Today must be an unimportant day, considering the minutes and hours being lavished on the early release of Paris Hilton.

            Apparently, Paris didn’t like jail and didn’t feel well, so they sent her to her modest little home to serve the rest of her time. 

            As I’ve said, I don’t dislike Paris because of her money or her family name, but rather for her arrogance and her insistence on turning the tawdry into gold.  She talks often of being or wanting to be a role model, but there are few people I’d rather my girls looked up to than her.

            If I were a betting woman, I’d be a little suspicious about this turn of events for Paris.  I’d bet that if, as the spokesperson justifying the release insisted, she’s confined to her home for forty days, the comings and goings there will be rather interesting.  Videos of the rooms in that house after dark might prove entertaining, and would probably show that the piety and penitence exhibited hours before going to jail have faded away rather quickly.

         If I were a betting woman, I’d suspect that she’d be driving again—drunk and or under the influence of other substances—before the year was out.  I’d wonder if Las Vegas runs a book on what her next offense will be—and who will suffer the consequences.  Obviously, Paris won’t.

        Maybe—hopefully—I’m dead wrong.  Maybe this young woman will tell friends not to drop by, and to leave alcohol at home if they do.  Maybe she’ll stay sober and find new ways to impress those around her.  She may genuinely have decided that if you live in the fast lane, crashes are going to be very bad when they come.

         Maybe Paris should watch that controversial documentary on Princess Diana.  Even having a driver isn’t useful if that driver isn’t legit.

         Eons ago, as a pre-teen, I wanted money and fame, lusted after it.  Although I had only a change or two of clothes, though, the money and fame weren’t for material things.  As a child, I believed that movie stars, that the rich and famous, simply didn’t meet bad ends.  They were never in trouble, and they never, ever died messy deaths.

        Obviously, I know better now.  If I were a betting woman, I’d bet that Paris won’t stay out of trouble and hasn’t learned anything.  But maybe I’m wrong, and the rest of her life will fill other young heads with visions of how golden lives should actually be lived.