Fatale Abstraction

I know it's open-season on Britney, and I'm not adding to the dogpile. I just want to quote myself from my June 19 post last year:

She's gonna crash and burn and if she lives long enough, the come-clean tell-all
when she's trying to re-launch her career as an old sad half-used-up has-been at
the age of 30 is going to be super ugly. I'm feeling sadder for her by the
minute.

When I said "if she lives long enough," I didn't genuinely believe she would die before 30. I've heard people recently say they think Britney was jealous of the press Anna-Nicole's death was getting. My dad thinks she's acting like she's on crack.

Whatever it is, I feel badly for her. I can understand the bird-flipping metaphor of shaving all her hair off, but she's acting out in a very bad, very public way. I never understood that malarkey about trashing someone else's stuff just because you broke up with them - my feeling is that someone condemned to a life void of my glorious person will be suffering enough. Then there's that bit about living well is the best revenge...

Last night on the phone I asked dad what he thought of the Britney thing, and he said "I'm disappointed - I've gone a whole week without hearing what's going on with the love-struck astronaut."

My dad can always cut to the meat of the matter.

We chatted about Paris Hilton & the trend of young starlets/media whores flashing their pudendae at the waiting photographers. I said I hoped that they didn't get too close to Paris, or a herpe might have jumped onto them.

Dad then asked if I heard of that new disease they discovered called Twerpes. I said no. He said birds get it and it doesn't kill them, but their little peckers fall off.

Thanks dad. Although end-of-the-week is a term that has lost any significance for me, I hope all of y'all have a great Friday and weekend.