I'm Just Not That Into It

I'm breaking up with my news media. Seriously. I can't stand it anymore.

We used to get along fine, but somewhere along the line, my relationship with the "news" soured. I think it started with OJ. Remember that maelstrom and how it shifted the paradigm for determining newsworthiness? Fast forward and arrive at Tiger Woods. What do these two stories have in common? The obvious, yes, but after that? Neither one has one damn thing to do with me, that's what. I don't care about men with juice for names any more than I care about people with first names that double as upholstory prints. Football is an excuse to have parties where you eat fattening snack foods in front of witnesses and golf is an excuse to change the damn channel. I don't care. DON'T CARE.

The latest in the brigade of unnecessary stories marching into our living rooms is the one about Justice Stevens. He might quit. He might not. Some of us think he will. Some of us don't. Some stuff might happen after that. Other stuff might not. As reported today by NPR - when he leaves, if he leaves, there may not be any Protestants on the Supreme Court. Whoa - run for the hills folks, Armageddon must be next! Oh wait - that was last week - when the stalked non-story du jour was the passage of healthcare reform. (Passage of the reform was a story. The orange-faced arse who claimed it would invoke Armageddon was not.)

Sot that's it. I can't stand it anymore! Get a life, media, and let me get on with mine! It is over between us. You may think Stevens and Woods are in different categories, but they're not. There's nothing substantive being reported on Stevens, any moreso than there was on the Woods story. Both events, after their initial introduction, have become eye-tearingly boring and a galactic waste of my time. I can't listen to you blather on any longer, nor can I go over to your folks' home and listen to them repeat everything you just said, but louder and in more biased fashion, wearing hopeless plaids and worse hair.

You need to move on and forget about me. Some day, maybe we can be friends again, but for now, I want you to lose my number. Just assume I'm shampooing my hair and can't answer your recorded messages. I'm sorry.

I'm just not that into you.