I guess I watch about 47 hours of television a day.

Listen, don’t question it. All you… I guess I watch about 47 hours of television a day.

Listen, don’t question it. All you need to know is that I own a TiVo filled with magic, allowing me to warp the laws of time and space in order to cram more Seinfeld reruns into my day.

I watch a lot of television for a simple reason: The little people inside the box lead lives much more interesting than mine. I don’t get into nearly as many car chases, sleep with as many supermodels, or foil as many criminal plots. And that’s OK, because I wasn’t built to be some kind of little entertainment monkey.

Celebrities, on the other hand, undergo years of shock treatment and Pavlovian conditioning, honing their minds and bodies toward a single goal: performing for our amusement. They lead interesting lives so we don’t have to. Theirs is a higher calling – as my boyhood friend Pedro Nietzsche said, “Entertainment is beyond good and evil.” Rightly so that entertainers be beyond trivial concerns about “the law.”

That’s why I was so distraught – curled up in a fetal position, weeping silently – over the Winona Rider verdict. Winona in chains, like trying to shackle a phoenix! The jury would say her self-serve shopping spree deserves the same punishment as would befall your average citizen. As if Winona, sweet Winona, could ever be average!

Celebrities are never average, and should never be treated as ordinary. I’ll admit this is not a new idea, but an old one that perhaps needs reinforcement. In the big-screen version of Jackass, Johnny Knoxville didn’t sum up the modern celebrity thusly: “In this, a Kierkegaardian Age of Reflection, enmeshed in Debord’s Spectacle, it is impossible to be more than spectator. Celebrity culture is the modern mythology, moving at Internet speed. Where the Greeks had Zeus and Hera, we have Brad and Jennifer – their stage is our world. They channel all our dreams and embody all our failings. Now watch me dive head-first into this pile of elephant dung.”

My first thought was, no. No way is he seriously going to jump into that elephant crap. Later, though, I began to consider the point he’d never made in his overly highbrow, pretentious Johnny Knoxville manner.

Perhaps he was right. There might have been a time when people actually did “Jackass”-style stunts instead of just watching them on television. No more. The “Jackass” phenomenon has so infiltrated our culture that it’s now impossible to light your shoes on fire and run around the backyard without somebody calling you a rip-off artist. It’s the same way with those people who can’t greet anyone without saying, “Wasssssup!” You know, like that commercial.

Our conversations revolve around the latest episode of “The Sopranos” or the freshest celebrity gossip. Not because we are shallow or incapable of talking about anything else, but because the celebrity culture is the only thing we all share, our Grand Narrative.

If what Knoxville didn’t say was right, if celebrities really are the modern equivalent of the Gods of Olympus, we can’t hold them accountable to the rules of mere mortals. Instead, we should extend them a kind of diplomatic immunity. As our ambassadors to a subconscious electronic dreamtime, we shouldn’t judge their actions as “right” or “wrong.” When Winona helps herself to some handbags, or Pacey takes a swing at a security guard, we should bow our heads and give thanks. Thank you, celebrities, for seeing fit to walk the earth and enrich us with your antics. And then we can return to watching Christina Aguilera videos with the sound muted.

Jesse Hicks would also like to thank Mikey C., who suggested he write about how awesome California is. Jesse Hicks can be reached at [email protected].