heard of Rachel Ray. 30 minute meals with a side-order of “down to earth” girl from New York have made her not only conglomerate they’ve made her a star, and that makes her a target for the tabloids.
The front page of the current issue of one of the rags, I know not which one for I was too busy laughing, features a professional publicity photo of Ray on about 3/4 of the page while the rest is a grainy photo of a quality so bad it’s not even worth the eye strain to decipher. What got me to look was the 72pt type headline: Rachel Ray caught in bed with another man!!!!!!! (I swear on all I love and hold to be dear that there were multiple exclamation points).
And all I could think was: I didn’t know Rachel Ray was a man.
Yes, the headline presupposes you have the knowledge that Ray is (or was) married but taken at face value it’s much more amusing than the fabrications “supporting” the story could ever be.
Ah, the grocery store on Thursday night. Proof once again that if you try you can have fun just about anywhere.
The tabloids are an amusing reminder of how much I am out of touch with pop culture. The aisle is a row of “Brad and (the one with the lips).” I had vaguely heard of RR before only because her Marketing Machine is clogging the aisles of my grocery stores with her books.
I consider Rachel as pleasing on the eyes, but *who knew* she has the best plastic surgeon in the universe?! :0)