What would a writer do without the Internet? With all the legitimate information to be had, there is at least an equal, or in my opinion, far greater amount of misinformation out there to keep us busy for the rest of our lives.
The latest nugget of trivia to grab my attention (sometimes, it doesn't take much) is the reunion of those irresponsible 2008 Republican presidential campaign cuties, Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston. If you live in my cynical head, this is a well-timed publicity stunt to get them back into the good graces of the American Conservative minions, in preparation for "Mama Grizzly" Sarah Palin's run at the 2012 Republican presidential nomination.
OK, I'm biting my tongue for having just typed that. But here's the thing: not only have Bristol and Levi agreed to give it another shot for the sake of their controversial 18 month-old offspring, Tripp, is it any coincidence that this news comes just scant months before the US mid-term elections? Methinks there is definitely something more afoot here.
From what I have read, Bristol and Levi are not only giving it another shot for the sake of their kid, there are also rumours abound that there is a reality show in the works, "documenting" their struggles as young parents who recklessly procreated and are now dealing with the consequences. On any given night, you can turn on the A&E channel and watch the trials of drug addicts, individuals with various obsessive-compulsive disorders, including excessive hand washing and hoarding. Why do we need to add to that two Alaskan teenage parents, one of whom happens to be the daughter of the dumbest woman who has ever walked the face of the earth? Again, bring it on Tea Baggers; if you haven't yet figured it out, I am taking great pleasure in my occasional goading of all y'all.
I, for one, have no desire to watch Bristol and Levi duke it out over child-rearing and whatever other manufactured dilemmas the TV gods have planned for them. And if this is in fact a publicity stunt to serve the purposes of Mama Grizzly's clueless narcissism, then that's even more reason to ignore it. It bugs me that every brush with notoriety seems to end in a "reality" of some making. Be it a show, a book, a blog, what have you, the days of the 15 minutes of fame are long since gone. The convenient resurfacing of these once "notable" figures to serve their own agenda, or one of someone close to them, is about as genuine as the Chanel handbags for sale on Canal Street in New York City. And what's worse is that everyone sits up and takes notice. Including me.