Waving, Not Drowning

We have more means to communicate than at any time in history, but have less to say (And you're reading more proof of that assertion). Especially here in the land of the round doorknobs, where, every fifteen minutes, someone new calls 'shotgun' in the White Bronco (How come they didn't renew that series with OJ anyway? Or partner him with Wayne Brady and mangle song lyrics; more on that later).

We have confused notoriety and celebrity with fame. How else to explain the disproportionate portioning of attention to the Jerry Springer Show or the actions of media panda bears like Paris Hilton (panda bears are a much better symbol of the USA than the bald eagle. They have little to no purpose except to cause us to wrinkle our noses in amusement and say 'awwww.') in comparison to the efforts of a uniformed nineteen year-old in our military standing in the open door of a helicopter gunship over Baghdad or, back home, a teacher working with an immigrant youngster in a reading class at Norwich's Bishop School.

The neatest thing about all-news TV and radio and 'news' websites is EVERYTHING becomes equally important. After all, it ALL shows up with BIG graphics and dramatic music (thank you, Faux Gnus... Motto: "Cheerleaders instead of news readers! Yay, us!"). After awhile, MEGO (my eyes glaze over) and the electronic trance becomes just so much static and hum.

For many of us, it's vital to know Clay Aiken got into a punch-up with someone on an airplane or that Britney Spears is no longer on speaking terms with her undergarments. Why we think it's important is a little tricky, though.

MORE Americans can tell you who the three finalists on American Idol were than can name the Senate Majority Leader or the Speaker of the House....Not only because our fellow citizens don't know, but because they have little idea how to evaluate information in terms of relative importance and applicability to their own lives. (Say "Pelosi" and many will say 'oh yeah, I've heard that name'; they just don't have a context to place it in.)

Probably just me-but in July I boycotted ALL of the Live Green Save the Planet (for dessert) posturing because I just can't get behind badly-played albeit sincerely-intentioned live music requiring MORE electricity to power amps and lights than all the deceased children in Darfur could have used had they all been able to grow up and go to Harvard.

Assuming (of course) their nomadic tribes had moved to where there was food (Please buy the Darfur benefit CD so Avril Lavigne can feel good about ruining John Lennon's "Imagine" for a generation who has NO idea who Lennon is). WAITAMINIT! Maybe Lennon was sitting along side of Clay on the plane. Or giving bamboo leaves made from plastic dog food to the pandas while Ellen wept!?

"Imagine there's no real news.
We know that you can't tell.
A Paris from a George Bush-
If the world has gone to hell.

Imagine all the I-Pods
Blaring out electric trance,
Me-you-sick.
You may think that I'm a cynic-but so what, I can dance."

Licensed from Yoko Ono's "The Dream Is Over" Foundation.
I'm on the Back Nine with OJ right now, looking for the real killers.
-bill kenny