Tuesday, January 08, 2008

News You Can Lose

One benefit of being out of the proverbial loop for a weekend is coming back and having to wonder momentarily what the hell this happy horseshit even means. Of course it means exactly what it says, yet when the people involved and "story" described are parsed, it all becomes both inscrutable and ineffable, utterly opaque yet somehow pellucid, a meta-Rosetta for a diseased, debauched celebrity death cult. Whatever happened to the good old days when Frank Sinatra banged cocktail waitresses and insulted the maître d'?

Consider briefly the primary characters in this scenario:
  • Britney Spears -- Popularly known as a "singer", yet apparently never actually "sings" without renting high-dollar teams of songwriters and producers, and running it all through Pro Tools. There is no evidence that Spears even listens to music, much less actually writes and performs it. Say what you want about the hippie chick with the out-of-tune acoustic at your local Coffee Hut, at least she's trying something; there is a solid chance that Spears literally does not know which end of a guitar is up.

    Distinguishing characteristics: exploitive childhood has predictably curdled into an adult swamp of mindless, unsexy exhibitionism and narcissism. Somehow managed to make a skeevy moron like Kevin Federline look like the responsible parent with her indifferent, borderline sociopathic approach to parenting. Future choices include becoming a plush toy for some doddering oil baron, or robbing liquor stores. Either way massive amounts of barbiturates will be involved. Some people may regard Dana Plato as a cautionary tale; others as a role model. Spears has apparently confounded either perception by genuinely not even having heard of poor Dana.

  • Phil McGraw -- Still not licensed to practice psychology. Got his big break as a jury consultant back when Oprah crossed the Texas beef mafia. Differs from Jerry Springer mostly incrementally. Springer's smug leer seemed to intimate that, even in the guise of dispensing advice, he probably wouldn't say no if one of his toothless retard guests offered him a blowjob. Dr. Phil seems to get more of a rush telling his slightly more upscale morons that they're morons, appears genuinely perplexed that, being self-destructive morons, they have no common sense, but still thinks he's helping them, rather than validating their self-esteem and impulse-control issues. Probably has more in common with his Muppet doppelgänger than he cares to admit.

  • The muppet has his own series of diet and parenting books out this spring.

  • Scenario -- Spears' parents, who seem to have moseyed semi-upright from Al Capp's imagination, seriously thought it'd be a good idea to have a self-promoting teevee shrink visit their dysfunctional daughter in the hospital, and that he'd keep his piehole shut. Here's the thing, and even the Spearses should realize this -- there are plenty of actual therapists out there who might have a chance to help their daughter without making a circus out of it; however, given that she's neither intellectually nor emotionally equipped to get out of what she's gotten herself into, it's highly unlikely. But it was never going to happen with Dr. Phil. Seriously, do these people think they're supposed to call Bob Vila to re-roof their fuckin' house? What's wrong with them?

Anyway, more briefly -- a "singer" who does not actually sing is supposed to enter into therapy with a pop shrink who is not actually licensed, commissioned by her idiot parents who, if they really wanted to help her, would have done so a long time ago. And the "news" is that the whole thing got called off.

Is there a more perfect metaphor for the heavily-dimpled adipose tissue that is American culture/media/society?

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