As always, there were important things going on in the world last week. You probably didn't hear about them, though. The biggest news story, the story everyone was talking about, was the crime sweeping the country: People are stealing "Tide" brand detergent from stores and using the detergent to buy drugs. They're running into supermarkets, shoving Tide under their coats and, in some cases, running out the door to getaway cars full of detergent.

According to the news stories, desperate store managers are attaching anti-theft devices to the bottles and wondering why they don't come with serial numbers the way iPods do. Local news departments were rushing to find out whether Tide had been stolen in their areas, too.

This is one of those stories that I don't know what to think of. There's almost no data to back it up. I might be impressed if they said, "National sales figures show that Tide theft is up by 87 percent in the past six weeks" or even "Tide theft established in 12 states" — but there's nothing like that. And some of it seems a little hard to believe. Tide, and Tide alone, is being stolen? Evidently, the distinctive red bottle is attractive to thieves, and people who buy stolen detergent from drug addicts in alleys are particular about how their clothes smell.

I began to wonder whether this tidal wave of crime was real, or whether it was time for the news media to come clean. (I'm sorry. It is my responsibility as a hack humor columnist not to let easy puns like that get away.)

The media come up with silly, pointless stories just to distract us from our real problems. They think they're doing it as a public service, the way adults try to distract a child with a skinned knee by making funny faces. The week before the Tide story took over, we were being inundated with updates on the dangers of the "cinnamon challenge." In case you missed it, kids across the country have been challenging each other to try to swallow an entire spoon of cinnamon. It's impossible, and it leads to teenagers spewing clouds of cinnamon across their kitchens, and parents coming home to kitchens covered in spices. (My front stoop smells like a Christmas potpourri.) It's not important, and it's not worth telling you about, but it gets headlines.

The week before that, the story that got the most attention was a video of an angry dad shooting his daughter's laptop with a pistol because she had been disrespectful. Again, unless you are this guy's daughter, or a social worker in the hick town where they live, the story shouldn't really matter. But it gets airplay, and it's all we'll talk about. We'll do national polls and have the father do a media tour to discuss the merits of laptop shootings. (I vote no.)

This stuff is all designed to distract us from the real problems out there, the stuff we can't, or won't, do anything about. In case nobody remembers, our actual problems haven't gone away. We're running out of fuel, our planet is getting warmer by the minute, and we have at least two wars we've started but can't seem to finish. Those of us who have enough guts to actually open the envelope when the 401(k) statement comes will know that our retirements are moving further and further into the distance. Many of us are hoping that when we get old, Wal-Mart will still hire people too old to stock shelves to work as greeters. We will see all of our friends there because they'll be stopping by to pick up cat food — for their own dinners. Our kids might still go to college, but when they get out, there aren't jobs for them, and they'll be saddled with so much debt that they'll have to steal truckloads of Tide just to get by.

But none of us wants to hear about that stuff. It's too hard to deal with, and it makes us feel a little nauseated. Instead, we'd rather focus on, and talk about, stupid news stories.

I, for one, am going to look at the Tide-stealing story as an opportunity. My 401(k) might be in an irreversible coma, but surely I can fund my retirement by getting into the black-market detergent trade. You can find me in the nearest alley, bottles poking out from under my raincoat. I'd better get to my local market as soon as possible, though. Time, and Tide, waits for no one. (Sorry. It's my job. Really.)

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