Tuesday, June 21, 2005


"I saw a tape of Britney Spears singing when she was about ten," someone once told me. "And you know what? She was good. She really can sing!"

She... she can?

Hate. Britney doesn't sing because Britney doesn't have to. Britney subscribes to the Shania Twain and Madonna School of Music: thrust, pout, lip synch, and call your business manager in the morning. Who needs talent when you have a halter top and forty-seven people at your disposal to fret over your eyelash length, hair color, and angle of saline implants?

It would be one thing if she were merely a talentless whore; I could very easily dislike her soley on the basis of that. But here's evidence that Britney could possibly make a living the good old fashioned, clothes-on way… and yet she chooses not to. That calls for another kingdom of dislike entirely.

Is it that she's lazy? I doubt it. Anyone who gyrates over a folding chair the way she does has got to have extra energy reserves somewhere, with some left over for the blazing hypocracy production.

(You know what I do with a folding chair in my job? I sit on it. In Umbro shorts, futilely awaiting well-oiled boy dancers slide in from the wings to swivel and arm-pump as I type.)

"I don't think of myself as a role model; I want to be an inspiration," Britho recently announced to Oprah, the Last Great American Confessor. To... hump a brass pole, apparently.

So: ninety minutes of inspiring no-bra bounces and groin thrusts followed by flooding the little-girl section at Target with Britney-brand ponytail holders and baubles… just another day at the office.

You know who I looked up to when I was a little girl?

Sally Ride. Plenty of clothes.

Mary Lou Retton. Less clothes, but with good reason.

Molly Brown. Soaked clothes, but clothes nonetheless.

Thirty years after nationwide bonfires stoked by a pile of Cross My Hearts, and little girls actually have fewer women to look up to. Perhaps if Condelezza Rice reported for work in a tube top, she'd get the homecoming queen on her side at last.

"You're the reason there will never be a woman President," I once saw a sitcom character yell at a stripper. Yes, thank you, Britney: for every female student I help shoehorn into the workplace, there is a be-boobed Britney to shove her back twice as far with her barely-covered hip.

Competent Official College Professor UPDATE:
I found that one of my students lives in my apartment complex, which means that now I have to put on an actual bra whenever I go to the stupid laundry room.

feh at: mb@blondechampagne.com

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