Black Box Report

On RFL we get into issues like remembering fallen soldiers from our region, investigating the latest hold up at Ground Zero and the huge consequences on our doctors and hospitals with Medicare cuts. But let me tell you what I don't plan on covering. Don't hold your breath if you think I’m going to get into A-rod's marital woes or possible affair with the Material Girl. Turn the channel if you want the latest on Christie Brinkley’s latest ugly divorce. I'm not getting into this stuff, not because I’m holier than thou or out of some false sense of journalistic ethos; I’m not talking about this garbage because I couldn't care less.

Now I may be many things, but an I’m not an idiot. I know full well every daily tabloid in New York has Rodriguez, Madonna, assorted boyfriends and spouses plastered on its front and back pages.

But by now when the subject of the latest dingbat starlet, Hollywood scandal or breakup comes up, people affiliated with this program know to skip it because I just won't spend my time on stuff you see on the rags at the supermarket checkout line.

But because we are an interactive program that pays more than lip service to the premise that you the viewer have a stake in the show, the least I owe those who ask why we ignore these kind of stories is a reason.

My wife would be more than happy to tell you I spend way too much time following the Yankees, but you could not pay me to have the faintest interest in the latest drama with A-rod. I want the guy to hit the ball, catch the ball and throw the ball. I couldn’t care less about who he sleeps with or whose arms his jilted wife is running into. Like other entertainers, his job is to entertain me. I am not invested in their lives; don't want to live vicariously through them; am not pained or overjoyed by their personal lives. I've never understood people who are devastated by a Hollywood couple breakup. They don't care about your relationship and almost always don't ask you to care about theirs. Here’s a novel concept: Worry about your own life and stop trolling for gossip on others or feed the beast that is the cottage industry of the new media.

I love the people who rail against the intrusive papparazzi, but are the first in line to snatch the latest issue of the magazine's with glossy covers of Britney Spears’ latest meltdown, pouring gas on a situation everybody knows is close to flameout.

Or how about those lovely spreads of one cellulite backside after another, where the magazine asks you to match the actress with her butt (a picture, may I add, they often snap when she's walking on the beach with her kids)? Just curious how many of you ladies would like some photog stalking you for an unflattering shot in a bikini?

But let me come back to my main point. While I find it ugly for readers to follow the latest flavor's bulimia watch, or other assorted human frailties - why in god's name does anyone care?

Now I can almost hear the person saying, “Wait a second, Rich. How come it's okay to go nuts over a lawmaker with a hooker or playing footsie in an airport men's room?”

Here's the difference:

Politicians ask us for our votes and more importantly, as was the case with Spitzer and Craig, play moralists in judgment and governance of other's lives.

In the end I won't spend time on these tabloid stories because there inane, I couldn't care less and most importantly, I refuse to feed the beast. Do me a favor, even if you think I’m dead wrong, or I don't get it, objectively step back and look at what all these stories have in common. They delight in the misery of others. The sheer joy the tabloids are having with the Rodriguez story is off the charts. I remember the good laugh a few people had looking through the pics of Britney’s latest follies in child care. We are talking about a child, right?

How about the morbid fascination with the body bag of Heath Ledger? It gave me the creeps. Look at reality TV, bullying on-line…the list goes on and on.

So get a grip, get a hobby, get a life. This garbage isn't news, it's rubbernecking on the human highway of self destruction. You can stop for a gawk, but I won't be putting up the pictures.