Luge fantasy camp coincided with the opening weekend of the Sundance Film Festival, and we spent Saturday night fighting through crowds as we prowled around Park City. Sundance is like the Super Bowl, only with more publicists and better clothes. Fighting our way through the throngs -- "There's Sting! There's Owen Wilson!" -- I had the overwhelming feeling that I was way, way out of my league.
Nonetheless, we somehow found ourselves in this exclusive party room where Paris Hilton was supposedly holding her birthday bash that night. So many people were crowded outside the bar trying to get in, you'd have thought they were showing her infamous video at the Film Fest.
And yet, we got in.
Let me stress here that I think the entire Paris Hilton phenomenon symbolizes pretty much everything that is wrong in this country. A rich, spoiled, vain, shallow woman becomes a celebrity by virtue of nothing more than having rich parents, drinking in public and appearing in a pornographic video. Call me old school, but I preferred the days when a sex tape was a source of scandal, not a reason to raise your nightclub appearance fee to $300,000. It's not like Hilton is even that good looking (she has kind of a long, pointy nose). And yet some people want the estate tax permanently changed so that she can get a bigger inheritance. Isn't America great?
But you want to know the really sad, pathetic part? Despite feeling that way, I really, really wanted to see her.
Unfortunately, we left before she arrived (if she ever did), but took solace when we walked out of the room and overheard a bouncer telling someone, "You can't go in there -- VIPs only."
And we got this treatment, mind you, without wearing our speedsuits.
-- Jim Caple