Let me tell you something about me everyone in the newsroom already knows: I am obsessed with celebrity gossip. Hipsters have cocaine, Jesus freaks have (duh) Jesus, nerds have Lord of the Rings and I have trashy details about Hollywood. Sure, I read The Washington Post, religiously tune in to The Daily Show with Jon Stewart (it’s a credible source) and watch the BBC nightly news; I’m not a complete idiot. But www.dlisted.com, www.thesuperficial.com and www.gofugyourself.com – these are my vices.

Vanessa Hudgens’ naked photos? Gross, but I’ve seen them (disregard the fact that they may be child pornography, because Miss High School Musical was probably only 15 or 16 when the photos were taken). The “Meg White” sex tape? I don’t think it’s her, but it was awkwardly funny to watch. The list of nastylicious celebrity gossip I inhale goes on and on: I am convinced Britney Spears is a crackhead, Suri Cruise is an alien and Sarah Jessica Parker is a man.

I rationalize it by thinking, “I’m the entertainment editor at The Diamondback; it’s my job to make Hollywood my business,” but that’s crap. The reality of it is, I love knowing that people with more money, prestige and power than I will ever have mess up just as badly as any other person. They don’t take care of their children (Spears). They sleep with skeezy guys (Paris Hilton). They have the capacity to develop unhealthy drug habits (Amy Winehouse). And every so often, they dress just as horribly as any other Ugg-loving, legging-clad sorority girl on this campus (there are too many celebutantes who do this, so I’m not going to bother listing them).

It’s not that I feel sorry for celebrities – I don’t – but it’s good to know millions of dollars worth of designer clothes, cars and properties can’t keep thousands of other people from judging the hell out of you. Now, if only they could get the jail time they deserve (I’m looking at you, Nicole Richie), I’d be a little less bitter.

As a 20-year-old college junior, reading gossip saves me from classes that would otherwise be mind-numbingly boring without a laptop (and brings me joy when I’ve had a hard day skipping the aforementioned classes). As a journalist, I know the fine line between laughing at celebrities and subconsciously wanting to be friends with them – and no, my incessant mockery of people more popular than I will ever be doesn’t insinuate some secret desire to be one of them.

To quote the speech Lester Bangs (or at least Philip Seymour Hoffman’s character in Almost Famous) gives to budding rock journalist William Miller: “You CANNOT make friends with the rock stars. That’s what’s important … Friendship is the booze they feed you. They want you to get drunk on feeling like you belong … If you wanna be a true friend to them, be honest and unmerciful.”

What Bangs was talking about is a little something called objectivity, and that small nugget of un-biased truth is what brings me to Perez Hilton (real name: Mario Lavandeira), and my hatred of the flashy, Fidel Castro-deathwishing celebrity blogger who calls himself “the Queen of all media.”

If you haven’t picked up on it already, I think most celebrities are vapid wastes of space. But more pathetic than my undying jadedness are those people who think that by expanding past their doodles of penises and semen on paparazzi photos into the television and party industries, they can become just as famous – and infamous – as the very people they are supposed to be critical of. Is there another explanation for Perez’s appearance on MTV’s Celebrity Rap Superstar, his VH1 show What Perez Says or his upcoming tour?

Worst of all, however, is the shameless promotion Perez does for himself on his website, with entire posts celebrating his own existence, begging readers to vote for him on Celebrity Rap Superstar or displaying pictures of Perez with his favorite celebs, such as Paris Hilton, Mika and Dita von Teese. Perez has fallen into the very trap Bangs railed against – caught up in the glitz of Hollywood, he’s crossed the line from celebrity blogger into poseur-kiss-ass-toolbox territory.

Regardless of how many hits Perez gets, there are other websites for me to get my daily dose of trashy news. I just hope I won’t one day be stumbling across a Perez sex tape, released by the man himself in a misguided attempt to create yet more hype. Because let me tell you straight – it’ll be one sex tape I just won’t watch (OK, maybe I will, but I sure as hell won’t enjoy it).

Roxana Hadadi is the Diversions editor of The Diamondback. She is the also the new monthly celebrity-gossip columnist.

roxanadbk@gmail.com