Remember my name? How could I forget?

Do you think Brad Pitt does his own shopping? Probably not. Perhaps he has a designated shopper, or just a multi-purpose, live-in bitch that takes care of such menial tasks. Regardless, he cannot be blamed for avoiding the supermarket.

Just imagine it for a second.

He's in line with a basketful of maraschino cherries, caramel sauce and a package of Nice N' Easy for Angelina. Suddenly, a slightly overweight 40-something who hasn't had sex in five years notices him. Bedlam, accompanied with lots of slobber and high-pitched screams. Mangos go crashing.

Naturally, this scenario is totally implausible, because even if you had never heard the name Brad Pitt in your life nor seen one of his movies, you would instantly recognize him as soon as he walked in the store. How? Because he's been on the cover of every ‘supermarket-checkout-line' magazine for the past three years running.

He may be the cover boy one week, or he may be in an insert in the bottom right had corner the next, but he's there, along with Nick and Jessica, and of course Jen and the aforementioned, enigmatic Angelina. Every issue, every time. Who's screwing whom? Who's having a baby? Who's having a spat? Who's doing drugs? Who's lost or gained weight? Who's getting divorced after four minutes of marriage?

On one side, there is Snickers and gum; on the other, celebrity head shot wallpaper.

Some of these magazines did not exist until Brad started dating Jen, from what I can tell. It's as if an entire cottage industry has sprung up overnight when the two of them got together, and the old standbys had a sure thing that would sell copied every week. Suddenly, People and US and Star and Globe and the National Inquirer were not enough. Now we have Lifestyles, In Style, Celebrity Roundup or whatever - I can't even think of the names of these Johnny come latelys - bound volumes of nothingness - because they all look like People Magazine! And how that is for a ringing endorsement of our culture - People now holds the status of benchmark.

Only one rag dares to be more repetitive in its choice for who goes on the cover, and that special someone is, of course, Oprah Winfrey. Now I know what you are saying; Oprah does good work, like endorsing novels masquerading as non-fiction and finding out how many parts per of million of fecal residues are on your local ATM keypad. She asks the tough questions without getting too sensationalistic, like when she interviewed a nymphomaniac about two months ago, and asked (and I quote); "So you've had men ejaculate in your face?"

Go get ‘em, Oprah! Leave no stone unturned!

I've always though Oprah should do a show on egomaniacs, simply for convenience's sake. She could have herself on as a guest! I think the opening question of the interview should be: "So, what kind of person uses their vast personal fortune to start a magazine, name it after themselves, put themselves on EVERY SINGLE COVER and then pay distributors to place the thing in every supermarket checkout line in America?" Or, maybe I'll write a biography highlighting my journey to the Earth's core, put a moralistic lesson somewhere in there and get the book on Oprah's Book Club; then I'll get on the show and ask her myself. I'm guessing that when she hears my question, she won't be so happy that she starts jumping up and down on the couch.

Which segues beautifully into the TomKat world of the bizarre. Seeing a news blurb with the word 'TomKat' makes me want to kill someone, and then die. If I ever mix my name with my wife's in that manner, I pray that Bruce Willis comes crashing in win a Samurai sword and takes my tacky, soulless life away from me with one angry swoop of his razor-sharp Thaitsuki.

In case you couldn't tell, I'm not a big enthusiast of the Hollywood mega-celebrity, but this Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes thing is sort of delicious. It's not because they are famous - in fact, I'd be just as interested if they were my ugly, non-specific next-door neighbors. Why? Because you can smell the creepiness like a rotting carcass.

What is going on there, exactly? One minute, Katie Holmes is a well-adjusted, up-and-coming actress with a nice group of friends, landing cool roles in moves like The Wonder Boys. Next minute, she's playing human test-tube, carrying the zygote of The Damien of Scientology, her inner circle now composed of L. Ron Hubbard's alien spawn. She must have done something blackmail-able, and those Scientology folks have more money than Satan. She's screwed, and she's married to Nutboy. Oh boy. I would luuuuuuuuuuv to be a fly on that wall.

But for the most part, celebrities bore me, or at least the seemingly endless tabloid juggernaut cataloguing their every move bores me - especially today's stars, who appear significantly dimmer than in days of yore. Nick and Jessica? Who are these people and why do 23 different magazines plaster them on the cover with phrases like "She Still Loves Him" and "The Fight You Didn't Know About"? WHO FUCKING CARES! Nick and Jessica are banal, listless and limp. They simply aren't intelligent enough to be crazy, which makes them infinitely uninteresting. Honestly, there have never been a bigger couple of nothings who have received so much attention. Gone are the days when celebrities had a smidgen of gravitas. Bring me Jack Nicholson! Bring me Faye Dunaway! Bring me Bogart!

Nick and Jessica? Pfft. Canned salmon has more appeal.

Maybe these rags just need to make things a little more interesting, though I'm sure they try. But in the end, it's usually just a bunch of pictures of these folks doing very folksy things, like going to the coffee shop with their kids or picking up a new pair of pants. Even though the photos have that "Private Eye" look to try and make the trip to the dry cleaners seem sensationalistic, it's really just a bunch of bozos doing everyday stuff, just like you and me. They try to make it seem shocking that the beautiful people don't look quite as beautiful at 8 AM without any makeup as they did in Oceans Twelve.

WHAT?!?!? You mean they don't always, naturally appear exactly as they do in the movies? SCANDAL!

It's an obsession. People need them, and I just don't get it. Celebrities are people you'll never meet, who don't care about you, who would give you the time of day if you begged them (well, maybe that Sandra Bullock gal - I heard she's really down to earth). Whatever they do, whoever the sleep with, it all has absolutely no impact on you whatsoever. So stop supporting these magazines so I can stop reading them with I'm buying my Yoo-Hoo.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've a copy of Street & Smith's NFL Draft Preview to read.

Evan Redmon is a freelance writer and editor. He has lived in Washington, DC for most of his life, with seven years of college down the drain in Madison, WI and four and a half years of doing nothing in particular in Boulder, CO. He has visited 39 of the 50 states in the Union (excluding Alaska and Hawaii) and can be reached at evanredmon@yahoo.com.