Celebrity Bloggers? That’s Stephen King-Scary

You idiots can worry about outsourcing to India and China. I know where our jobs are really going. To celebrities.

Two years ago, I lost a job writing a weekly column on the back page of Entertainment Weekly to Stephen King. Sure, writing a column isn’t all that hard, but I thought I was better at it than King, if only because he covers movies when they open in Maine.

Still, I think his columns are more interesting than mine because he gets to report the thoughts of Stephen King. You can’t help but wonder what Stephen King will think of the last “Everybody Loves Raymond.” I’m guessing he’ll be disappointed, unless Frank finally decapitates Marie.

But now there is an army of Kings threatening my livelihood. Arianna Huffington has gotten every famous liberal celebrity -- which is everyone besides Bo Derek -- to write columns on her blog, huffingtonpost.com, which debuted last week. And if you think people in Bangalore work cheap, celebs write columns for free.

The blogs on Huffington’s site are not edited or all that coherent, and yet I can’t keep from reading all of them: John Cusack on Hunter S. Thompson’s funeral, Quincy Jones on how Michael Jackson can’t handle fame, David Mamet on blogging, Robert Evans’ bizarre philosophy on why it’s important to try everything three times, which is particularly weird because he was married five times.

You think it would be gratifying enough just to be famous. But celebrities are encroaching on every field available. In the last few years, Jennifer Lopez put out albums, P. Diddy launched a clothing line, Venus Williams started interior decorating, Nelly created an energy drink, MC Hammer became a reverend, Arnold Schwarzenegger won a term as governor, Dennis Hopper painted, Francis Ford Coppola made wine and Alan Cumming came out with his own perfume.

Even the traditional refuges of the common man willing to degrade himself have been usurped by the famous. On reality TV, they’re willing to eat horse intestines or live in a house with Bronson Pinchot. Girls next door have been booted off the covers of Playboy. Even jobs few guidance counselors would consider first-choice occupations are being encroached on, such as financial planning (Russell Simmons) and being a porn star (Paris Hilton).

Who wouldn’t rather buy something produced by a celebrity? I would totally eat at a restaurant where Adam Sandler cooked my dinner. I’d allow Bruce Springsteen to perform minor surgery on me. And I wouldn’t mind paying 20% over market to have a nemesis offed by Paulie Walnuts.

The sad thing is, I know better. I’ve interviewed enough actors to realize they are, on average, less interesting than non-actors. Yet I can’t help but read Rosie O’Donnell’s daily blog on her website, which is written in verse. On www.rosie.com on Tuesday, she wrote:

“christina applegate got a tony nomination

hip hip !!!

i am so happy 4 her

which is kinda weird cause i don’t know her”

But we do kind of know Christina Applegate. We get so much information about celebrities that their products are always already fraught with meaning.

Paul Newman popcorn somehow tastes more wholesome and wisely amused than other popcorns. And when I read Walter Cronkite’s post on Huffington’s site, I enjoy the gravitas as I learn from his words, even if what I learn primarily is that Walter Cronkite isn’t dead.

Nothing comes with a blank slate: That’s what bylines and author photos and the little tag on the back of your jeans are for. It’s just that celebrities’ names are written in a font that is much bigger and far better looking.

How can we compete with that kind of added value? I figure I have two choices. I can either try to write way smarter, prettier and funnier than any of them. Or I can try to become famous by going on every TV show that is willing to have me.

I’ve got E! on speed dial.

[Editor’s note: Stephen King, if you happen to read this, please send sample columns and a resume.]