Is There Nothing Else to Talk About?

I don't care. It's just that simple. I do not care. At all. Not even an infinitesimal little bit. And I am sick of the bloating diet of both the salacious and inane details of the Gosselin's sad life as they publicly lick their self-inflicted wounds. "He said," "she said." He "feels..." while she "will never..."

And now -- I hope you are sitting down -- we learn that Kate has changed her hair style. This is big news. Fire up the presses. Heat up the internet. The world will want to know this critical piece of life-changing information. Move over health care debate. Step aside economic spasms and war in Afghanistan. Never mind the ongoing challenges in Iraq -- or immigration reform, for that matter, or the looming environmental peril. We've got something really important we need to talk about: Kate's new hair style. It must be important, we learned about it on The View.

I suppose it goes without saying that I don't "get" the fascination with this story -- not just the hair; the whole fatuous and voyeuristic saga of their televised life and love and now their junior high-ish split.

I can't help but suspect that this kind of cultural preoccupation is precisely what turns brains into cottage cheese and shrivels our collective soul into a raisin too hard and dry to even taste. Which is to say, I suppose, that my beef is not really with the Gosselins. God bless them in the challenging life they undoubtedly have ahead of them. I wouldn't wish anybody misery. No, my complaint is with the rest of us for watching it, salivating over every morsel, and for buying the magazines.

There is still time, however. We can save ourselves, I truly believe it. We might not be able to break the habit "cold turkey," but step by step, one day at a time, we can turn this thing around. It can start in small ways -- like simply sitting quietly looking out the window for a few moments, or walking outside among some trees (real growing things). Or like reading a novel. My sister-in-law, for the past couple of years, has been working her way through every one of the Pulitzer Prize winning novels. That's the kind of thing I'm talking about.

Or, how about this: for 15 minutes each day we could holster our Blackberries, minimize our computer screens, turn off the TV, take the iPod buds out of our ears and have a conversation. With an actual person. I know, this will likely take some effort. After all, we hardly know any real people anymore -- only television personalities and Facebook "friends" with whom we exchange our every irrelevant detail. But the surprising truth is that they are all around us -- actual flesh and blood. Inhaling and exhaling. Smiling and frowning. Blinking, eating, carrying a water bottle around just like us. Some of them might even live with us in the same house. It will feel awkward at first -- actually talking, listening, having a real conversation. Sooner or later, if we keep at it, we may even start to care about them.

I know. It's a stretch. But we can try it. And if all else fails, as an ice breaker maybe you could just talk casually about each others hair. And wonder if it has changed.