I feel sorry for Britney Spears, but it's not for any reason you might immediately imagine.

First, I've never considered her to be a music icon with any talent whatsoever, except that she at one time looked pretty hot. Heck, the bald head doesn't bother me physically about her as much as her generally unhealthy look.

Frankly, the partying takes a toll on her.

Second, I don't shed a tear for anybody who actively pursues fame. My friend J and I had a discussion this weekend about putting themselves "out there," like on the Internet, in the form of blogs and vlogs and such, and she expressed an initial desire not to do this -- that she didn't really want to be exposed publicly, whether its result was good, bad or indifferent.

I can definitely understand that; likewise, I can understand why somebody pursues fame. However, I am also aware that, oh, probably seven times out of 10, fame doesn't buy anything but a big house and a life of general unhappiness.

If you want that, then so be it.

I'd love respect, recognition, critical acclaim, popularity, etc., but if I can still go to the grocery store without the 'razzi on my tail, then I'm cool.

So, my sympathy for bald Britney doesn't center on a "why won't they leave her alone" sort of construct.

I feel sorry for her because it's clear she has no friends, not even her sister or mother.

There is an argument to be made that Britney's mom created this monster like so many parents do, by pushing their kids into entertainment and sports without letting them experience a regular childhood. And, for those of you who didn't have a regular childhood -- let me tell you -- it can't be beat.

Friday nights watching the great Richard Belzer on some Lifetime variety show ("Hot Properties"), before it became a chick network. Nightline whenever the parents would let me stay up late enough. C-SPAN 24 hours a day if I wanted it.

MTV and ESPN, too.

OK, so I was a nerd.

Heck, I still have cassette tapes of my buddy Jonathan and I recording faux comedic discussions as if we were in The McLaughlin Group. There is living evidence that I have done a Morton Kondracke imitation when I was like 17, which should give you a ton of insight into what interests me.

However, if I had a problem like Britney clearly does, I would hope that somebody would intervene and say, "You just have no choice but to get your ass into rehab."

On the other hand, I don't know that I'd ever be good at that. I'm not one to say, "Yo, dude, you just have to cut down on the heroin before you fly that commuter jet."

I just can't get into people's business like that. I don't like confrontation, well, unless I'm not in it.

Britney might be 25, but mentally and emotionally, she's clearly 13.

Because she's an adult, she only has herself to blame. However, that won't keep me from feeling a tinge of sympathy for her because, to me, clearly, her mother and friends have completely failed her.