The usually reserved New York Post has much of New York in a lather with their latest blast of audacity. When a co-ed from NYU chose to fling herself to her death the Post ran action photos of the event.
Clearly this is insensitive to the girl's family, however the hysterical indignation raining down on The Post sounds slightly less sincere. How many times have been treated to, and gasped admiringly at, a lingering death plunge on the large screen? I think of Alan Rickman becoming a victim of deceleration trauma during the climax of "Die Hard" after Bruce Willis sprung him from his wife's Twist-O-Flex watchband, from Speidel. That was just cool! But a photo of a similar event in the paper is repugnantly vile.
This strikes me of being the paradox pointed out by Berkley Breathed in a Bloom County strip. Watching television Portnoy begins cheering a violent scene in a movie, and Hodgepodge declares he thought they were watching the news. One of them shouts out, "Will somebody tell me if we're supposed to be enjoying this or not!"
Somebody should tell the New York Post as well.