I'd rather visit the city...

TWO things brought the name Paris Hilton to my attention recently. Well, three actually, but the third wasn’t anything new.
The first was the appearance of a rather interesting caricature of Ms Hilton on that bastion of family values, South Park.
For those who weren’t lucky(?) enough to be watching, or were doing the patriotic thing and watching Lleyton Hewitt get through in five against some Spanish dude, it really was a far better piss-take of Hilton than most of us would even dare to think about.
In it, Hilton went to South Park to open her latest "Stupid Spoiled Whore" franchise, where young girls can by the clothes and makeup to make them look like whores as well. Not only this, discerning shoppers could also buy their own amateur sex-video playsets.
Which brings us to the number two Hilton moment - apparently she went to a newsstand in the good ol’ US of A, bought some magazines, got her change, noticed a copy of her very own home movie for sale, threw the change back at the guy behind the counter, took the tape and said she wasn’t paying.
Wow.
The final Hilton reminder was in a book by an English cricket commentator.
Eh?
BBC commentator Henry Blofeld put out a book called "Henry Blofeld’s Cricket Year". Rather imaginatively titled, and a bargain down the local second-hand book shop here in Cooma.
In it, Blofeld described one of the Hilton hotels (in Trinidad I think) as being overpriced and overrated.
Funnily enough, I happen to have the same feelings about young Paris and her sister Nicky.
Ok, probably not overpriced, but they really are overrated.
Paris’ sole attempt at working seems to have been to go on a show with Lionel Ritchie’s daughter Nicole on "A Simple Life", where the two of them attempt to live in the real world.
Actually, no, there’s a book about how to behave like an heiress. I had a peek in a bookstore once and given the lack of women without a) clothes or b) four tonnes of makeup, put it back down and ran to the sports section.
Yet tell most young men (including those closely related to myself) that you really don’t rate Paris Hilton, the standard response is "you must like the other one then".
Nope.
That’s not to say that if one of them took their clothes off laid down on the bed in front of you and said "take me, I’m yours", you wouldn’t proceed to do so - if only so you could say that you f**ked one of the Hilton’s.
Yet this seems to be way of the world today (I can’t comment on before today because as anyone will tell you, I was only born yesterday).
People are more widely feted because they fit certain guidelines - thus we know more about Paris Hilton than new Australian of the Year Fiona Wood (sadly, I had to look that one up), Michael Kasprowicz doesn’t get the credit he deserves because he’s taken Brett Lee’s place in the Test side, and Australian Idol finalists get coverage when they get done for drink-driving.
Paris Hilton - over-blonde, over-madeup, over-rated. I’m over it.