There are not many days when I am ashamed of what I do for a living.

Look, I’m a member of the so-called “media.” That means I get to question things every day. It also means people get to question what I do. That’s part of the ground rules.

I don’t hold myself up as some kind of expert on journalism, the media, and specifically what it is people want to read every day. I can tell you that what people want today is not what they wanted when I got out of college three decades ago.

Things change. Certainly the media has. I will tell you the line as to what is news and what isn’t, as well as reporting the news or just giving people what they want, or what we can sell, seems to blur a little more each day.

But my stomach starts to roil every time I watch a horde of photographers surrounding a car in which – so I am told – sits one frazzled pop tart by the name of Britney Spears.

I get a good view of all this because it is being pumped into my television news via helicopter hovering above the fray.

I have long ago tired of Britney and her downward spiral. To me it’s no longer especially interesting. It’s just sad. Yes, I suppose it’s news that Britney left the hospital. I suppose it should find a place on the People page. But do we really need the commotion that surrounds her every move?

It’s like some kind of sick co-dependence: Britney like an addict needing her next media fix; and the junkies who bring us this kind of “news” salivating over their next Britney brouhaha.

My fear is that all of this is heading for a very sad end. I wish Britney would go away and get whatever help she needs. And I wish the media would let her do just that, without providing me with every titillating detail.

I wouldn’t bet on it, though.