Home With Britney: The White Trash Years

Raise your hand if you feel bad for Britney Spears.

No hands? Aw, what a shame.

I weep for Mrs. Federline. It’s sad when millions of dollars don’t seem to buy you enough security and high enough fences. It’s scary to be chased through high-end shopping malls by those terrifying paparazzi carrying those oh-so-very lethal instruments we call cameras. It especially sucks when every time you’re photographed, you’re caught mishandling your 9-month old baby boy.

So maybe I don’t really pity Ms. Spears after watching The Today Show’s Matt Lauer make her cry on Dateline last night. It’s hard to feel bad for a person who has all the success and money in the world and lives in a gorgeous Malibu mansion with more bodyguards than the U.S. President.

As a celebrity, you can’t just decide one day that you want to take a break from pop stardom to get married and have a family and just assume that the paparazzi will leave you alone. As long as you’re a celebrity, you’ll be photographed. Britney wants her cake and she wants to eat it, too—just look at her. Does she need any more?

The unfortunate (and I say that word loosely) side of being a celebrity is that you’re often photographed doing normal, humdrum, every day kinds of things—eating, food shopping, walking down the street, grabbing some Starbucks coffee, etc. These are the same kinds of things that ordinary people like you and me take for granted. Believe me, I don’t think I’ll ever have to worry about being photographed buying a grande non-fat vanilla latte (unless Derek Jeter decides to give me a call).

The “unfortunate” part of this is that celebrities get caught on camera doing stupid things—e.g., picking a wedgie, making a stupid face, and (now infamously) driving with one’s baby in her lap. I’m sure that plenty of moms make mistakes with their children. There will always be accidents. Children fall and hurt themselves all the time. But if you’re Britney Spears and it’s reported that your son fell from his highchair, the entire world assumes you’re a lousy mother.

But then you’re videotaped as you hold a glass in one hand and your son in the other and—BAM—you trip on a New York City sidewalk, almost dropping the poor child. And how about that time you were driving along the highway in your convertible and your son was sleeping in the backseat in a front-facing car seat, his head drooping to the side as the sun beamed down on his pale little face. Now you’re a terrible mother.

I’m not going to harp on whether she’s a good mom. I’m sure she loves her son and I’m sure she’ll love her second child just as much. I don’t really have the right to comment on that as I don’t really know what kind of mother she is, save for a few photos that give me some inkling.

But as for her marriage to Kevin Federline, that’s wholly open to public scrutiny. I don’t buy that her marriage is “awesome.” Maybe it’s too easy to call K-Fed a freeloading wannabe Vanilla Ice. But isn’t that what it looks like? After all, his wife is the breadwinner who has earned millions as a world famous pop star and he’s a backup dancer who’s using his newfound celebrity status to be a rap star. Just where would he get his money from? Dancing sure don’t pay the bills, home slice.

I just can’t weep with you, Britney. You’re 24 years old—most would consider you an adult by now. You’re a wife. You’re a mom. You’re responsible for the decisions you make. Own up to your mistakes. Stop blaming the paparazzi for your problems.

“But I wouldn’t be in danger if I didn’t have like this impactful thing around me all the time,” says Ms. Spears in her interview with Lauer. “I just feel like the editors, they don’t realize that there’s not just one magazine—there’s other magazines and they’re all paying to get a story. And I think that's where the energy from the people is coming from. It’s kind of scary. I can’t really leave my home right now.”

Of course the editors realize there are other magazines. It’s called “competition.” They’re all competing for the best pictures and the best stories—that’s what sells magazines. Us Weekly versus In Touch Magazine versus Star Magazine—it’s tabloid war.

The tabloids certainly feasted upon Britney’s 55-hour marriage to hometown friend, Jason Alexander.

“I was on the road for awhile and again I was doing a lot of what I was told instead of what I wanted to really do,” she tells Lauer. “And I didn’t know how to break out of that. So in my young mind I’m like, ‘I’m gonna just get married to someone of my home friends.’ You know what I mean. It was just like something. But I have no regrets with anything I’ve ever done.”

I know the feeling—sick of people telling me what to do. But you know what would get them crazy? I’ll just up and get married. There! That’ll put ‘em over the edge. That’ll show them who’s really the boss of me now!

Was she kidding with that “young mind” talk? Wasn’t this like two years ago? She can’t be more of adult now than she was then. Again she scapegoats. It’s the “it’s everyone else’s fault, they made me do it” mentality. And yet, she doesn’t regret it. Tell me why it’s OK for a pop star to get married for fun and have it annulled the next day, but the U.S. government is trying to prohibit gays from marrying the ones they truly love. That’s a whole ‘nother blog posting.

And of course the whole driving-with-baby-in-lap incident.

“I went to Starbucks and I see a bunch of photographers and I’m scared and I want to get out of the situation and my baby’s crying,” Spears laments. “They’re coming up on the sides of the car, which is a scary situation for me. And they’re banging on the windows and that’s not something I want my baby to. . .you know. . .so I get my baby [in] the car and I go home. I mean, I just feel like that they’re taking cheap shots.”

Again it’s the paparazzi’s fault, not hers. Is it that hard for you to just admit you did something stupid? You put your son’s life in danger. No parent in his/her right mind would drive with a baby in his/her lap. We’re not taking cheap shots. I’d be just as mortified if I saw any ordinary non-celebrity doing the same thing.

Her explanation is a load of bullshit. Not long after the incident, I read that one witness—a photographer, I believe—claimed that the situation was quite calm and that no one was harassing Britney. Perhaps she sensed something was about to happen and she panicked. But there is no excuse. Unless someone is holding a gun to your head, you’ll always have enough time to strap your child into a car seat.

But then Britney goes on to say, “That driving incident, I did it with my dad. I’d sit on his lap and I drive. We’re country.”

Wow, you really give “country” folk a bad reputation. I’m really sure you thought Sean Preston would have a great time getting an early driving lesson at 6 months of age. “Look, Ma! I can’t talk, but I can drive! Wee!”

So it should come as no surprise that—once again—Spears blames, not herself, but NYC for its “cobblestone” sidewalk (and of course the paparazzi) for her nearly dropping baby Sean Preston.

“Actually, I didn’t trip on anything.”

Sure you didn’t.

“It was a New York street, and just cobblestones.”

Since when does NYC have cobblestone streets?

“And I was walking and I don’t think we were prepared with one security, ‘cause I’ve never had that much paparazzi ever on me in New York. So we didn’t even know there was gonna be that many people.”

Those poor paparazzi just can’t catch a break, can they?

“So I think it was a mixture of so many paparazzi and how the road was all messed up, me just trying to get in the car.”

Or you’re just stupid. After all, you were holding a glass in one hand and your baby in the other and you then tripped on your designer jeans in your designer heels.

“Accidents happen.”

Of course they do. You seem to be good at making them happen. And on camera, no less.

Here’s an idea. Buy yourself an island—as Johnny Depp did—and sequester you and your baby until you’re ready again to unleash your career (along with an image reboot) upon the world.

Oh yeah, and leave Kevin at home and get back together with Justin. You were cute then.

(Source: MSNBC.com)