Down the News Hole

2007 was a wonderland of bizarre news stories that, of course, overshadowed more important, less-reported items.

by Shaun Brady

Another year, another slew of important information utterly eclipsed by celebrity inanities. Here, we look at some of the biggest pieces of nonsensical hoopla from the year just ended, find out what stories got shoved to the back pages to make room, decide whether their burial was intentional conspiracy, and assess which was really the more important story. Notice that neither Britney Spears nor Lindsay Lohan are mentioned. That's due to the fact that I don't believe they actually exist, but are instead CIA-implanted images designed to cloud our brains when we come into contact with facts we're not supposed to know. Therefore, I'm physically unable to determine what actual information they're supplanting.

Evan M. Lopez

Spaceman Tiff

Date: Monday, Feb. 5

The big story: Astronaut Lisa Nowak straps on a diaper, packs a bag with a knife, mallet, trenchcoat, wig, garbage bags and rubber tubing, and takes off on a cross-country tear after her rival for the affections of a fellow astronaut. I'm at a loss to even make a joke here — that would require adding my finite dose of sarcasm to an already infinite absurdity, and the laws of physics simply won't allow it.

Enduring cultural significance: Even after nearly a year, this remains an absolutely amazing story. The way each detail perfectly complements the others, adding to a whole greater than the sum of its parts, with just the right dose of tantalizing mystery, questions left unanswered (A drilling hammer? Why?) — only highly trained and conditioned NASA experts could engineer such a finely tuned breakdown.

Shoved aside: Rudy Giuliani files his candidacy; deathbed revelations in the Alexander Litvinenko poisoning; George W. asks Congress for all the money in the world to keep chasing his tail in Iraq.

Conspiracy? Hey, these are government employees, after all, so almost definitely, in one of two ways: Either they're Cold War-throwback double agents working for Putin to distract from the uncanny habit his opponents have of meeting unnatural fates, or it's NASA trying to pump new life into its Mars program, attempting to get money for a manned mission simply by reminding its fellow citizens that astronauts are batshit crazy and should be clapped into a rocket and blasted into the void for the good of all involved.

More important? Do you even have to ask? An astronaut. In a diaper and a Spy vs. Spy getup. And a Fisher-Price "My First Kidnapping" play set. Fucking Armageddon would have to shrug and try again another day to attract attention away from this one.

Dying is an Art

Date: Friday, Feb. 9

The big story: Anna Nicole Smith dies of a drug overdose. Or was that a fatal dose of overexposure? Either way.

Enduring cultural significance: It's always admirable when performers are willing to die for their art. Of course, when your art is living your addled train wreck of a life in the public eye, that diminishes the nobility a tad.

Shoved aside: The DoD inspector general's "very damning" report finding that the Pentagon purposely manipulated pre-war intelligence. Damning in that the Defense Department was apparently the last to know.

Conspiracy? It's Marilyn Monroe all over again. Minus the talent and the salacious sexual rumors. Is it too late to start some of those? C'mon, future generations need to know the wholly invented truth about President Bush and Anna Nicole.

More important? Let's call it a tie. We all knew both of these were coming, it was just a matter of time. I'm just disappointed that there was no revelation that Anna Nicole was really Andy Kaufman after subtly refining his Tony Clifton character and undergoing intensive sexual reassignment after faking his own death.

Party Fouls

Date: Monday, Aug. 27

The big story: Larry Craig plays footsie. Or Alberto Gonzales belatedly resigns.

Enduring cultural significance: This is a messy tangle to unravel — I'm not entirely sure which of these is supposed to distract from the other. See, the Craig story was simply the revelation of something that had happened months before, and Gonzales' career had been toast for months, so he could have chosen any day to throw in the towel, really.

Shoved aside: I dunno ... beleaguered public official taking a bullet to cover up for a senator's embarrassing escapades, or the latter making his imbroglios public to shadow the chink in his party's armor. But neither was particularly effective, and the GOP is usually better at underhanded strategizing than that. Wait a minute ...

Conspiracy? I'm on to something here. Speaking of underhanded strategy, look ahead a few days and what do you find? Karl Rove resigning. And between those two dates? The underreported story of a B-52 bomber flying between North Dakota and Louisiana with — oops! — six nuclear warheads armed and ready to go.

More important? That's right, folks: Karl Rove is stockpiling weapons for his grab at world domination. Why Louisiana, you ask? It's right next door to Texas, and an already-weakened New Orleans and environs would make for a pretty simple first conquest. Somewhere, right now, Rove is sitting before a bank of monitors stroking a kitten and cackling maniacally. Don't say you weren't warned.

We Know Who You Are Now

Date: Sunday, Dec. 16

The big story: Wrapping up the year with local news (in more ways than one), our very own Alycia Lane proves once again that without the hypnotically calming effect of the TV camera's red light, she is utterly incapable of controlling her emotions. The mere act of sitting on Dr. Phil's couch has her sobbing uncontrollably; one friendly handshake and she's barraging you with inappropriate snapshots; and now a traffic tie-up and she bares her claws at the nearest plainclothes officer.

Enduring cultural significance: What are the odds on Alycia's vacation wrapping up just in time for February sweeps? At just about the same time, expect Larry Mendte's teeth to be ground down to little nubs from gritting them in an increasingly difficult forced smile.

Shoved aside: Admit it: You spent more time staring at Lane's zombified mug than you did on the Inky's three-day report on over-aggressive suburban police tactics. Routine strip-searches and racial profiling just seem downright quaint next to your friendly neighborhood anchorwoman screaming derogatory epithets and scratching her initials into the face of a cop in a nice mini-Mel moment.

Conspiracy? CBS3 to the Inquirer: "Investigative reporting? We got your investigative reporting right here? Sic 'em, girl!"

More important? Don't make Alycia angry. You wouldn't like her when she's angry.

(s_brady@citypaper.net)