I think we have a bank somewhere that contains all of the little sayings we "use" to describe horrible things. Every day, its the same news, filled with loathing, doubt, decline, depression and desecration. Either a toddler dies somewhere due to a psychotic parent or a famous celebrity of some sort dies unexpectedly. Sometimes its a suicide bomber somewhere in the East, and almost all the time there a few mentions of the infamous Taliban. Do journalists get sick of the same sing-song articles, the same pathetic and, at this point, ubiquitously meaningless quotes about someone winning, losing or dying? What is ultimately sad about it is that when reading these sordid and redundant stories each day, the best parts are the worst parts. If Paris Hilton decided to get a third breast, then thats the article that seems most positive and optimistic. Its tabloid news that keeps the subway rider awake, keeps them aware of their puglistic desires.
How appealing, how useful it must be. How does the journalist feel that writes/rights this garbage, garbage which, no matter who the fuck you think you are, turns you into garbage? Its just a job, they'll say. It's our right to know, they'll say. Its no different than a top executive at a big tobacco company or a bar tender at a posh spot. We don't need to know about other people's personal lives, the public and private sphere got conflated by paparazzi...why do I care if Britney Spears gained 10 pounds? Why would someone model themselves after someone they don't even know? Why do assholes look around and think about all the wrong questions? Valuing crap for crap.
And we all buy into some crap or the other. We purchase angst for what?
No comments:
Post a Comment