F--kin' "moral values."
Sick of the words? Tough titties. Get used to 'em.
Last week alone, they got a vigorous workout when Desperate Housewife Nicollette Sheridan dropped towel, intimating that Philly Eagle Terrell Owens would then drop trou', a promo some condemned as racy, then in turn were labeled racist; a pro basketbrawl and a college footbrawl that sent tongues sprawling; a presidential-assassination game (hand to God, it's called JFK Reloaded—explode his skull and win) that elicited a one-word response from the Kennedys ("despicable"); and Desperate Housewives rocketed to within one spot of the ratings summit, suggesting that more than just Democrats are tuning in.
New? No.
Seems like only yesterday (try a dozen years ago) when the correct terminology was "family values" and our beloved Mr. Potato(e) Head, Dan Quayle, fulminated all over trampy, make-believe Murphy Brown for selecting, rather than suffering, single motherhood. (Quayle actually called it a "poverty of values," but let us not, if you'll pardon our vocabulary values, dicker.)
Of course, in this whiplash-fast world, that's the distant past. The recent past covers: Janet Jackson's Super Bowl booby-trap; rectitude-averse-but-rectum-obsessed Howard Stern vs. the feds; Whoopi's Bush-as-bush witticism; America's cry of hooray for the Red/Right/Screw Blue (a.k.a., Election Night); and 66 ABC affiliates, flinching like abused puppies at the mere mention of the Federal Communications Commission, rejecting the broadcast of Saving Private Ryan, not only for its combat gore, but for the soldiers' beachhead fondness for that f--kin' word. (War is heck).
And for some blessed comic relief, there was Bill O'Reilly and his loofah fantasies.
All of which we may not have time to fully consider, given our four-hour erections ... uh, make that "quality response." (We promise to consult our physician four hours and five minutes from now.)
We've reached a simultaneously redundant and remarkable position along America's pop-culture continuum that some cite as the pivot point on which "the most important election of our lifetime" tilted—or more accurately, toppled over—rightward. Are we destined to strip naked and run wild in the streets, Hollywood and the media fiddling furiously along like a thousand-channel Nero, Islamic fundamentalists vindicated for their condemnation of the Decadent, Decaying, Debauched and Doomed Great Satan?
Hell, I dunno. I'm not sufficiently Red-State-righteous—and I enjoy too much pop culture too often—to mount a cultural call to arms. But frankly, I'm too appalled to spring to a leather-lunged defense of the First Amendment as this country's failsafe buoy, confident it will right the Good Ship America before it sinks into the Sea of Moral Morass because this nation is God's shining, indestructible gift to the world. Listen extra hard and hear that smug certainty echo off the chambers of the ancient Roman senate (sparsely attended because it conflicted with Emperor Caligula's lunch-break orgy).
Let's just examine the weirdness of last week in what is fast becoming weekly weirdness:
Towelgate: The Monday Night Football intro-slash-Desperate Housewives plug, with Sheridan in the locker room, doffing her towel and leaping into "receiver" Owens' aroused embrace (she was filmed from behind and above the waist) aired at 6 p.m., 9 Eastern, and broke ABC's phone banks with outraged calls. Nearly everyone involved—the league, the network, the team, the player, probably the pimply gofer who scooped Sheridan's towel off the floor—swiftly offered a mea culpa to America.
Probably all sincere, except one. Anyone who believes ABC, a.k.a., Desperate Network, didn't know precisely what it was doing, please drop trou' now. All the broadcast nets have been bleeding viewers, advertisers and bucks since cable's steady incursion into their turf turned ugly in the early '90s. Expound all you want on the threat of FCC fines, from minor violations through the historic punishments visited upon Howard Stern and CBS for Nipplegate. Holler about both immorality (she's naked and revved for nookie at 6 p.m.!) and racism (rednecks riled over hot, nude blonde with rich, black athlete). Viewer complaints no doubt spanned both and stank of ignorance.
