Somewhere in this world, maybe on some far-off island or possibly Topeka, Kan., a once-important cast of characters enjoys each other’s company. They’re waiting for a journalist’s keen sense of memory or a public demand for update.

And they’ll be waiting for a long, long time. At least until a handy-dandy (and round-numbered) anniversary, that is.

There, Gary Condit plays whiffleball with Danny Almonte. Linda Tripp’s in the kitchen baking some bread with Anne Heche. And all the while, killer sharks circle about, reminiscing about those halcyon days in the limelight.

To them, they’re the victims of a press corps cutting teeth on big stories. But as any journalist will tell you, putting a personality with a story means definite front-page play.

Maybe it’s not either faction’s fault that national attention for many came in the lazy days of summer, when more people check out the weather than the top news story. But it’s probably too late for that, because sometimes real news comes along and the nation forgets about such things.

The Sept. 11 attacks, at the most frivolous levels, sent the Little Leaguer Almonte and Rep. Condit to this figurative island — probably to their awkward joy. Now, no one counts down their 15 minutes of fame, and life seems at least a little more bearable.

News perspective remains a tricky thing. On the one hand, people seemed interested in those stories (bringing up some great reminders about the intricacies of little kids trying to play baseball). But daily coverage continued because … well, because there was daily coverage. If a horde of journalists invade a town, there must be a story around there somewhere, or so the theory goes.

But we never really know when someone bows out of our consciousness, just that it happens. This can happen to even the most admirable of newsmakers.

I was reminded of this when I ran into a young man named Joey Himpelmann.

Those new to campus probably are unfamiliar with the guy, unless visiting a new local eatery. But just a year and a half ago, Himpelmann stood a fair chance in becoming Student Association president.

While I sat each and every Sunday at the Student Senate meetings, Himpelmann would sit as well. We took in the guilty pleasure of watching a large number of people implode. Of course, he was director of student life at the time and always remained on the fringe of the implosion.

He announced his candidacy on the heels of one of the most genius moves ever seen by these eyes. Himpelmann investigated the idea of placing shower ledges in residence hall showers, to help out despondent women trying to shave their legs.

Himpelmann probably still could walk into Douglas Hall and get a date on the spot.

But a scant few days after printing out keen election handouts, Himpelmann dropped out of the race. He told me at the time he wanted to enjoy his last summer before life’s other commitments made such choices impossible. And a few days later he vanished, from my stories and my eyes.

When I saw him recently, I didn’t get a chance to ask him about the island. But just seeing his life had moved on without all the public acknowledgement changed my perspective just a tad.

He’s moved on, in a much more dignified way than most of those in the pesky national spotlight. We can enjoy forgetting about them as they sink in the sand, overexposed and forgettable.

To the deserving, all we’re left with are the fond remembrances and their ideas. And for Himpelmann’s sake, I think it’s time someone started championing leg-shaving rights again.