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Unless I want to get thrown out of the Global Media Conspiracy of Pundits, Commentators & Sundry Scurrilous Knaves, I must write about the death of Diana, Princess of Wales.
The problem lies in finding an approach. There's the
hand-wringing we're all guilty, especially those of us
in the media
angle.
But if I were editing a mass-market magazine, I might face these choices:
A) Put Alan Greenspan's theories of interest rates and economic growth on the cover, and sell 800,000 copies, or
B) Put a less-than-fully clad Diana cavorting with her current beaux on the cover, and sell 2.5 million copies.
Then there's the very definition of a no-brainer choice. In that situation, I'd be among those waving big money at the photographers, which leads to stake-outs and pursuits, and, perhaps, a gruesome auto accident.
That also may explain why I've never been offered a position as the editor of a mass-market magazine -- when I'm an editor, I chose articles that interest me, and I generally yawn before I reach the end of the first paragraph of a gushing account of the doings or notions of a celebrity.
As long as people are willing to buy pictures of Diana, people will be willing to snap and sell such pictures. That's the nature of free markets and capitalism, and far be it from me to attack the underpinnings of the emerging global economic system.
I thought of taking the I'm an American
angle.
After all, the founders of this nation led a violent
revolution against the leading global power of the 18th
century, just so that we Americans wouldn't have to care
about the doings of the British royal family, or what
effect an accident might have on the monarchy, etc.
But this is like the other burdens-- surprise searches,
arbitrary governmental decrees, asset seizures without due
process, taxation without representation -- they tried to
free us from in 1776. Americans willingly return to
repeated Injuries and Usurpations.
Had foresight
been among Thomas Jefferson's many gifts, he'd have stayed
at Monticello, rather than bothering with the Declaration
of Independence.
Another angle is the six degrees of separation
approach, although this may have been worked to near
exhaustion after the death of Jacqueline Kennedy
Onassis.
Then, we were treated to detailed reminisces from people who had once shook her hand or glanced at her on a sidewalk. The best I can do here is that I know a guy in Vail who knows the people who owned the house where Diana stayed the last time she skied there -- even for a columnist, that's a major stretch.
One promising tack is Diana the servant of
humanity.
She hugged AIDS victims, tried to point out
the horrors of land mines, and otherwise elevated herself
well above the Eurotrash that she could have easily
joined.
All true and commendable. But if we need a princess to tell us that AIDS victims are human beings, or that leftover land mines are crimes against humanity, then we're probably beyond hope anyway.
Her death might have performed one final service,
though. As a parent, I've lost track of how many zillion
times I've said Never ride in a car when the driver has
been drinking,
and Always wear your seat belt.
Now, well, maybe that will sink in.
The past week has been sad here, but mostly from another tragedy.
Stacy Thomas, 39, was a local graphic artist, and in a town teeming with grouches, cranks and curmudgeons, Stacy always had a smile. She came from good stock -- her parents, Will and Jone, are about as nice as people get.
Sunday afternoon, she was mountain-biking with friends
on Telegraph Trail near Durango. A thunderstorm moved in.
Stacy was peddling in a line of three people, well down
from the top of the ridge, and, as a witness said, a
lightning bolt picked her right out of the middle. It
had no effect on the other two.
Stacy Thomas was pronounced dead at the scene.
There's no lesson to be learned from this, I guess; none of the outdoor experts I know can figure out what they might have done differently to avoid this tragedy.
Sometimes lightning strikes, and there's nothing you can do about it. That's a message, perhaps, but it's a hard one to cope with.
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