Late Saturday night, our apartment suddenly filled with the noise of hovering helicopters. I peeked out the bathroom window and saw at least four, just sitting above us a few blocks away. I looked out the living room window and counted six. Clearly it was a news frenzy, so I flipped on the TV for the beginning of the eleven o’clock news.
They did the little “Breaking News” teaser before the news show started, showing on overhead shot of a suspect leaving a car with his hands over his head, and told us that a man wanted for a shooting had been caught by police. After the opening sequence of graphics and music, I expected them to launch into the story immediately. I called for Doug to come out to see what was going on, but instead of hearing a report on the shooting suspect down the street, the two of us instead sat through ten minutes of coverage of Paris Hilton’s return to jail.
As I sat there, I honestly could not believe what I was seeing. We sat there, stunned, as the anchors effortlessly shifted from the Paris story to the shooting suspect being apprehended down the street. It was one of those moments where the absurdity of life here simply left us speechless.