Oh, cry me a river. Better yet: DON'T.

Jessica Simpson farted during a business meeting.

Seriously. It was loud. You can read about it here on the Us Magazine website. It was one of their exclusive stories yesterday.

If I ever get famous, like the kind of famous where strangers would recognize me on the street . . . kill me. If I ever get famous enough that major entertainment rags care enough to pay attention to my gas passing habits, kill me quickly. I promise, you'd be putting me out of my misery because the idea of celebrity seems utterly painful.

I don't remember if I've ever blogged about this before but it bears repeating if I have: I can't think of anything I could do that would be bad enough to earn me instant fame. The whole idea makes me . . . I don't know: hive-ish. Is that the word for feeling like you're about to break out in hives? Even if you've never had hives? Because that's the word I'm looking for.

I've seen lots of celebrity up close and personal. They hang out around here. Cameron Diaz sat behind my RS pres at Avatar a couple of weeks ago. And our Sunbeams teacher finds herself next to Sandra Bullock on the treadmills at the gym on a regular basis. And I've bumped into a bunch of celebrities over the years. May I say that I have talked to only ONE out of the dozens? If they're just hanging out, I say leave them be.

Now, I'm not talking about the tabloid baiters like Paris and Lindsay or anyone from Jersey Shore. My sister-in-law has several celebrity clients (she's a children's photographer) and while they're pretty down-to-earth, they tell her stories of their not-so-grounded acquaintances who do things like call ahead to the paparazzi so they'll be snapped coming out of a restaurant, etc. Them? I don't feel bad for. That's a willing sacrifice of their privacy and if you open yourself up like that, you have to accept that you don't get to set the boundaries any more.

I'm talking about the famous faces you see and know well and yet never see in the magazines. You can live a low key life out of the spotlight.

When I started teaching 8th grade in 2002, most of my boys wanted to become famous in the NFL or NBA whether they had a lick of talent of not. That was the game plan. It's pretty typical for that age. The girls were all going to be singers or models. Not my choice for a secure career path, but at least they were planning to DO something to earn their fame. Then Paris Hilton exploded onto the scene a couple of years later and suddenly my students' long term career goals revolved around getting their fifteen minutes of fame, and they didn't bother figuring out how they were going to earn it. They just had to be drunk enough or scantily clad enough or engaged in something truly stupid enough with a camera rolling to make their dreams come true.

I preached the gospel of goal-setting and hard work; I taught them about things like "merit" and "acheivement." It was very Quixotic of me, I know. And yet, I had enough of a rapport with these kids that I think sometimes, maybe even a lot of the time, I got through.

And then...

This happened:

Crying Girl from American Idol.

She happened to be a student in my third period class. Until this all went down, I'd say she was as sensible as a thirteen-year-old girl ever can be, I guess. But after she bawled during Sanjaya's performance on live TV one  night and then got flown to NYC every few days after that for some kind of talk show or photo op...

It was insane. Our front office fielded mind numbing numbers of phone calls from media outlets wanting access or information. Reporters followed our students as they walked home from school, trying to get the dirt on Crying Girl. She, formerly a quiet girl who spent her morning giggling with her small circle of friends before the morning bell, a group largely ignored by the "popular" kids, suddenly had more friends than she ever knew about. EVERYONE was claiming they were tight with her, eager to bask in reflected (and highly questionable) glory.

There's so much more to the story (nothing scandalous, just a little sad) that I would tell you about but I feel as obligated to protect her confidentiality now as I did when she was my student. She was a nice girl. I hope she's gone back to her fundamental nature. But I'm a little doubtful since I saw her on the Idol auditions the other night. (Um, no . . . she's never really been a singer.)

Anyway, you can imagine how much my Chris-Farley-Van-Down-By-the-River motivational speeches got through after all that . . . um . . . nonsense.

But I'm still convinced fame stinks. And I'm holding fast to my New Year's Resolution, so don't doubt I'm walking the talk, people. We will continue to be way too boring as a family to EVER be on reality TV, thank you very much. And if I ever get famous, do me a favor when you see me, will you? Slap me. Just slap me. I'm sure I'll deserve it.