A week after my operation they took me to a room with a TV. Ok, complications were over by then, when you're allowed to watch TV it means that you've almost officially recovered. The hospital inspired me various thoughts about the past, the present, and the future. In the meantime, I watched TV shows, both by satellite and worldwide.

So, watching the telly in my room for hours I noticed that now Spiritualism has become very fashionable. Colin Fry invokes ghosts in full-capacity halls, and TV cameras are there, since such an experience MUST be for the mass. Just an example here: ''Your mother did have an extraordinary sense of humor. I can hear her laughing. I bet her laughter was infectious for all''. This very Colin Fry was selling carpets - not the flying ones - just as far as two years ago. And now he's there to take care of people, who can express this way ''their growing lack of confidence in the present symbols of Power as well as their uncertainties about the future''... as he himself would say. In Fry's opinion, therefore, we need promises to be kept, certainties, and inner tranquillity, and we also need to get rid of doubts.

Certainties? Inner tranquillity? After Fry has explained you that all day long beside you, as in a surrounding circle, are the ghosts of the dead flying above your head? They might be your relatives, yes, most probably. But I'll be damned if this doesn't add to our lack of confidence and uncertainty! However, let's try to imagine they are on your side. Ah, and let's try to imagine you were instructed - thanks to ''Field of dreams'', not anthropologically - how to approach ghosts... and so on... There you are, still panicking. Yes, of course, only if you don't believe in ghosts you can be comforted by them.

Fry's show is called 6^th Sense. It really sounds like a movie's name, and so eclectic! Its leader nearly suggests us what we have to think. And medias are no less making suggestions when mentioning an ectoplasmic séance in 1993 where Fry was unmasked - revelation: the people taking part in his show weren't touched by the ghosts but by Fry himself. Which reminds us of Jerry Springer, who, after seeing his hopes to become the mayor of Cincinnati dashed by a whore he hadn't paid, found his way to stardom just thanks to that scandal. Ah, television... Why then are people still hooked on discussion about guests' authenticity, why do they keep wondering if by chance those guests make up their relationships and simulate live fights?

An old way of saying runs: ''If they didn't exist, one would have to invent them''. I'm going to modify that: ''They had to be invented just for never existing'', I mean all those incestuous, sodomized, coprophagic, necrophiliac swine... If they are at Springer's show, then they don't exist. Just as if America were trying to convince us: ''I'm not mad, just calculating''. You wish, as they love saying.

Well, I come back from hospital and turn on the TV for the first time in a month. And I find out that Anekee is inexistent, turned into a ghost, Ghostekee... Some well-read people didn't let themselves be taken unawares by my absence, eh, the American audience... too much TV, too much... Following this analogy, it seems that medias, psychos and spiritualists are the only real ghostbusters. Exorcists. As long as it's them that are invoking ghosts, these ones will never exist.

This week's non-film: The Lizzie McGuire Movie, 2003, by Jim Fall (ah, what a name!)

There, it looks just like B-movies are teaching us something for real, and I feel more and more stimulated by commenting the worst movies instead of the good ones. Hollywood has only to be taken seriously, it's far less of a fiction than a real indicator of American decadence. When the Bushes and other earnest patriots announced (and we're next to it happening once again) that America would have to break her relationships with the Old Europe not supporting her mission (as now they aren't the American Plan for Iraq), seemingly Hollywood reacted. As a matter of fact, we're being bombarded with a remarkable bunch of movies aimed at commercializing the tension between the USA and Europe.  

In the farce ''Just Married'', two Ameridiots newlyweds on a visit to Europe provoke en passant more material damage to European products than those brought about by the American boycott itself. In another farce, instead, a French girl student comes to a college in Texas where she steals the limelight to the local starlet in the school - oh yes, the French cutie is more gifted than the American. The farce The Lizzie McGuire Movie, a product of Disney Channel by the way, appears to be the sequel to that Texan ordeal: Lizzie, a capricious girl student a bit frustrated is on a trip to Europe (oh yes) with her classmates. They arrive to Italy, this Berlusconian Bush-friendly Italy, where while visiting monuments of historic and cultural value she falls in with a national pop-icon, the most beautiful singer Paolo, sort of an Italian Donny Osmond. Who wastes no time in sticking her in his band because of her incredible resemblance (two twins couldn't be so alike) to Isabella, the other singer in the band, whom they have lost sight of: Lizzie is now regular in Paolo's street circus. So, whereas her classmates peep at eternity as the good tourists they are, she secretly turns into the popstar, the new media sensation who in the end should present the International Music Video Awards (!) together with Paolo. Lizzie has really changed into Isabella. The message is plain: Italians are actually good Americans, and Berlusconi is the alter ego of Bush. Even better, Italians are so good Americans that Americans themselves wish they were Italians. Maybe only for one night, like Lizzie.