Monday, June 04, 2007
Music Week
Today Paris Hilton started her 23 day jail term sentence, a punishment we think is ridiculously harsh given that her only real crime is that of not reading her post properly. Oh, and driving without a license. And drink driving. But ignoring that - and frankly we think the authorities should paying a little more attention to the fact that Paris is a celebrity and, as such, not subject to the same rules and regulations as the rest of us - it's all very minor, really. Still, like it or not, she's still about to experience a very different lifestyle than what she's used to, so what exactly is in store for her over the first few days? Let's have a look shall we?
MONDAY
Paris has a few hours of freedom to spend before she has to make her way to Los Angeles County Jail, her home for the next three weeks. Naturally she wants to make the most of her last few precious moments of liberty, her last chance to enjoy all the good things the world has to offer without having to stare longingly at them through a metal barred window, so she promptly goes out to smell the flowers. Smell the Flowers is a Nail Bar in West Beverley Hills and Paris is determined that she'll have the best damned cuticles on the whole block. To help her out, the manicurist sharpens her pinkie nail into a sharpened point, in case things get a bit territorial in the prison.
After primping and preening herself, Paris arrives at prison and is immediately shocked at the conditions there. "They don't even have a red carpet!", she says incredulously to one of her aides, who is frantically trying to find a Paris lookalike who's interested in a three week job in less salubrious conditions than they may be used to. She eventually leaves the car, still not entirely clear why someone else had to drive, and begins her entry into the prison lifestyle. She's stripped, forced into a shower and already the indignities begin. "Hey!", she exclaims angrily to the surly guard, "You'd better not be videoing this for YouTube. Not without me signing a contract first, anyway".
TUESDAY
Paris awakes in her cell and looks grimly at the orange jumpsuit she's going to be wearing for nearly a month. Unfortunately the guards turned down her request for some sequins and a belt so her dreams of customisation had to sadly be put aside. "Besides", she thought ruefully, "I'd never be able to get my seamstress in here". She turns to her new cellmate, who has spent most of her time with Paris pumping iron and staring at the heiress in a meaningful way, and decides to try and get some information about the prison lifestyle. After all, there's a lot of things a girl needs to know to be able to successfully complete her sentence without walking into a situation she wasn't even aware would be a problem. There were issues of hierarchy, of territory, of deference and, above all, of respect. A girl would have to tread carefully to avoid making a faux pas, so Paris took a deep breath, steadied herself and prepared to ask the one question whose answer, as far as she was concerned, was vital to her survival in this hellhole. "So", she asked, waiting until her cellmate had stopped trimming her moustache, "What time do the shops open around here?".
WEDNESDAY
After missing out on yesterday's work detail due to having to visit the prison's nurse thanks to an allergic reaction caused by a mystery blast of shaving cream in her eyes, Paris spent today in the workhouse, making numberplates. Unfortunately most of hers had to get binned due to her inability to spell the number '6' correctly.
Before lights out, Paris spent an hour or so hanging out in the social area, but left after the 37th person made the "So this isn't your first criminal record then", joke. Not because she was offended by it, just because she didn't get it and was getting embarrassed.
THURSDAY
Problems hit the jail this morning when the phone system broke down after every single inmate tied up the lines by contacting Heat magazine telling them: "Spotted! Paris Hilton slopping out", which annoyed Paris as she was hoping to get the exclusive on that.
She also got to spend some time in the exercise yard today, and she enjoyed the chance to experience a bit of space as, despite searching high and low, she's still not been able to find the way out of the entrance hall to her villa. Although the other girl in the hall, or 'cell', as she insists on calling it, assures her that "This is all there is", Paris isn't convinced. After all, this isn't the first time she's managed to get lost in a small room and she's sure as hell it won't be the last.
FRIDAY
It's a restless night for Paris as the true nightmarish reality of the situation she's in finally begins to hit her: In one more day her Botox will wear off. She wakes up tired and grumpy and looking miserable. Or looking like Paris Hilton, to put it another way. Frankly, she's had enough of this whole prison experience. At least with The Simple Life once the cameras were turned off she was able to stop pretending to be having fun hanging out with poor people, but this was 24/7. It was like being in Big Brother, and Paris was damned if she was going to go back to her old career as a Chantelle Houghton lookalike. Not only that but the other prisoners kept making fun of her, like last night when she was trying to talk to her friends when she saw them in the rec room and the other jailbirds just laughed and said that just because they were on TV doesn't mean that they can hear her. "What do they know anyway?", she thought angrily to herself, "I'm on TV too and they can definitely hear me. Finally, she does what she should have done at the start of this whole experience, taking advantage of her size zero frame, she turns to the side, slips between the bars imprisoning her and runs off to freedom. Or at least she would have done had she not spent thirty minutes posing for the paparazzi before grabbing one of the police dogs being used to track her down and attempting to put in her handbag, "The natural place for all dogs", according to her. Jailed once again, Paris' sentence is extended by another two weeks. Which is bad news for her, but fantastic for the sellers of the Free Paris t-shirts who now have an extra fortnight in which to ply their wares. Result!
