Like most people I have some voyeuristic interest in watching the famous or not so famous, glimpsing into their lives as it unravels. Being a fly on the wall is one of our secret hidden impulses, but watching the Casey Anthony trial sickens me at a visceral level.
This circus is a barbaric Coliseum-style feeding of the Christians to the lions.
Crowds are pouring into my Orlando town from all over the nation. People are taking time off work, making the trial their summer leisure, lining up at our courthouse, drooling in anticipation, pie-eyed and lusty, eager to snatch a prime seat to kick back and take in the misery of the Anthony’s.
The spectators not so lucky to get a courtside view are glued to their TV’s as they were with the O.J. Simpson trial, their daytime shows pre-empted. But instead of TV viewers getting annoyed as they do when the President dares to interrupt a second of Days of Our Lives, Casey followers are okay with losing their regularly scheduled program because they’re invited into real stories of cholorform searches, decaying odor analysis, claims of sexual abuse, alleged family cover-ups, duct tape pictures, visuals of little Caylee’s clothing, a story about a drowning and Casey’s state of mind. Read more…