title

by A. E. O'Neill

[Originally published xx]

Millennium Pam

British Columbia's own prodigal daughter may soon be known to the world as Pamela Anderson Rock — yes, it's true — Kid Rock is finally going to make, uh, an honest woman out of her. Looking on the bright side, if she does take her husband's last name — as she's done in the past — it should only be a matter of time before she diversifies her entertainment empire all the way to the WWF.

Come to think of it, she's got the makings of a perfect working class super hero. While our favorite TV icons from the 80's are either raising money and public awareness to fight diseases or emerging triumphant from decades of drug and alcohol addiction, the New Millennium Pam could rise to greet the challenge of a second decade in the limelight by beating hepatitis on the home front — and big-haired brunettes in the ring!

Where she once seemed to represent all that was superficial and disposable about the American Dream, all haystack hair and non-biodegradable breasts, she now reinvents herself as a Rock-hard role model for an army of eight-to-twelve year olds; a badass beauty with a brain for business and body for, well, you know...

Wait a minute, you ask... wasn't that 90's Pam? No, that was Barb Wire. Our Millennium Pam is far tougher than that two-dimensional don't-call-me-babe! It's been almost ten years since she scowled at us from the silver screen with a handgun, a Harley and a heap of cleavage, and since then, she's been to hell and back!

She's suffered spousal abuse and slander, a messy, public divorce (and constant reminders of the messy, public honeymoon that started it all). She's been afflicted, in the prime of her life, with a deadly virus and a brutal custody battle, but her smile is wider than ever.

She's tough as nails, sweet as cotton candy and worthy of Oprah-level outpourings of feminine sympathy and support.

But she's no victim... no, sir! The Pamrock is still producing her own show, running her own web site and distributing her own likeness as a Palm Pilot digi-pet to a very healthy income. And she's still having the last laugh at those who can't see past her Budweiser-and-Baywatch beginnings.

But even if her evolution from Mrs. Motley Crue to Millennium Mom doesn't ensure the conversion of her detractors, she doesn't really give a damn... because behind the crime-fighter-in-showgirl-gear-meets-media-empire-ringleader persona, she's a mom to two boys she obviously adores and she's about to marry a man who loves her in spite of it all — a stringy-haired, pot-bellied millionaire with American flags on his front lawn. And she's happy.

So, maybe the WWF isn't the perfect fit — after all, they already have a Pamela-lookalike — but I think something in the bloodsport genre might guarantee celebrity status well into her golden years. If you think about it, she's the perfect mascot for terrorism-era America, a battle-scarred Survivor with a smile that's internationally recognized as a symbol of freedom, sex appeal and ambition; she is capitalism incarnate.