I harbor an intense secret under-the-covers-with-a-flashlight love for all kinds of semi-embarrassing literature: self-help books geared toward the twentysomething woman, The Baby-Sitter’s Club, various New York socialite gossip blogs and even the nutrition facts on the I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter spray (zero! everything! amazing!). While the last item on that list is probably a guilty pleasure I can claim as my very own, I’m certain that there are plenty of Cornellians out there who indulge in the occasional tabloid just like I do.

And what fabulous publications they are. Where else can you track La Lohan’s whereabouts and turn the page to read about some girl who gives teddy bears to sick kids and has done more good in her 10 years on earth than you have even considered doing in your life? Each tabloid experience is a spiritual journey for me, really — I’ve read The Alchemist and that ridiculous Oprah endorsed book The Secret by Rhonda Byrne, yet the literature that makes me truly search my soul for the things I want out of life can be found between the covers of a glossy weekly. I feel awesome about the state of my being when reading about Jenna Jameson’s vaginoplasty, worthless yet inspired when I read about teddy bear girl and occasionally hopeless about the state of the planet when I see that booties (BOOTIES, the vicious high-heeled shoe-boot hybrid, people) have made a solid comeback and are now strapped to poor Sienna Miller’s feet. And, you know, during my own terrible breakup last semester, I looked to the most famous broken-hearted woman on the planet, Jen Aniston, for the strength to stay fabulous. I mean, Brad Pitt dumped her for the hottest woman alive and she is still doing fine. And so am I.

I used to be loyal to Us and People — the classy ones — but have recently caved and started buying the absurd magazines like In Touch and Star after the latter’s cover featured a half-bald Britney with full on “imakillyoubitch” in her eyes beneath the giant yellow headline “HELP ME.” I couldn’t resist. Plus, People and I are in a fight right now because it recently named George Clooney “Sexiest Man Alive” again. Really, People? Are you trying to sell magazines to my mother? Not only is he a wrinkly bag of gross, but he has truly not even approached the periphery of “sexy” since his E.R. days. My vote goes to 2004’s winner Jude Law. I know he cheated on Sienna and all (which is totally unsexy), but maybe it’s because they had a big fight about how Sienna wears booties. While Star and In Touch tend to become strapped for cover material from time to time and resort to simply making things up (see: “Justin Writes a Love Letter to Britney in Rehab!”), I find within these imaginative headlines all kinds of creative inspiration. No thesis for this paper on cruise lines? What would Star do? “SUNK! Insiders say Royal Caribbean is headed for big trouble in paradise!” True? No. Brilliant? Yes.

One might think that the real draw of these magazines is simply the gossip. Wrong. That’s like saying Playboy still has readers because of the journalism; that Sanjaya on American Idol is still on the show because of his pipes. By the way, America, can you please be real? Voting for him has passed the point of ironic and is now approaching terrifying. I don’t even need to bother talking about that hair; he can pull off a ponytailed mohawk thing about as well as Alanis Morrissette can pull off that cover of “My Humps.” But I digress. In this day and age, the typical gossip addict can access celeb dirt for free on continuously-updated websites like OhNoTheyDidn’t and the flawlessly bitchy blog The Superficial. To the real tabloid addict, the glossies are not about the gossip. They’re about the experience of thumbing through the pages and learning lessons from Britney about dating the wrong dudes; they’re about reading articles on Anna Nicole’s “unremarkable” anus written in a somewhat serious, journalistic tone and imagining how much it would suck to have someone write that on your own autopsy report. With headlines like The Superficial’s “Mariah Carey still a ridiculous human being,” celebrity blogs don’t quite allow readers that same unique joy of deciding for themselves whether or not certain celebrities are absurd creatures.

I can’t help but yearn for a tabloid specific to our little Cornell. I can just imagine the ridiculous cover stories: “TRAPPED: Skorton wants out!” complete with a candid photo of Skorton gazing out a window on a grey day. “Inside Biddy’s Breakdown: The Provost crumbles under pressure and is set to announce Goodnight Moon as the 2011 New Student Reading Project.” Perhaps the Cornell glossy would contain a ripoff of Us Weekly’s column “Stars: They’re Just Like Us!” except with those elusive, mythical creatures we call architecture students. “They eat food! They wear clothes!” I envision a fabulous Page Six blind item collection, with little juicy bits like, “Which Russian-born fashionista got so shitfaced during wines class that she booted right into her Longchamp bag?” Also essential would be a “Who Wore It Best?” poll, with two distinctly different girls clad in black North Face fleeces, black leggings and chestnut-colored Uggs standing next to each other. And, finally, all the dirt behind the Top 25 Most Influential Cornellians would be exposed by contacting the exes and high school arch enemies of each one.

And to hell with “Sexiest Man Alive.” Let’s go with “Most Influential Cornellian Alive.” Oh, and that would clearly be me, because if I can tear myself away from In Touch Weekly long enough, I may just be that girl whose most notable accomplishment in life was starting a legitimate tabloid. And yes, those two words go together.

Jenna Bromberg is a junior in the School of Hotel Administration. She can be contacted at jkb34@cornell.edu. Fast Times at Statler High appears alternate Fridays.