It's becoming a strange experience to turn on telly on Sunday afternoon and realise, that half of the programmes are fly-on-the-bedroom-wall documentaries about people. Not conventionally famous people, people who have done something out of ordinary, inspiring people. Just...
--- we are the nobodies ---
Oh, right, celebrities. Seems like an awful waste of language to create a word especially for people, whose only contribution to society is supporting economy by buying lots of stuff to be shown wearing on a telly. And in magazines. Seriously, when I pick up a gossip magazine, I have no idea who most of these people are. So, you have appeared in episode 3425 of some soap or other, slept with used to be famous footballer three years ago, released a single that never made it into top 20? Why, oh why should I care about you more than about my landlord, kid in a supermarket who picked up my Nectar card I almost lost or a call centre woman who efficiently dealt with my complaint? At least these three random people have some influence on my life. They...
---wanna be Somebodies---
Or the newspapers. Some celebrity woman miscarried last week. Probably, a thousand woman miscarried in the UK on the same day. Maybe a million or more around the globe. Sympathy, nevertheless, do explain, o newspaper editor, how is this story front page news...? Oh, and then there's the spouses, celebrities-by-attachment, how sad is it to be known and recognised by other sad people on a street or in cyberspace, just because your wife/husband/partner of undetermined sex is known for being known? The worst case of passive, not even life, existence...
---we're dead, we know just who we are---
Awesome, simply awesome.
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