Home from Kona, catching up. 

A few minutes ago I start hearing loud buzzing whoppity-whoppity noises outside my window.  And then more, and  more, and then more on top.  A whole swarm of helicopters suddenly forming.  What the…?

So I look out, and there are no fewer than seven helicopters in view, all facing a construction crane about a half-mile from here, down in Century City.  OK, I think to myself, must be a car crash or a roof collapse or some other passing calamity that can make the hair and teeth all breathless between ads for investment firms.

Sure enough, some guy you don’t know is being rescued from a crane, an event which has no conceivable news value or impact on your life whatsoever.  And so of course it’s being covered by everyone with a camera and a helicopter.

These riveting, dramatic pictures, the anchortools say.  Of course, if the guy is being rescued six feet off the ground, there’s no news here.  These riveting pictures are only dramatic because somebody might fall or die on live TV.  It’s a hoped-for snuff film in progress.  Nothing else. 

Sadly for the "news" producers across America, the guy was rescued and whisked away directly, with a relative minimum of riveting, dramatic fuss.  Off went the rescue chopper.

And then the half-dozen bottle flies, attracted by the smell of potential shit, all flew away, too.