We're watching the local evening news, and the lead story is about a group of disgruntled University of Utah students whose lives are being made entirely unlivable because the landing pad for a medical helicopter has been moved near their dormitory. They're calling it "a conflict between life and death, a conflict between peace and quiet." They had to choose between starting with this story or the one about a man who put his Chihuahua in the oven. I cannot possibly imagine the hand-wringing in the control room.

They interview a coed whose hair is hardened into crispy chunk of pork flesh. She complains that the Air Med helicopter is making so much noise that she can't study. "The residents are really upset," she says, "because we have this helicopter that's moving in, and it's very noisy. And they don't want to make it any easier for us. We're not being compensated for it."

Jon instinctively pauses the TV, and we sit here blinking.

"Compensated," I say nodding my head. "Like a gift certificate to Denny's. That'd do it."

Jon agrees. "I just don't understand why those doctors have to save lives so loudly. Like, God!"