Friday, November 10, 2006 |I had planned to write a snappy column explaining why I didn’t vote on Tuesday and had prepared all sorts of snappy reasons (like “I didn’t feel like it,” “Voting is only good if you can do it two or three times,” and “The voices in my head told me it wouldn’t matter”).

It would have been hilarious. Trust me.

But I’m afraid I’m too heartbroken right now to engage in something as frivolous as political thought. I’m trying to come to terms with Britney Spears and Kevin Federline’s pending divorce.

As a student of pop culture, I live vicariously through celebrities and feel the people chosen to have that exalted title are not only better looking, they’re better people overall.

A certain percentage of the intelligentsia may not agree with me but, then again, they’re the type of people who brag about not watching television. So we know they’re liars, right?

As for me, I love celebrities and celebrity gossip and take heart in the valuable lessons they teach me. For instance, before Angelina Jolie hooked up with Brad Pitt, I thought Namibia was some isolated third world country.

However, after they shed light on the place, I now know Namibia to be the isolated third world country once visited by Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. Big difference, right?

Through the years, I’ve put my faith and hopes on the shoulders of various celebrity couples. When I was young, I breathlessly followed the exploits of Liz Taylor and Richard Burton (who, by the way, put Puerto Vallarta on the map). Then I transferred my interest to Greg Allman and Cher. A day later, I put my faith in Linda Ronstadt and Jerry Brown.

All of them failed me. I thought Madonna and Sean Penn had what it took to make lasting love. They crashed and burned. So did Bob Barker and Dian Parkinson.

And no one was happier than me when Pam Anderson and Tommy Lee chose to share their love with the world. And no one was sadder when they decided to end things.

I suppose all this vicarious heartbreak taught me to be more cynical about relationships but then Britney Spears came along and picked one Kevin Federline to be her knight.

Although I’m happily married, I looked to them as romantic role models. I figured if a rich trampy-looking celebrity could fall in love with a poor, slovenly, slightly dimwitted rapper wannabe, then anything could happen. Even my wife finally learned to accept she married a poor, slovenly, slightly dimwitted columnist wannabe.

Sadly, truth reared its ugly head and Spears came to her senses. And when she did, so did I.

I finally realized that my annoying habits are truly annoying and aren’t just little quirks that “the right woman” will somehow overlook.

That realization has me very vulnerable right now. If a great romance like the one experienced by Britney and K-Fed can fail, where does it leave the rest of us?

Oh, wait. My wife just boosted my confidence by reminding me that Courteney Cox is still with that loser, David Arquette.

Maybe there is hope for the rest of us.

David Moye is a La Mesa-based writer who enjoys reading US Weekly stories to his daughter at bedtime. He can be reached at Or, send a letter to the editor.

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