Mad World

Not as in ‘angry’, but ‘mad’ as in batshit crazy.

I’m sure nobody out there needs too much convincing that we live on a planet that’s gone nuts over the wrong things, but honestly…

So this morning I hit the pool, and just as I’m sinking to the bottom I realize that I should have left a note at the front desk asking that if something happens to me, please speed dial Mary-Kate Olsen immediately. If you don’t get what I’m joking about, you haven’t been watching the news much this week. Or rather, the tabloid news that Americans crave by the truckload.

It’s very sad that Mr. Ledger died this week, but this city has just lost all it’s remaining marbles among the five boroughs. I didn’t know the actor, but I saw him with his wife in the village last summer, and he looked like an everyday guy just walking down the street, and in interviews he seemed vaguely embarrassed about being a celebrity. He was his own worst critic, something we can all understand, and if he could see it he’d probably be appalled over the media circus surrounding his death.

And now the cameras are everywhere, all night, in ghoulish delight over the latest tidbit of this week’s edition of ‘too-young-to-die’ theater.

This afternoon it occurred to me that Mr. Ledger had been spending the last couple of nights down the street; since the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home is six blocks away from Cranky HQ, I decided I would head on down there to take some of my own pictures of celebrity media idiots taking their pictures of the arriving mourners for today's viewing. For those who don’t know, the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home is where everybody who is anybody in New York City stops before making that final road trip through eternity. Sort of a ‘Last Chance Saloon’ or ‘Last Starbucks Before Boarding Your Flight’ where you get one last stop to check in before the final check… out. I’ve been inside the place for a friend’s mother’s viewing, and it’s small in a New York City overpriced 2-bedroom apartment way. Tiny elevator, too, manned by a kindly, very soft-spoken, understanding guy that’s totally out-of-place in THIS town, let me tell you.

So off I go, and see limos pull up, and nerdy paparazzo with cameras that cost more than any of us will make in a month, and there are dozens of folks out there just waiting for somebody, anybody wearing black to show up. I didn't spend much time at the death watch, but I did get to take pictures of the on-camera bimbos and himbos discussing the early demise of a young actor like it was on par with the Kennedy assassination.

So what’s my point… I just think we need to get a grip on what’s more important, and what passes for news. Sure, the presidential campaign feels like it’s been going on since A.D. 79, but at least that’s news. Stocks taking a dive is news, too. The death of an actor teaches us nothing other than tragedy can happen anytime, even though that's worth remembering. But not worth flogging over and over, every single damn day. Well, at least we’re not hearing about Britney for the moment.

Of course, I will get my wish for the media to move on as a certain football game becomes the next New York City obsession. I can see the headlines now, ‘Eli Manning in Paper Cut Shocker’. So anybody out there want a city? I got one here, and it’s batshit crazy.