Britney-Come Back To A Future

It’s a safe bet Britney Spears hasn’t joined up with the Hare Krishnas, and she’s almost as unlikely to have become the latest edition to the Manson family. Nor do I believe that she was particularly inspired by this web-site, or the picture presented thereon as shown above.

So why then did she shave her head? Maybe this is just another example of her on-going train wreck of a life. Is it possible that she is starting to fall under, succumb to the pressures of her life as a media celebrity, pop star, and as an expert in the field of semi-conductor physics?

She had reportedly took a jet, traveling coach no less, from Miami to Los Angeles, where she went to her home for a total of two hours, before then embarking to a beauty parlor where she performed the deed her own self. Look at the pictures for your self on this fan site. Does she look like she is in a state of emotional turmoil, of mental duress?

Yet, she then proceeds to a tattoo parlor where she is heard to mutter that she is tired of people touching her, after which she has to be escorted out in the midst of a horde of concerned and curious fans.

Her demeanor in the photos, and the timing of this incident, all but screams to me pretty much the same thing as every other thing involving this woman. It’s a fucking publicity stunt, and what is really sad about it, is it was born of not just starvation for attention and publicity to the point of desperation, but it was fueled more than anything by jealousy over the inordinate amount of media attention focused on the recent death of Anna Nicole Smith and the resultant controversies.

It’s pretty fucking sad to be jealous of a creature as pitiable, in a sense, as Anna Nicole Smith, but jealousy of a dead Anna Nicole Smith is not just an extra step, but one giant leap toward the abyss.

My advice to Spears is as follows. It’s not too late. You had the guts to intimate that you didn’t give a shit when numerous parents walked out of your latest concert tour with their children, in a huff due to the explicitly sexual content of your show. And anybody that is an unapologetic tobacco smoker, and can get an old fogey Republican politician like Bob Dole to admit he wants to fuck you-in so many words-in a national television commercial for Pepsi, can’t be all bad.

But pull it together, woman, fuck, you’ve proven you’ve outgrown the Mouseketeers, enough already. Go to rehab at Clapton’s center, and commit to it, then go back to making music, only good music this time. Real music. With real musicians that play real musical instruments, doing real songs, with you actually doing real singing. If Clapton’s rehab facility can help you with your addictions, certainly the man would not be adverse to helping you with your career. He would probably feel he owes it to the world of music to salvage that aspect of your life as well.

Face the facts, the kind of music you are typically known for has a limited appeal in the grand scheme of artistic cycles. Sex appeal can only make up for so much. Your declining record sales should tell you all you need to know. In this case, a future geared toward success will require moving forward, not back.

Work on it. No orchestration, no walls of sound, no drum machines. Put on an intimate performance with your audiences when you go on tour, pour your heart out to them in song, leave the dancing where it belongs, on the fucking videos, and make that a secondary priority if you must do it at all.

Then, go to the Actors Studio and concentrate on really learning the craft of acting-or, stay out of the business.

Finally, fuck Bob Dole. Now, if you want some publicity, that will really do the trick.

First and foremost though, grow your fucking hair back, if not on your head, then at least grow some on your pussy.