Like A Surgeon (General)

Rumor has it, after a recent photo of Madonna holding a cigarette, that the pop/rock/sex icon has resumed the habit.

Madonna denies it.

Speculation abounds: Is she lying? Is she hiding a filthy, unhealthy habit from the world?

Or is she telling the truth? Her publicist has said the photo in question was simply a promo for an upcoming film in which Madonna is to appear, and that the death stick was nothing more than a prop.

These are the things journalists are scrambling to cover. The answer to such mysteries is what keeps the paparazzi snapping away. The search for the truth is what motivates readers of magazines and online gossip columns to get up in the morning.

Make your own breakfast, kids -- I'm trying to find out if Madonna is smoking.

Americans don't have enough going on in their own lives to fret about and keep them awake at night.

They need to track the health habits of celebrities.

I mean, if Madonna dies of lung cancer, what will become of us all?

This is serious stuff.

Now here's the really disturbing part, the point that makes me question my own humanity: I DON'T CARE.

What's wrong with me? Why don't I discuss this with my wife while we sort bills? Why don't I stare out the window and speculate over Madonna and cigarettes? Why don't I regularly Google "Madonna" and "smoking" in hopes of finding the most recent develpoment on the issue?

Am I emotionally dead? Am I in some sort of apathetic state that makes me indifferent to things that apparently matter to the rest of the world? Why is it that I rate world events, philosophical beliefs, and the contents of my refrigerator as more pressing and relevant to my life than a celebrity's decision to resume smoking (or not)?

Maybe I should start examining these things in more detail.

Perhaps the actions of the stars do hold influence over my life after all.

But until I find this to be true, I'll resume plucking my nosehairs and trying to raise my family wiith solid values.

I know. I'm a backwards Philistine.