Chaotic

As loyalists may know, during the day I spend the time I'm supposed to be working on boring office-y things daydreaming about being a Pop Culture commentator, or 'Fundit" on VH1. Well, I decided that I wouldn't be a very promising pop culture commentator if I accrued all my pop culture knowledge by reading blogs and online hipster magazines; I need more first-hand experience. I need to be 'in the shit,' as Vietnam veterans would put it. This means I need to watch more bad TV.

It just so happens that I'm lucky enough to live with someone who not only subscribes to US Weekly, but also has been talking seemingly nonstop for the past few weeks about the Britney Spears/K-Fed reality show, which finally aired last night on UPN. I figured this was the moment I've been waiting for to immerse myself fully and without guilt into the bile of popular culture.

Like the earlier alluded-to veterans, I think I may have terrifying flashbacks for years to come. Mrs. Spears has obviously been emotionally damaged by spending the last 6 or 7 years surrounded by people who dress her and do her hair and feel compelled (i.e. are paid) to carry on a conversation with her and seem interested. When you see a video or picture of her in a magazine you don't think about the fact that she never graduated high school and is possibly too stupid to be executed for any crimes; you think about the fact that her ass is the size and shape of a basketball.

I did manage to watch the entire hour. I should get a certificate or a plaque. To sum up: for the first half hour, Britney acts like a retarded donkey and complains that she needs companionship (is horny) and doesn't believe in marriage. In the second half, she brings K-Fed, who she met a couple times before, to London to give her some companionship at least three times a day. That's pretty much it. Even worse was the fact that instead of the traditional reality show look, the entire program was shot by Britney and her entourage on handheld cameras, giving it the weird combination of The Blair Witch Project meets a junior high slumber party.

After the show was over, I tried to cleanse the soul with the Velvet Underground, a chapter of One Hundred Years of Solitude, and the first act of Bottle Rocket, but nothing could make me clean again. On the plus side, it made going to work today much more enjoyable than usual.