What am I, some kind of celebrity blogger?
I never knew anything about celebrities until Twitter.
I've avoided the Perez Hilton and TMZ networks, but when you start posting memes of Miley Cyrus' butt next to Hank Hill's I have to see what's going on.
So last night, like a lot of people, I watched six minutes of odd humping and jumping and bumping by Miley.
When her big twerking video came out a while back, it stirred discussion in the newsroom.
If Anne Hathaway, a Disney princess in 2001, can four years later nail a role as a tobacco-teeth cowgirl who shows her boobs in the back of a car without a fuss, why can't others make the transition to adult stardom?
I'd typically file a celebrity like Miley Cryus in a folder with Lady Gaga or Nicki Minaj.
Women who are letting their freak flags fly.
But right after Miley's VMA performance, I watched Lady Gaga's.
Lady Gaga's blasé attitude still seems artistic and believable with talent to fill in the questionable areas.
Miley's new public persona feels naive, like we're all watching a little girl, who having gone home from a day of being bullied at school, puts on some lipstick and air-guitars while jumping and dancing on the bed to some rock music.
If I'm off base here and Miley Cyrus is void of personality other than this one she has channeled for public broadcast, I apologize.
It's ok to be different, it's ok to be you.