Vicariosity

I've recently been pondering the odd state of vicarious trivial sorrow. To be more specific, why am I sorry that Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt have separated? I don't know them, they don't have children, and they certainly don't care about my problems. The success, failure or even mere existence of their marriage has no effect on me whatsoever. Aside from a cursory "Oh, too bad" (if that), I shouldn't even be thinking about it. Oh well. I think I've been mulling this over because I've just finished that sort of book that is so tragic and realitstic you end up completely wrung dry of emotional strength. It's fantasy (of course) but the characters are so lifelike and compelling, they stay with you long after you finally close the book. (And I do mean 'finally'- this last one was about 1180 pages long.) So I've just been sobbing over horrors befalling people whom, not only do I not know, but don't actually exist. I guess it all works out in the end, though- fiction is fiction, and Jennifer Aniston can still say she was married to Brad Pitt!
Oh, and in other news, Idina Menzel has taken her last bow as Elphaba. We'll miss you, Idina!