MONDAY
Paris has a few hours of freedom to spend before she has to make her way to Los Angeles County Jail, her home for the next three weeks. Naturally she wants to make the most of her last few precious moments of liberty, her last chance to enjoy all the good things the world has to offer without having to stare longingly at them through a metal barred window, so she promptly goes out to smell the flowers. Smell the Flowers is a Nail Bar in West Beverley Hills and Paris is determined that she'll have the best damned cuticles on the whole block. To help her out, the manicurist sharpens her pinkie nail into a sharpened point, in case things get a bit territorial in the prison.
After primping and preening herself, Paris arrives at prison and is immediately shocked at the conditions there. "They don't even have a red carpet!", she says incredulously to one of her aides, who is frantically trying to find a Paris lookalike who's interested in a three week job in less salubrious conditions than they may be used to. She eventually leaves the car, still not entirely clear why someone else had to drive, and begins her entry into the prison lifestyle. She's stripped, forced into a shower and already the indignities begin. "Hey!", she exclaims angrily to the surly guard, "You'd better not be videoing this for YouTube. Not without me signing a contract first, anyway".
TUESDAY
Paris awakes in her cell and looks grimly at the orange jumpsuit she's going to be wearing for nearly a month. Unfortunately the guards turned down her request for some sequins and a belt so her dreams of customisation had to sadly be put aside. "Besides", she thought ruefully, "I'd never be able to get my seamstress in here". She turns to her new cellmate, who has spent most of her time with Paris pumping iron and staring at the heiress in a meaningful way, and decides to try and get some information about the prison lifestyle. After all, there's a lot of things a girl needs to know to be able to successfully complete her sentence without walking into a situation she wasn't even aware would be a problem. There were issues of hierarchy, of territory, of deference and, above all, of respect. A girl would have to tread carefully to avoid making a faux pas, so Paris took a deep breath, steadied herself and prepared to ask the one question whose answer, as far as she was concerned, was vital to her survival in this hellhole. "So", she asked, waiting until her cellmate had stopped trimming her moustache, "What time do the shops open around here?".
WEDNESDAY
After missing out on yesterday's work detail due to having to visit the prison's nurse thanks to an allergic reaction caused by a mystery blast of shaving cream in her eyes, Paris spent today in the workhouse, making numberplates. Unfortunately most of hers had to get binned due to her inability to spell the number '6' correctly.
Before lights out, Paris spent an hour or so hanging out in the social area, but left after the 37th person made the "So this isn't your first criminal record then", joke. Not because she was offended by it, just because she didn't get it and was getting embarrassed.
THURSDAY
Problems hit the jail this morning when the phone system broke down after every single inmate tied up the lines by contacting Heat magazine telling them: "Spotted! Paris Hilton slopping out", which annoyed Paris as she was hoping to get the exclusive on that.
She also got to spend some time in the exercise yard today, and she enjoyed the chance to experience a bit of space as, despite searching high and low, she's still not been able to find the way out of the entrance hall to her villa. Although the other girl in the hall, or 'cell', as she insists on calling it, assures her that "This is all there is", Paris isn't convinced. After all, this isn't the first time she's managed to get lost in a small room and she's sure as hell it won't be the last.
FRIDAY
It's a restless night for Paris as the true nightmarish reality of the situation she's in finally begins to hit her: In one more day her Botox will wear off. She wakes up tired and grumpy and looking miserable. Or looking like Paris Hilton, to put it another way. Frankly, she's had enough of this whole prison experience. At least with The Simple Life once the cameras were turned off she was able to stop pretending to be having fun hanging out with poor people, but this was 24/7. It was like being in Big Brother, and Paris was damned if she was going to go back to her old career as a Chantelle Houghton lookalike. Not only that but the other prisoners kept making fun of her, like last night when she was trying to talk to her friends when she saw them in the rec room and the other jailbirds just laughed and said that just because they were on TV doesn't mean that they can hear her. "What do they know anyway?", she thought angrily to herself, "I'm on TV too and they can definitely hear me. Finally, she does what she should have done at the start of this whole experience, taking advantage of her size zero frame, she turns to the side, slips between the bars imprisoning her and runs off to freedom. Or at least she would have done had she not spent thirty minutes posing for the paparazzi before grabbing one of the police dogs being used to track her down and attempting to put in her handbag, "The natural place for all dogs", according to her. Jailed once again, Paris' sentence is extended by another two weeks. Which is bad news for her, but fantastic for the sellers of the Free Paris t-shirts who now have an extra fortnight in which to ply their wares. Result!
Labels: Music Week, Paris Hilton
