Earlier this week I was talking with my sister and her daughter and the conversation led as it always does to Steve Burns from Blue’s Clues and his death by heroin overdose. I know what you’re thinking, people who read this blog and also listen to Steve Burns’ indie rock musical efforts, you’re thinking that I’m dead wrong and Steve is alive and kicking and in fact you saw his show last week and he rocked the house.

To clarify, Steve Burns is not dead, but my sister and her daughter were both absolutely certain that he was. My sister even bet me twenty dollars that I was wrong, though I doubt I’ll ever see that money.

The more troubling aspect of this brief foray into morbid gambling was my niece who even upon seeing Steve Burns’ Wikipedia page, his IMDB page, and his band’s MySpace page still refused to believe that he was not dead. I’ve struggled with her for a while now, trying to get her to accept things when the facts confront her — she’s still a steadfast believer in the Loch Ness Monster — but this was a particularly galling example.

Steve Burns’ death is not a conspiracy theory, but the way my niece reacted to confrontation was similar to that of a conspiracy theorist, driven by the same sort of behaviour, an unwillingness to change your beliefs. What I took from that conversation was that my niece preferred it when what she had believed for years was correct, that to accept that she was wrong was a slight on herself, an embarrassment. Unfortunately, not changing her opinions as her understanding of the facts improves is the more shameful tact.

This reaction of ossification in the face of new evidence is one facet of why conspiracy theories continue to drain on us. Another is the excitement of it all. It’s more enticing to believe that all the horrible things that happen to the world and the people in it have a shadowy figure lurking behind it all, tugging strings, calling out orders, making the world dance their dance of death.

Kennedy? It wasn’t a lone nut job, it was a conspiracy so vast in its reach yet so stealthy in its wake that there is literally no proof, no substantive witness that can corroborate any of it. That second version is sexier to be sure, so it’s easy to get swept up into the ‘majesty’ of the conspiracy.

I used to be a Kennedy believer, and I even had my doubts about the moon landing after Jonathan Frakes brought forth some compelling evidence¹ so I know what it’s like to be on the conspiracy bandwagon.

Well actually that’s not true. It was easy to believe these things when it was just me and shitty television specials, but once there were other people involved, once I started looking into these sorts of things online rather than on exploitative television specials, I found the endless supply of debunkers, ready with piles of facts discounting every piece of ‘evidence’ conspiracy theorists throw at you. I accepted that I was misled and mistaken, and I moved on with my life.

But many people, it seems, get trapped in this vortex of fear, they get dragged into it by misinformation and by the time someone is there to correct them they’ve become invested in the lie. I don’t think there’s a way out of this — conspiracy theories will never go away completely — except that the media should be more responsible about what they put out there.

Unfortunately, the media seems to be getting lazier and more willing to lie for ratings. Last night, I watched an episode of Conspiracy Theory with Jesse Ventura, a show that takes the baton from the Fox Alien Autopsy specials from the 90′s and runs like it’s being chased through the woods by a ManBearPig. It’s so obviously misleading and manipulative that it was entertaining to me. But it also infuriated me.

I don’t know if regulation of these sorts of things is possible or even viable — the sketchy claims of these shows are often veiled in excuses and hedge words designed to evade these sorts of regulations — but the visceral disdain for truth, reality, and yeah I’ll say it humanity that shows like this demonstrate with their lies and obfuscations is deeply deeply troubling to me.

I think that the way these sorts of shows exploit people’s imaginations and their desire for an exciting world with villains to point fingers at is one of the most pernicious aspects of modern day media. Too often you’re given the words of crackpots as gospel, or even worse the words of a reputable scientist twisted to fit the narrative the show wants to follow.

Unfortunately, I’ve got no solutions. Except continuing to ridicule my niece until she gets it through her head that the Rule Of Cool² doesn’t apply to the real world. You should do that same.

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Footnotes

1. Yes, this is sarcasm. [↩]
2. NB Don’t click that link if you want to be productive ever again [↩]

Let’s face it, Hurley is Joe Normal on the island. He reacts the way you would so you relate to him on a normal level. If you have weird Daddy issues, you can connect with Locke/Jack/Sawyer/Kate/Charlie (pretty much anyone on the friggin’ island) and if you have mystical powers that are unexplainable you can connect with Walt or Desmond but what if you’re just a well adjusted normal guy/gal? You’ve still got Hurley. Sure, he’s a massively rich millionaire who is supposedly cursed by a set of numbers (who isn’t these days) but you can still connect with him easily. So what does this have to do with Libby?

Relationships are a tenuous beast. Even more tenuous is the transition from friendship to relationship. With friends, you find yourself with nicknames all the time; sometimes it’s a personality trait personified, other times it’s your last name, it could be anything. Whatever your friends choose for your nickname, it will come back to haunt you if you have any romantic plans for the future. These names are not terms of endearment and if that transition ever occurs you’re stuck. Do you stick with the nickname? Do you switch over to their real name? Or a term of endearment like “honey” or “sweetie?”

That’s the real reason Libby was killed. Not because of the DUI, not because of the CBS sitcom. What would Hurley call her? Libby? Elizabeth? Snookums? Would Libby start calling him Hugo? Or Big Bear? I don’t think any of it would’ve worked out. And what would happen? Viewer division! Who would back who? Madness would ensue! So that’s the real reason that Libby was killed. Don’t believe me? Well, that’s good because this was all a bunch of nonsense and gibbering heavily laced with sarcasm. In fact, I created a Sarcasm category for my blog just for this post.