Hmmm. Let's see what's in the news. A huge cover story about a child actress with a billion dollars who doesn't eat enough so she's going into a clinic and her sister is in despair as she goes on vacation.  Then there is a lot of ink about the marriage of another millionaire actress and whether she's pregnant. Then there are stories about two good looking young people who met on a reality dating show and now are breaking up.

       The reason these people are supposedly worthy of front page covers of giant magazines is that they are "stars." And we pay a lot of attention to "stars" whether they are in front of a camera or suffering from anorexia or having babies or dropping baskets into a hoop from above the rim. We pay attention to them if they start a new line of clothes or if they decide to drive a Chrysler instead of a Cadillac. That's because they're "stars," and I'm sick of it.

      A man or woman is not a "star" if he gets paid tens of millions of dollars to say lines in front of a camera. She's not a "star" if she gets paid millions to simper and look sad because an imaginary boyfriend did not call. He's not a "star" if he gets paid thousands of dollars a minute to run up and down a wooden basketball court. They may be good actors and super great athletes, but in my mind, they're not stars.     The real stars, the ones who keep this country free on Independence Day and every day, are the ones who lead a patrol down an alley in Falluja with some maniac terrorist aiming an AK-47 at their heads. The real stars are the ones who leave their families behind at a dusty Army base and go off and risk––and lose––their lives to do their duty by their country and free men and women everywhere.

      They're the ones who go off into Godforsaken valleys in Afghanistan hunting for Al Qaeda, never knowing if they'll ever come back, and often not coming back. Think Pat Tillman and you've pretty much got it.

       There are other  real stars in this country like the men and women in Walter Reed Army Hospital getting fitted with prosthetic limbs because a bomb took off their leg below the knee in Mosul, Iraq. Their wives and girlfriends and parents and kids cheering them on are real stars, too. So are the doctors and techs who make the limbs.

       This country could last forever without the billionaire movie and TV stars in the magazines. We could not last a month without the men and women who fight for us. It's high time we got our priorities straight. Those guys and gals in Bagram and Ramadi and Fallujah and everywhere else, alive or dead or wounded, are the real  stars, the ones who light up the night of tyranny with the light of freedom. We would not have a July 4th worth having without them. God bless them today and every day
   

last update 7/6/2004. This website was created by Blue Cheese Design. Can you dig it?