I’ve been a little derelict in my blog postings for the last week or so, with good reason. The news media, trashed here last week, got even by showing what hard working, industrious journalists they are by keeping me (and you) posted on the following stories:
Sunday, April 3 – The Pope is dead.
Monday, April 4 – The Pope is still dead.
Tuesday, April 5 – The Pope is still dead. Red Sox win!
Wednesday, April 6 – The Pope is dead. Sox win again, Rivera blows second save in a row!
Thursday, April 7 – I haven’t checked, but I’m willing to bet my daughter’s confirmation money the Pope’s still dead.
Nothing else happened this week. Not a thing. The heights of investigative journalism are scaled daily by asking people who barely speak English how long they’ve been standing in line.
(Note: Not all of this coverage has gone to waste. I did learn what the Pope has in common with Elvis. They’re both dead.)
No one has been as dead as this pope since Saturday Night Live reminded us weekly that Generalissimo Francisco Franco was dead back in the 70s. They quit reminding us a long time ago, and there have been no subsequent reports of Frankie crawling out of the ground, so I guess he’s still dead. That’s how it usually works: people stay dead, except in vampire or zombie flicks, and occasional soap operas. Daily reminders are superfluous.
No disrespect meant toward the pope—who is, in case you haven’t heard, dead—but do your job, media. They’re burying him on Friday. That’s news. Standing around hoping a warm spell doesn’t ripen him up isn’t.