I hold very strongly to the opinion that “Entertainment News” is the biggest oxymoron in America. I detest tabloid society and deplore the people whose money keeps it afloat. If it were not for the vacuous multitudes who fawn over Hollywood stars and drool of every morsel of paparazzi gossip, the entire industry would fade into the septic tank of history where it belongs.

That being said, I’d like to post my first comment on Britney Spears. This weekend, in the span of 48 hours, she checked in to and out of rehab, shaved her head and got two tattoos. (Not that there’s anything wrong with tattoos.) This sounds very much like something that you’d hear about a rebellious sixteen-year-old who’d had another fight with her mom. This sounds very much like something I’d have to deal with in my youth group. But this is not a pubescent tantrum we’re talking about. This is an adult mother of two.

The first time I ever heard the name Britney Spears, it was swirling in the controversy of a jail-bate teenager doing a sexually charged music video when she professed to be a virgin and was touted as a role model for good girls everywhere. It would not have been hard, if I had even the slightest shred of interest at the time, to predict the path this young girl would take.

From Mouseketeer to sex symbol to making out with Madonna to pregnant white-trash to Paris Hilton crotch shot to drug hazed head shaving. It’s all par for the course. It’s terrible to say, but I would be surprised if she survives past 30 and if she does, she will end up one of the many curiosities in the freak show of American pop culture has-beens. There’s a long and illustrious history for people in this gutter of society with names like Howard Hughes, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, Michael Jackson, and Anna Nicole Smith. From that list of names you can see that there are two possible outcomes. Early death at the hands of fast living or years of sequestered insanity. Britney’s chances of ending up in one of those two situations is near 100%. 2 to 1 says it’s the former rather than the latter.

Call me a cynic, but I pray for the day when America stops idolizing entertainers. It is the root of all that stinks about our society. Something is terribly wrong in a culture where hundreds of people spend weeks outside a courthouse to show their undying support for a millionaire recluse who spends his days riding roller coasters with a monkey and someone else’s kids and has paid the mortgages of countless plastic surgeons in his futile attempts to become something other than what he is. It’s this same people who wring their hands and wag their heads over a distraught woman acting out in rebellion befitting someone half her age.

I tell you we need to treat these people the same way you treat a wayward four-year-old screaming for attention. If you ignore them, eventually, they’ll stop being so stupid. Thus ends my last ever post on Britney Spears.

Back in January, I set some short term goals for myself. I did… okay. I made it through January without eating donuts, rice or potatoes, but I fell off the wagon big time when it came to soft drinks and candy. My weekly weigh-in showed only minimal results from the first two weeks, when I was staying true. But after I gave it to the temptations, I quickly floated back up to my current (over) weight plateau (250 pounds más o menos).

So now, I must redouble my efforts. And this week’s white board quip might add some motivation through degradation.

You’re not fat! You just look fat because you’re so old.