Can we, please, during a moment of tragedy, not be a bunch of phony, pathetic fools? Is that too much to ask? If you didn't give a fuck about the Space Shuttle before the Columbia accident, try to keep your mouth generally shut about how goddamn weepy you are now and how you had to drink an extra cup of hot chocolate in order to get to sleep last night. Save the crocodile tears for when some gullible bastard might actually fall for it.
But I use the term "we" loosely. The fact is, I think the American public is basically good, and basically sincere. The "public" presented (and invented) by the media is nothing more than a figment of Dan Rather's teleprompter data-entry clerk's imagination.
The mainstream media isn't content to report facts. They want to tell you what to feel, too. They think that if they describe the emotions and thoughts of the masses preemptively, then the masses will follow their lead and fulfil the prophesy.
The media coverage of the Columbia disaster wasn't about respect. It wasn't a salute. It sure as fucking hell wasn't personal. It was pure misery bottled and sold.
But imagine a society that would pay for that bottle. A society so goddamn guilty about not actually having heroes that it finds it necessary to feel miserable when seven heroic coulda-beens are dead and gone. A society that likes its heroes the way it likes its burgers. Flame broiled.
If those seven had lived, they damn well would not have been called heroes. They would have occupied even less space in the collective consciousness than they will two months from now. Zero.
The real "public" is a drug addict. And the fix doesn't even get you high. It brings you down. Down to the point when you think your media-engineered depression means you must have had some values to begin with. If it feels like "loss", you must have had something to lose. Right?
You can't revere the hero. But good for you. At least you know which tie to wear to his funeral.
