Wednesday, January 5, 2011

The great impending OMG of 2011

If it's Wednesday, it's Morford looking back at 2010.

It was, to my slippery and wayward mind, one of the wonkiest, wobbliest, most sputteringly interesting years in ages, full of sound and fury and shrill, insufferable conservatism signifying nothing, but in a way that makes it seem like, you know, everything.

Alaska Sen. Ted Stevens was killed in a plane crash. Dick Cheney still refused to die from another heart attack. A leathery hunk of confused hate named Terry Jones didn't burn the Koran outside a rancid little "church" somewhere in Florida, but not before he got the attention of the president himself, which is bizarre and disorienting in a way that makes you sort of cringe. And then shrug, sigh and move the hell on.

We have a name for this whipsaw socioemotional glop in journalism. It's the same one they use in fiction, in poetry, in TV, in skywriting and greeting cards, call-in radio and cave paintings, Facebook status updates and homoerotic text messages sent from Gucci-clad Atlanta pastors to young boys in heat.

We call it storytelling.

[...] Still, pan far enough out, it's all just a spectacularly vain extravaganza. Just ask the graveyard.

Much, much more. Do not deny yourself. Go read.

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