For ABC, it doesn't matter. The publicity for its oldest, most venerated franchise (MNF), which needs a ratings boost, and its newest, most talked-about series (Housewives), which can single-handedly rebuild its cachet and reverse its feeble fortunes, is worth far more than the FCC can cost it. It's a business slam-dunk. Red State outrage translates into Blue State (and yes, Red State) eyeballs.
The whole mess? Consider it calculated. And consider similar stunts a near-future gimme.
Brawlgate: You've heard about—more likely seen ad nauseam—the Pacers-Pistons-Beery Bozos fisticuffs and Clemson-South Carolina free-for-all, which happened, said one coach, after the college footballers watched an endless loop of the Pacers-Pistons melee on TV, specifically ESPN's gleeful, we-can't-believe-our-freakin'-luck replays. Not to mention Fox News, CNN, Headline News, MSNBC, local news .... Are you surprised by the desensitizing effect of a media blitz in which right and wrong refer only to good footage and bad footage, with virtually no moral component making a dent in the decision-making? Surprised that pampered, spoiled, obscenely wealthy athletes have impulse-control issues with resentful fans who arrive at games juiced up on bile spewed by sports-talk radio—and that's before the tailgate and in-arena booze kicks in? Surprised that base instincts erupt in a sports world marketed to kids as cool, with a gangsta/thug/smackdown/wiseass/smartass/badass/I'll-kick-your-ass-'cause-I'm-more-important-than-you-are ethos?
Don't be. Forgive the biblical echo, all you sports-biz-wiz types, but ye reap what ye sow, assholes.
Assassinationgate: Welcome to a computer game that challenges you to reject conspiracy theorists and confirm the Warren Commission's lone-gunman finding by pumping your very own slugs into our 35th president, with state-of-the-art graphics reproducing the doomed Dallas motorcade, right down to Jackie's blood-smeared pink outfit and pillbox hat (and who knows, maybe even Jack's shattered skull fragments). Pitched toward a generation with no emotional connection to a convulsive national tragedy! Downloadable for a mere $9.99! Sensitively released to coincide with the murder's anniversary!
In a computer-game business that peddles death and destruction to teenagers, you could call this one in your sleep. Act disgusted. Don't act shocked.
Housewivesgate: Campy, carnal, freshman smash Desperate Housewives leapt into second place in the Nielsens, trailing only the original CSI, and this week upgrades from TV Guide cover to Newsweek cover. Study the post-election map. You don't rack up that many viewers from only blue states. Hey, Republicans like sex, too. They didn't all spring full-grown from petri dishes at polling places earlier this month.
Beyond business realities (see Towelgate) and being a catchall for hypocrites who piously complain while enjoying a perverse charge, this is the new fix for a Sex and the City-less nation. The network Housewives is still nowhere as explicit as the HBO-produced Sex (reruns judiciously edited for basic-cable's TBS), and while its language ("He cries when he ejaculates") and coupling (hot, neglected house-babe and world's luckiest lawn-boy burn up bedsheets) may be, well, clearly conveyed, its soapy themes trace backward to Peyton Place and its sex-per-minute ratio would be laughed out of hyper-horny daytime TV.
How sensational can this be when our former Hound Dog in Chief had network anchors discussing blowjobs? When porn has gone quasi-legit and "Jenna Jameson" can be said without blushing, stammering or giggling? When her book, co-written by an ex-New York Times reporter, is reviewed in mainstream media? When she's profiled on CNN and damn near celebrated on VH1?
If the media can't get enough of Housewives, it's because it's desperate to bask in the borrowed glow.
This week, that is. We can hardly wait for next week's moral-values brawl, brimming with all-American sex, violence, poor taste, ruthless business agendas, overblown PR campaigns, earnest indignation, self-righteous posturing, transparent hypocrisy, political moralizing, phony media outrage and spectacular ratings.
Now, if you'll excuse us, we still have about 3 hours, 45 minutes, left on our "quality response" and the Caligula crowd has tossed their togas.