"On this day in 1989, the World Wrestling Federation admitted in court that professional wrestling is an exhibition and not a sport."
Admitted it in COURT. I'm telling you, that was a dark day for closet tag-teamers like me. Crushing. I hung up my mask and my cape and my breakaway folding chairs for good that day. "The Piano-Nator" faded into the hallowed realms of legend, following the path trod by Mr. T, Captain America, and Sean Penn.
But reading this particular headline on my MSN sign-in page this morning brought me to once more ask the question, "What, exactly, qualifies as news?"
For example, this same page cautioned the world at large that Geminis like me might be feeling 'unusually amorous' today, and went on to suggest that if we didn't already have an equally....er.....motivated..... partner, the sheer magnetic energy of our June birthdays would suck in viable candidates like a veritable Black Hole o' Luv.
Honestly, I'm afraid to leave the house. I just don't have time for that many romantic encounters today.
My newspaper had a number of perplexing headlines in it as well.
"A-Rod Comes Clean About Juicing."
Being as sports-hip as I am, I can say with reasonable confidence that A-Rod is a race car driver.
...wait, hang on.....
....ahem. Being as sports-hip as I am AND having read the first sentence in the aforementioned article, I can say with reasonable confidence that A-Rod is a baseball player.
Why he needs to come clean about 'juicing' is rather beyond me, however. Aren't athletes all about good health? I would imagine he would be proud of his regimen, all that juice. For a time, we were juicing here at our house. Never felt better. Had loads of energy, looked good, could pick up the couch with one hand and vacuum under it with the other. When our little juicer finally gave out on account of our trying to juicify a pineapple, we were terribly disappointed.
Perhaps A-Rod was juicing unhealthy things, like pork chops? Still, why would this admission count as "news"? It is truly mystifying.
One story that has the media in a full-on tizzy is the birth of The Octuplets. It is always written that way, too. In caps.
I admit, I'm somewhat interested in this little item myself. Evidently, a woman recently gave birth to, you know, eight babies at once, which immediately prompted Anne Curry to warm up her "I'm not judging you, you crazy lunatic psycho" face to prep for her interview with The Mom.
For my part, I think this was the most brilliant act of parenting ever perpetrated.
Anyone who has experienced the joy of pregnancy and childbirth will tell you that about the same time your bellybutton goes flat your brain falls out.
Nature is pathologically determined, however, and insists that some reasonable facsimile of a brain occupy the space beneath that "new mom perm". So a second, admittedly less reliable but still semi-functional, brain slooooowly starts to grow back.
Now, you put enough years between babies, and you might have a nearly full-sized brain in your skull by the time your bellybutton goes flat again. And then - WHAM! - out falls the replacement brain.
And this gets more tragic with each subsequent baby, until the final replacement brain is basically a half pound of tofu.
BUT, if you have all your babies at once, like this Zen Master Mom of Eight did, then it's just one major falling-out followed by one long re-grow, and you're back in the business of completing sentences and remembering your middle name YEARS before the rest of us.
So, I suppose news is whatever is happening in your own personal corner of the universe at any given time. I certainly wish A-Rod all the best with his little juicing problem - perhaps he might switch to concentrate? - and tip my hat to the smartest mother ever to single-handedly fill a hospital nursery, and even spare a moment of silence for the day the dreams of millions of little boys in Hulk Hogan Underoos were shattered by the ruthless hammer of justice.
And, given my current Gemini status, maybe I'll invite my husband out on a little 'date' tonight.
Wonder where I left my cape...