LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMP Out: Fay's Rehoboth Journal - Struck Down in Prime Time |
by Fay Jacobs |
Okay, I've taken off my official Sports Illustrated 3D glasses long enough to get to this column. In case you've been under a boulder for the last few weeks, and haven't the faintest idea what I'm talking about, the glasses are big news. They came in the center fold of the brand new Sports Illustrated Millennium Swim Suit Issue. Now before you demand my N.O.W. card back, let me say that NEVER before have I ever even seen the infamous annual swim suit edition of SI. And this year, I came into its possession by total serendipity. Hmmm, wait a minute, serendipity - it's defined as "luck" or "fortuity" - I wouldn't want to imply that I'm happy to see this feminist-mocking flesh rag but the truth is, it was simply handed to me. You're not buying this, are you? Well, it's true. I swear on a stack of Gloria Steinems. I got it as a bonus with my U.S. News & World Report. Well, sort of. You see, boy friends of ours subscribe to Newsweek and U.S. News, while I take the much lower road and read People. At the end of each week we switch. That way I can read about Chechnya and Wall Street along with my infusion of Puff Daddy and Britney Spears stories. Well last week, as I was handed my weekly readers, the messenger had a sparkle in his eye. "Here's a bonus. Be careful, don't drop the 3D glasses." "I don't know what the fuss is all about" said his partner as I grabbed the reading material. That, I understand. "Estella, Daniella and Heidi BUST OUT in 3D!" as the cover trumpets, could not be their thing. Frankly, I'm surprised that the regular editions of Sports Illustrated interest them, but then stereotypes are made to be broken. But Heidi busting out was going too far and they delighted in passing the magazine off to a household which should appreciate it. Now I'm not going to tell you I didn't give the 218 pages a good look. I did. And with or without the cardboard glasses, Daniela had a couple of nice things going for her. But the truth is, I found the 3D Toyota ad as much fun as anything else which probably says a lot about the moribund condition of my red convertible or my fear that I'd be struck by lightning if I ogled this classic symbol of female objectification too long. And wouldn't you know it, not 24 hours later, I was actually struck by lightning. Well, not me per se, but a huge bolt hit the utility box on my lawn, instantly frying our computer, one TV set, all our telephones and the cable lines. Now I'm not going to swear there was a direct cause and effect between my spending a few minutes with cardboard glasses on my head checking out girls in bikinis, but it does smack of retribution that for the next 36 hours we had no computer, no phones, no TV and plenty of time for the SI Swimsuit Edition. Frankly, it's too bad that lightning didn't strike earlier in the week. Then, I might have missed all the fuss over that recent idiocy "Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire." While I didn't actually see the sleazy event first run, it was impossible to miss the media circus that followed. From what I can gather, a gaggle of young women who mistakenly considered themselves normal, volunteered to parade in front of a millionaire they'd never met and marry the galoot if he liked what he saw. He picked one, she married him and now they've living unhappily ever after. And this surprised people????? I don't know about you, but I think the show succeeded in doing what legions of intelligent, well-spoken people could not do: It completely trashed the argument that gay unions would desecrate the sacred institution of marriage. With Millionaire making a laughing stock of wedded bliss, those rabid marriage defenders should be looking for some nice, stable same-sex couples to prop the damn institution back up. Although if we had the sense God gave Kleenex, after this televised humiliation, we'd no longer aspire to marriage or anything like it. And the rest of TV is just as bad. I mean we've already had Mary and Rhoda Choose Assisted Living, The Beach Boys: A Dysfunctional and Tone Deaf American Family, and the True Little Richard Story: Eye Shadow by the Pound. What's left? There are only so many tornadoes the Learning Channel can cover. And if I see one more little tu-tu clad Jon Benet impersonator I'm going to shriek. I believe the term Rest in Peace should apply. And how about an entire nation, transfixed at the tube while Regis asks, "For $500, which one of these would you not put on a hamburger? A. Ketchup; B. Mustard, C. Mayonnaise or D. Spackle." No wonder the network is having trouble getting enough women and minority contestants. They've got better things to do. Frankly, with all the jabbering pundits drooling over the primary campaigns, the most intelligent interview on television last week was Diane Sawyer's conversation with the www.Pets.Com sock puppet. And then there's sweeps week madness. Is it me, or have you noticed that all the prime time sitcoms hinged on gay jokes during sweeps? The stars are all either mistaken for, or pretending to be, gay. We're the national laugh track. I think we were better off when our love dared not speak its name. Okay, there are some bright blips on the screen. Every once in a while an intelligent show like Judging Amy or The Practice actually gets decent ratings. And thank goodness the cable was back in time for us to watch the HBO special with Vanessa Redgrave, Sharon Stone and Ellen Degeneres, among others. For once, we could see people and situations we actually recognized; for once scenes from lives reflecting our own were turned into poignant drama and giddy comedy. With complex characters instead of one dimensional sitcom jokes, it was a pleasure to watch. And the mushy scenes weren't bad, either. This film, If These Walls Could Talk 2, was so good, that it kept our friendsthe ones who get up at 4 a.m. to make coffee for half the townawake until 10:30 p.m. Now that's really excellent TV. But, other than those few bright spots, it's pretty much an electronic wasteland out there. So all in all, our 36 hour media blackoutthanks, I still suspect, to a hit ordered by Betty Friedan or one of her discipleswas not all that devastating. Conectiv and Comcast crews eventually fixed the utility lines, that old computer needed to be junked anyway, and when people couldn't get us by phone they just marched over and rang our doorbellyet another plus for small town life. And without the usual distractions, I read an entire novel, caught up on the laundry, and spent some real quality time with Bonnie and the pups. Oh, and I did get to finish looking through the entire "Let's Get Pacific" photo spread in Sports Illustrated. Hey, maybe if the brides on Multi-Millionaire had been wearing 3D glasses, the groom would have looked better to them - or at least his car might have been more appealing. Fay Jacobs' CAMPOut, the 1998 winner of the Vice Versa Award for "Best First Person Column," is a regular feature of Letters from CAMP Rehoboth. Fay Jacobs is a member of the board of directors of CAMP Rehoboth. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 10, No. 2, Mar. 10, 2000. |