I Rant Because I Care: Oh Lindsay

Well, to be honest, I don't care that much. I just need a moment here to rant. Lindsay Lohan is neither probable nor awkward. She just sort of ... is. She wreaks havoc on my daily life, because feeds from my Google Reader seem to revel in reporting about the minutiae of her existence, which as far as I can tell involves wearing either unfortunate, loose-fitting tops or equally unfortunate but differently ill-fitting bikinis, and in both instances carrying everything she would put in a purse in her hand while also carrying said purse (which I have to assume is thus either empty or full of whatever it is she supposedly isn't snorting -- but man, have you seen those purses? You could fit small children in there, which maybe she's doing since she's carrying a redbull, blackberry, keys, and a wallet all in her hands, as if to prove what? That she's a hydrated, moneyed, cellularly-connected person who hasn't locked her keys in her car?). Inbetween my morning bagel and reworking any number of memos about [redacted], Lindsay Lohan finds her way into my pre-noon Google Readering, and now that she's up and gotten herself arrested (again), there's really no end in sight. Is her level of intoxication directly proportional to her overexposure? Unlike Britney Spears, who has become the trainwreck that we're all starting to watch with weird empathetic horror, hoping that somehow her ongoing derailment will magically put her back on the path to tight abs and common sense, Ms Lohan is somehow always-already an object lesson in crashing and burning. Paris Hilton will just keep chugging along until she just ends up looking like her mother, which I think will happen a great deal sooner than later -- but it doesn't matter, because as much as I despise her, I have to admit that Paris is one savvy lady. But Lindsay -- I mean, I'm having a hard time imagining her seeing 25. And she just turned 21, what, a week ago? Maybe she'll pull a Drew Barrymore and get her shit together (and hopefully not have to marry Tom Green, however briefly) and then eventually date (and dump) a Stroke, and then maybe be seen around town smooching Spike Jonze. Maybe. But I really think she just needs to buy a ranch in, say, Alberta, Canada, and just hide from the public eye for a good 10 years or so. I don't know what it says about me, or her, or the media, that I can imagine taking her more seriously as a cattle rancher than as a 21 year old bikini-clad, peace-signing rehabber with an alcohol-monitoring ankle bracelet (sigh. oh dear me). That's all. I feel much better now. Thanks, everyone.