Horrors! We’re in a tizzy over nothing
Everyone, please…calm…down. Failing wardrobes and obnoxious hand puppets are no cause for alarm.
St. Louis Post-Dispatch op-ed, February 24, 2004
We are a nation of raw nerve endings. Umbrage is the air we breathe, affront our meat and potatoes. We are a disgruntled lot, and there seems little chance of us ever returning to a state of calm, blissful gruntledness.
What offends us these days? Mostly, things of little consequence. Politics are a quadrennial nuisance, and issues are for wonks, shut-ins and other viewers of C-SPAN. Scandal is what we want, or, more precisely, the rush of being scandalized. We’re never so happy being unhappy as when we have a pop star, TV host or sexpot heiress to kick around.
Humorist Fran Leibowitz once opined that “Being offended is the natural consequence of leaving one’s home,” but it’s no longer necessary to go out. Now we can find offense with the click of a mouse or TiVo it to our heart’s discontent on our big-screen HDTV. Scarcely a day goes by without someone in the limelight committing some horrific transgression, after which they’re tarred and feathered by tabloid headlines and talk-show blowhards, then made to beg insincerely for our insincere forgiveness.
“I apologize if anyone was offended” is the standard verbiage. That’s how Justin Timberlake copped out for his part in Nipplegate, the Super Bowl halftime show-cum-“Porky’s” revival that gave the nation a collective jolt of Cialis, plus the bonus buzz phrases “nipple shield” and “wardrobe malfunction.”
Janet Jackson’s own apology – issued on videotape from an undisclosed location (Osama’s cave? Dick Cheney’s bunker?) – found her distraught and seemingly sufficiently chastened. After all, next month she’ll have a new album to sell.
The scandal that emerged from the Grammy Awards broadcast – also on CBS, the Culpability Broadcasting System – was equally unlooked for. Hip hop group Outkast, who won album and single of the year honors, performed their exuberant hit “Hey Ya!” dressed in fringed costumes, braided wigs, and feathered headdresses inspired by Native American garb.
Sean Freitas, a board member of the Native American Cultural Center called it “the most disgusting set of racial stereotypes aimed at American Indians that I have ever seen on TV.” Apparently, he has never seen “F-Troop.”
Just so, CBS issued another solemn apology.
But then came l’Affaire de Triumph, taking a little heat off the Tiffany network and proving that phony controversy knows no national boundaries. Late night talk show host Conan O’Brien took his program to Toronto for a week, a feather in the cap (sorry Mr. Freitas!) for the Great White North, which is looking to score some post-SARS tourist dollars.
Enter the hand puppet.
A bit for the show taped in Quebec City by recurring character Triumph the Insult Comic Dog (writer-performer Robert Smigel) brought down the wrath of the Canadian Parliament (which is only a little more severe than the wrath of George Clinton’s Parliament) because Triumph’s signature raunchy insult material made fun of Quebec and its French separatists. Politicians, especially those that authorized a several hundred thousand dollar subsidy for the show, were enraged. One pol called the bit “racist filth,” which it was if you accept the notion that “Canadian” is a race.
O’Brien’s apology was as insincere as all the rest, but at least it was funny. Taping a show back in New York, he brought a translator out on stage with him, and when O’Brien said, “People of Quebec, I’m sorry,” the translator stated (in French), “I’m an albino jackass.”
People of the world, let’s get a grip. Enjoy, even revel in such things if you must. But at least acknowledge them for what they are: weapons of mass distraction from real problems. If these serial crises pose any kind of threat to society, it isn’t the one everybody complains about.
Everyone, please…calm…down. Failing wardrobes and obnoxious hand puppets are no cause for alarm.
St. Louis Post-Dispatch op-ed, February 24, 2004
We are a nation of raw nerve endings. Umbrage is the air we breathe, affront our meat and potatoes. We are a disgruntled lot, and there seems little chance of us ever returning to a state of calm, blissful gruntledness.
What offends us these days? Mostly, things of little consequence. Politics are a quadrennial nuisance, and issues are for wonks, shut-ins and other viewers of C-SPAN. Scandal is what we want, or, more precisely, the rush of being scandalized. We’re never so happy being unhappy as when we have a pop star, TV host or sexpot heiress to kick around.
Humorist Fran Leibowitz once opined that “Being offended is the natural consequence of leaving one’s home,” but it’s no longer necessary to go out. Now we can find offense with the click of a mouse or TiVo it to our heart’s discontent on our big-screen HDTV. Scarcely a day goes by without someone in the limelight committing some horrific transgression, after which they’re tarred and feathered by tabloid headlines and talk-show blowhards, then made to beg insincerely for our insincere forgiveness.
“I apologize if anyone was offended” is the standard verbiage. That’s how Justin Timberlake copped out for his part in Nipplegate, the Super Bowl halftime show-cum-“Porky’s” revival that gave the nation a collective jolt of Cialis, plus the bonus buzz phrases “nipple shield” and “wardrobe malfunction.”
Janet Jackson’s own apology – issued on videotape from an undisclosed location (Osama’s cave? Dick Cheney’s bunker?) – found her distraught and seemingly sufficiently chastened. After all, next month she’ll have a new album to sell.
The scandal that emerged from the Grammy Awards broadcast – also on CBS, the Culpability Broadcasting System – was equally unlooked for. Hip hop group Outkast, who won album and single of the year honors, performed their exuberant hit “Hey Ya!” dressed in fringed costumes, braided wigs, and feathered headdresses inspired by Native American garb.
Sean Freitas, a board member of the Native American Cultural Center called it “the most disgusting set of racial stereotypes aimed at American Indians that I have ever seen on TV.” Apparently, he has never seen “F-Troop.”
Just so, CBS issued another solemn apology.
But then came l’Affaire de Triumph, taking a little heat off the Tiffany network and proving that phony controversy knows no national boundaries. Late night talk show host Conan O’Brien took his program to Toronto for a week, a feather in the cap (sorry Mr. Freitas!) for the Great White North, which is looking to score some post-SARS tourist dollars.
Enter the hand puppet.
A bit for the show taped in Quebec City by recurring character Triumph the Insult Comic Dog (writer-performer Robert Smigel) brought down the wrath of the Canadian Parliament (which is only a little more severe than the wrath of George Clinton’s Parliament) because Triumph’s signature raunchy insult material made fun of Quebec and its French separatists. Politicians, especially those that authorized a several hundred thousand dollar subsidy for the show, were enraged. One pol called the bit “racist filth,” which it was if you accept the notion that “Canadian” is a race.
O’Brien’s apology was as insincere as all the rest, but at least it was funny. Taping a show back in New York, he brought a translator out on stage with him, and when O’Brien said, “People of Quebec, I’m sorry,” the translator stated (in French), “I’m an albino jackass.”
People of the world, let’s get a grip. Enjoy, even revel in such things if you must. But at least acknowledge them for what they are: weapons of mass distraction from real problems. If these serial crises pose any kind of threat to society, it isn’t the one everybody complains about.