Yellow journalism

I just don't care about Lance Armstrong. There, I said it. I know it's blasphemy in this town, and especially as he meant so much to my friend Didi. who died of cancer last year. Then again, so did my dad and he didn't even know who Lance is, most likely. Maybe it's just because we get Lance rammed down our throats here. Yeah yeah yeah, "ultimate survivor." Yeah, his foundation has done a lot of good. But I'm tired of yellow rubbery bracelets standing as symbols for whether you really care about fighting cancer. They're sort of the AIDS ribbon of our times, or the yellow troops ribbon of the Liberal-minded. Or something. So, you go 'head, Lance. Ride your bike. Win. Or don't. Keep hanging out with your famous girlfriend, Skeletor. I wish you well. But enough with the ubiquity already. Enough with the lockstep "We love Lance" Austin propaganda. I'm not drinking the kool-aid on this one. I don't care about elite bike racing. And all the hype in the world can't make me.