DATE: Thursday, September 4, 1997           TAG: 9709030011

SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B11  EDITION: FINAL 

TYPE: OPINION 

SOURCE: Patrick Lackey

                                            LENGTH:   84 lines

CELEBRITY CENSOR DUMB AND DUMBER SOLVE PAPARAZZI PROBLEM

My cousin, Dumber, called me earlier this week, all in a rage.

``The Pope killed Princess Di!'' he screamed into the phone.

``Calm down, Dumber,'' I said. ``The Pope would never kill anybody. You're thinking of the paparazzi.''

``Yeah, him. He killed Princess Di and her playboy boyfriend.''

``Wait, Dumber. The paparazzi are press vultures who prey on celebrities. There are hundreds of paparazzi. They are the scum whose pictures appear on tabloid covers. Their photographs of celebrities sunbathing topless sell for thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars. They are ambush artists. They are Mike Wallace on motorcycles.''

``But why did they kill Di? Everybody loved her.''

``I think the fact her boyfriend's driver tried to squeeze an overweight Mercedes through a curved tunnel at 120 miles per hour while dead drunk might have contributed in some small way to the accident. But apparently he was fleeing paparazzi. So as a member of the media, of which the paparazzi are a part, I share the guilt. What's truly amazing is that no one outside the speeding Mercedes was killed.''

``So, Dumb (my cousin calls me Dumb), what can you do about those papa-people? They mustn't be allowed to endanger innocent bystanders and harass harmless beautiful people.''

``You're right. We need to return privacy and dignity to the world of celebrities.''

``Could we pass a law against the papa-people?''

``I think it would be unconstitutional.''

``Could we poke sticks in their motorcycle wheels?''

``I think that method works better with bicycles.''

``We can't just let them do whatever they want to do.''

``You're right, Dumber. Here's what we'll do. We'll declare a one-year media moratorium on all celebrities.''

``You'd kill the celebrities?''

``No, a moratorium just means we wouldn't cover them anymore. We wouldn't photograph them anymore. Or if someone did photograph them, even the tabloids would refuse to buy the pictures.''

``So how would you decide who was a celebrity?''

``For one thing, photographers would be instructed not to photograph anybody they recognized. Anyone with a publicist would be considered a celebrity. Anyone famous for no discernible reason would be a celebrity. All movie stars would be considered celebrities. Skinny women with high cheek bones would be celebrities. Anyone whose eight-months-pregnant wife posed naked for Vanity Fair would be a celebrity. Anyone whose publicist has gone on the Larry King talk show to complain about the paparazzi would be ignored by he press for an entire decade. Give the poor souls some peace at last.''

``What about a photo of a movie star who has a new movie out?''

``Maybe we'd run a still from the movie. But no candid shots. Nothing on the street. Nothing of the star's family.''

``What about athletes?''

``They deserve a break, too. We wouldn't photograph any athlete on the first string. Only the subs would have their pictures in the papers.''

``What would the tabloids cover?''

``Toast collections, doll collections, cancer cures, astrology, surefire diets and kite contests.''

``Would people read those stories?''

``I don't know, but I'll tell you one thing: `Us' magazine would be about us.''

``How will celebrities react to your mortician?''

``You mean moratorium. The truth is, most will feel abandoned. Questioning their existence, they'll pose in front of mirrors for hours on end. They'll phone paparazzi at home to say when and where they'll be sunbathing and whom they'll be kissing, but it won't do any good. They can beg, but we'll ignore them totally for their own good.''

``Can you think of any celebrities who will welcome that thing you're going to do?''

``Michael Jordan, surely. And though it's too late for her, Princess Di might have welcomed being left alone.

The part of my Irish heart that mourns the deaths of British royalty is far too small to detect. I was under the impression that Princess Di wanted the media close when they served her purpose and gone when they didn't. The media, it seemed to me, were her personal violin. But my wife, who's Swedish, assures me over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over that Princess Di was special. I'll take her word.

In Di's memory, I hereby declare a moratorium on covering celebrities. MEMO: Mr. Lackey is an editorial writer for The Virginian-Pilot.

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