Why does some tiny, perverse little part of me want to watch Sarah Palin’s new cable channel? Is it because, when Sarah’s unscripted and starts to flail, she can become trainwreck riveting? Or is it because the channel promises not only Sarah’s political rantings but a behind-the-scenes look at Sarah “as mother, grandmother, wife and neighbor”? And why do I want to hear from Sarah’s neighbors most of all?
Why do some people become obsessively outraged by inconsistencies in sci-fi or action movies? I’m talking about the guy who, as he’s leaving the theater, says something like, “But you CAN’T change the future during time travel to the past, everyone KNOWS that!”
What gives someone the ability to hold an extended conversation, about an issue in their personal life, with a bank teller or supermarket cashier, while there are 12 people waiting on line behind them?
Why can’t Beyonce solve the problems in the Middle East? I bet that if she was willing to host the event, all of the various factions would at least show up at the conference table, for the selfie opportunities alone.
The English artist Tracy Emin has created an artwork called “My Bed”, which features Ms. Emin’s actual bed, with crumpled, stained sheets, cigarette butts, condoms and empty vodka bottles; Ms. Emin has said that the piece represents a time in her life when she was severely depressed. My Bed was just sold for 4.3 million dollars to a German collector. Should this sale make other severely depressed people feel:
A) More depressed, because their depression isn’t making them a dime
B) Inspired, because Tracy has proved that severe depression is now a lucrative career move
C) Jealous, because if Tracy was so depressed, why did she need condoms?
