I'm So Over You

It was with tepid interest that I looked up from my catalog browsing on the couch when the news reported that Paramount had severed its ties with Tom Cruise. Just about...what?...six months after me and the rest of American had decided that he was cr-aaaa-zy. Admittedly, I haven't been a member of the Tom Cruise Fan Club since his Top Gun days. But he really jumped my shark with couch bouncing on Oprah and his critique of Brooke Shield's postpartum depression -- taking on the mantle of every despised man who looks to his wife or girlfriend and asks, "What's your problem? Are you on your period or something?? Get a grip." He's just so strange and unnecessarily pedantic.
In the last year or two, Condaleeza Rice lost my allegiance too. Not that I ever agreed with her politically (don't like her boss) but she was impressive for how articulate, composed and intelligent she is. But then I heard her answer the question, "What was the title of that memo?" "Bin Laden determined to attack within the United States" and I felt a little different. Likewise, Don Rumsfeld used to amuse me, but no longer.
The celeb who currently teeters on my fence is Madonna. "Like a Virgin" was the first album I ever bought, and I danced to "Borderline" at slumber parties (my friends providing the swirling flashlight disco lighting effect.) It's with a little guilt that I start to question my feelings. But lately, she's looking older and weirder. Like living in England too long has already given her bad teeth, and made her pasty and pale. And what's with the fake accent too? Is Madonna a poser? Or am I an infidel and I should promptly repent by heading to H&M to buy the track suits she's pushing for them? (Available August 24th) Shopping does sound nice.