If I categorized all of the fleeting thoughts on my mind’s ticker tape, I would probably discover that I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering why the things that fascinate most Americans just don’t capture my fancy. That I actually ponder the delta between the typical American brain and my own specimen is in itself indicative of some sort of mental abnormality and might alarm me if Harper’s Magazine, Atlantic Monthly, and the New York Times magazine didn’t feature at least one article per issue in which the author contrasts the tendencies of Joe the Plumber types with the propensities of college-educated liberal intelligentsia. (All of this is done with helpless awareness of what elitist pricks we are.)
Here’s a sampling of American phenomenon that I just don’t get: Big houses, big cars, the preference for cars over trains, the preference for low-priced quantity over high-priced quality, microwave ovens, American Idol, Paris Hilton, Oprah Winfrey, Dancing with the Stars, the cult of Ronald Reagan, mechanized one-cup coffee machines, Burger King, Black Friday shopping, the entire sport of baseball, the entire sport of golf, Nascar, panda bears, Dave Matthews, Uggs, Shrek, flavored vodka, deep-fried seafood, Caribbean/resort vacations, Wal-Mart, southern accents, Terry Schiavo, buffets, sending “me” to Washington, paper napkins, salad/fruit beforethe meal, vampire sagas, jet-skiing/snow-mobiling/motocross/gas-powered recreational vehicles in general, Jon and Kate Gosselin, obsession with celebrity offspring, obsession with celebrity diets/exercise, obsession with celebrities in general, Donald Trump, Jay Leno, and when the media becomes fixated on the fate of one missing or murdered white woman.
Today’s quandary: Why is America so enraptured by the formerly-trapped, freshly-freed Chilean miners? I mean, it’s so uncommon that a news story about a developing nation completely dominates American media. When the cable news channels began broadcasting the rescue of the miners, some of my co-workers became so absorbed that they stayed up until 2am to watch the proceedings. All day Wednesday, these bewitched coworkers peppered office conversation with running updates: “15 miners freed. 18 miners freed.” The whole saga seemed to make them elated, as if it restored their faith in humanity and reaffirmed their belief that everything will turn out alright in the end — the ultimate American principle.
I find myself strangely disinterested in the Chilean miners. Oh, sure, I was sorry to hear of that their mine collapsed, I was amazed that they survived on 2 tablespoons of tuna for a week, and I’m glad they got out, but I was no more curious about the Chilean miner’s plight than I was about, say, Harry Reid’s plight for re-election. The world is filled with tragedy; the world is filled with plights.
Last February, an earthquake ravaged Chile, killing about 500 people and displacing 1.5 million people. Just another tragic blip in the international news section. Yet for 33 trapped miners, we devour every report of their condition and we watch their rescue with bated breath. Why is it that we are more likely to be interested in the lives of a few over the lives of many? Why are we not concerned over the fate of 1.5 million homeless Chileans, but we’ll stay up to 2 am for 33 Chileans? Well, I won’t. I’m not saying I’m better or worse than someone who cares about the Chilean miners, but certainly I’m more jaded. The 2004 Tsunami killed 250,000 people and my world is no different. Paris Hilton could be put in jail for the next 50 years and my world would be no different. Vodka tastes like bacon, bubblegum, and bison grass, and my world is no different. The miners could have died and my world would be no different; the miners survived, and my world is no different.
