Shocked? Really?

When there's nothing important to report from a crime scene, you can always expect some local TV news nitwit to interview a neighbor who doesn't know anything about what happened.

Why do they do it?

Lord only knows. Maybe it's to have a soundbite of some sort when the cops aren't talking. Maybe it's just to stretch out the story and give the reporter more facetime.

"He was such a quiet neighbor," one might say. In fact, they all seem to say it when the guy next door is charged with something like an ax murder.

"Things like that just don't happen around here," another might say. Well, if "things like that" were routine in your neighborhood, we'd have a whole 'nother story to report.

"He was a nice guy, but I only saw him when he was taking out the trash. He didn't have much to say." Well, that was pertinent. You only saw him occasionally. He didn't say much to you. Yet the reporter felt it was really important for you to make that point.

And there's this old chestnut: "I was shocked. I was really shocked." That's not news. It would be news if the neighbor said, "I wasn't shocked at all." That's a story that would make me prick up my ears.

And then there's the comment that drives me up a wall. "I just hope his family finds closure soon."

Closure?

The very idea of closure is naive, a piece of unfounded psycho-babble with no evidence to back it up.

Sure, time helps to make awful events more bearable. You might go from thinking about it every waking moment to thinking about it only occasionally. But pain, loss and tragedy never completely go away. Not so long as memories last.

So whenever I see one of these soundbites on TV, I punch the fast-forward button on my TiVo. Closure is what I'm seeking: closure to this story that is devolving into the realm of the mindless.

On the other hand, for me it makes watching local TV news a much shorter process.