Monday March 29, 2004

Hey Britney

I am not what you call a Britney Spears fan. I don't own any of her cd's, and fail to pay attention to the pop diva gossip gauntlet that details her every move. I just don't care. Sure, I downloaded Toxic on Kazaa a few weeks ago. Who didn't? It's just so damn infectious... I couldn't help myself. But aside from this one guilty pleasure (whose sweet dance groove and dangerously flirtatious lyrics I'm sure she wasn't responsible for) I just don't care for her music or her live show. Especially her live show.

When I go to a concert, I want to hear real live music. Not a recording; not someone singing over a recording... why pay $50 to watch a two-hour lip sync session when I can buy the cd for $15 at Target and hear the same sounds for years? Okay, a little choreography is worth some change, but come on... at least sing at your own concert.

Whatever. Britney's rich, beautiful, and very famous. She can do whatever she wants, including mouthing the words she should be singing at Gund arena this Thursday. I just don't want to be around for it, let alone drop my (or anyone else's for that matter) hard-earned cash for her Milli Vanilli act. So imagine how I must feel like finding out that I'm going to this concert (and I use that term lightly) this week. I'm scheduled to do a little child care for some friends of my family the day of the show. The three kids I'm sitting are big Britney fans, and the parents are paying me to haul them downtown. Lucky me.

So, on Thursday I'll be one of the thousand average Janes watching Britney from the Gund's cheap seats, probably feeling as though I've sold my soul for some petty babysitting cash. Not only will I be there, but I'll be sharing the experience with three kids who'll be singing her tunes in the car all the way home. Do me a little favor, please, and say a prayer for me tonight. I'm going to need it if you want to hear from me again on Friday (and thereafter). Thank you, loving public.