Everyone Matters, Not Just the Famous

The relative value of lives seems to fluctuate wildly on the open market. When 5,000 people are buried in a mudslide in one fell swoop, there is barely a blip on the radar screen of the Internet. But upon hearing that one particular woman, who happens to be the current poster child for the Democrats and is stuck in an ICU, has opened her eyes, hundreds of people go wild amid thunderous applause. (Lord only knows what will happen when she actually stands up and gets out of bed! I imagine the schools will be closed for a day, at least in Tucson.)

I am not being cynical, I am being sensible: People die every day, every minute...oops, there goes somebody...to little fanfare. This bugs the hell out of me. I am still pissed that nobody made a big deal when my mother died; ditto my father. They were great people, they mattered, yet there are no memorials erected in their honor because they were not killed by madmen or terrorists but by common germs found around the house. Who knows, maybe even your house.

So when you get all riled up over the next shooting and mourn the wounded or dead, each of whom is always the greatest person who ever lived according to their neighbors and surviving family members, I ask you to remember Harriet Keller, one-time Rockette and early pioneer of Alzheimer's who died at 62, and Zachary Schamis, dry-cleaner extraordinaire who did a heck of a comedy routing sewing his fingers together with imaginary thread. He was never sick a day in his life, which is why he died of colon cancer at 72.

Oh yeah, and don't forget the mudslide people.