“Britney Spears: Singer, Actress, Writer?”

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

Spears.

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

life.

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

members.)

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

$24.95.

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

vary.)

Matt Hitt is a sophomore theatre major. His column runs every

other Monday in the Collegian.