The last few weeks have been filled with some fascinating news
stories. The presidential and vice-presidential debates, the NHL
owners locking out the players and all the grotesque pictures you
never wanted to see, right in the Lory Student Center Plaza.
All these events are somewhat newsworthy, I suppose. But the
real story of the last two weeks revolves around that charming pop
princess who just refuses to believe that her music sucks: Britney
Now I, like any other self-respecting heterosexual male, freely
admit that Spears is, as the Germans call it, uber-fine. And due to
this unusually high level of babe-i-tude, the American public has
put up with a lot more wedding gossip and sub par teenage pop than
they would from, say, Barbara Streisand.
Britney’s music has never been what the experts call “good.” But
there was a time when every misguided 12-year-old girl in America
felt the urge to buy her CDs, rocketing Mrs. Spears (or is it
Federline now?) to the top of the charts multiple times.
I could frankly care less that Spears has sold lots of records.
I can always turn off the radio. Besides, all those record sales
really do is create another rich, beautiful woman for me to attempt
to wed someday. But amazingly enough, this woman continues to get
people to care about her social life as well as her personal
In a disturbing twist which convinces me that the apocalypse is
almost at hand, Spears has, according to England’s “OK” magazine,
devoted the last two weeks of her life to writing a “life-changing
letter” which expresses her “ultimate truth.”
And what, pray tell, inspired this brainless ball of sunshine to
stumble upon her “ultimate truth?” A Broadway musical about the
Wicked Witch of the West. (“Wicked,” the musical in question, is
actually a very good piece of theater, and cannot be held
responsible for the bizarre actions of wealthy audience
But wait, her story gets better. When most celebrities have
things to say that they think people actually care about, they go
on Oprah. Spears, on the other hand, is posting her letter on her
official Web site, www.britneyspears.com. All it will cost you to
read about the multiple “epiphanies” that Spears has had is
Why, I’d be stupid not to buy it!
Observing the way Spears can extort money from the unsuspecting
prepubescent population of America, I too have written a letter
detailing my “Ultimate Truth.” And, in the spirit of capitalism, my
letter is available for 25 cents and a candy bar. What inspired
this brilliant young columnist to find his own ultimate truth, you
may be wondering. Well, last Saturday night, in lieu of a date, I
decided to rent Gigli. That film changed my life. The next day, as
I ate my cereal, I thought to myself: If Count Chocula is a
vampire, why does he eat marshmallows?
The philosophical pondering that followed was amazing, to say
the least. Following Mrs. Spears’ noble example, I put my thoughts
down in a letter to all my fans. (Unlike Britney’s fans though, who
buy CDs and make her rich, the most my fans do is hang my column on
the fridge with a magnet shaped like Scooby Doo.)
Nonetheless, I feel that my letter, addressed to all my homies
in the green room, has some really great stuff to it, and I advise
everyone to give me a lot of money for it. Simply send large wads
of cash and/or major credit cards to Parmelee Hall with my name on
it, and maybe someday I’ll get around to sending you “My Ultimate
Truth.” (Shipping and handling extra, price and participation may
Matt Hitt is a sophomore theatre major. His column runs every
other Monday in the Collegian.