Last Monday, Washington sniper suspect John Allen Muhammad gave up his legal council in favor of self-representation in his murder trial, only to reverse his decision Wednesday on the grounds of a toothache.

That is to say, for two days last week, we morbidly curious onlookers were treated to a life-and-death comedy of errors, and were assured a riveting, six-week show of self-mockery and certifiable mental illness, only to have it taken away by an abscessed tooth and a bench meeting.

In our society it seems there are two things we prize most above everything else: Violence and embarrassment. These two things are the basis for much of our entertainment, the bulk of our news and the subject of our most lively conversations.

Turn the TV on during primetime and analyze what you see. If it’s before 9 p.m., you might see a man eating live insects or a woman wooing a poor man whom she thinks is rich. If it’s after 9 p.m., you’ll likely see a gory, violent crime and an actor making deadpan jokes at the victim’s expense.

We can’t get enough violence and embarrassment, and when the situations are played out on the stage of a courtroom, it’s even better.

So we rejoiced when Muhammad took charge of his defense. In those two days last week, this man on trial for murder gave every indication he would entertain us with confused, incoherent, hilarious speeches, laughable courtroom faux pas and maybe, if we were lucky, a raucous, self-incriminating implosion, all of which would surely lead to a guilty verdict and a death sentence.

But with the reversal of Muhammad’s decision and the reinstatement of his lawyers, this case lost its entertainment value and its newsworthiness. It still had its violence, but not the shocking embarrassment that made us rush to the newsstand last week. Without Muhammad defining multiple truths or quoting scripture, this case will drop from our radar — at least until the day the verdict is read.

In this country there is no shortage of violence and embarrassment, and there is no doubt a new trial will come to occupy our morbid imaginations.

In fact, another excitingly vulgar and hugely embarrassing real-life drama has dominated the news for the past five months and likely will for the foreseeable future.

The case of NBA star Kobe Bryant and his alleged encounter with a hotel worker in Colorado has captivated us and become front-page news across the country. The most notable detail about the Bryant case that broke in June is the lack of details. Until the preliminary hearing earlier this month, the public knew very little about the events surrounding the case and the alleged victim, and what we did know was unsubstantiated.

Reports on the case came almost daily for months, often not reporting any new information, but clarifying or rejecting information that had already been reported or rumored.

That we clung so closely to a story so devoid of proof is telling of our tastes and character as a society. It wasn’t even until two weeks ago that it was decided the case would go to trial, yet the prospect of it had kept us reading, listening and talking since the summer.

Bryant’s case is the latest in a long line of celebrity trials that prove the hint of violence or wrongdoing by a prominent figure is all the public and the media need to arouse a full-blown obsession. It is easy to blame the media for this, and they do certainly share responsibility for overdone coverage of such events, but the real problem is within ourselves.

Fascination with trials is by no means new in this country. From the O.J. Simpson murder case less than a decade ago to the Rosenbergs’ treason trial half a century ago to the Salem witch trials more than 300 years ago, American history is littered with captivating trials. Indeed, obsession with the courtroom is entrenched in our culture.

How do we explain that obsession? What is it about a criminal trial that piques our interest so thoroughly in matters of violence and embarrassment? The answer is in the very design and proceeding of the court. A trial is a dramatic production, complete with a stage, a director, props and memorized lines. The only thing separating it from a play or hour-long primetime drama is that it is real — this is the key distinction.

Our fascination with what is violent and embarrassing and our fleeting attention for what is not is a failing of our society. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could move past it? Wouldn’t it be nice if we evolved a curiosity preoccupied with things more sophisticated than death and embarrassment played out on a stage?