Save Our Aging Hardbodies
Dear Merrill,
It's nice to know that even people who live in the Hamptons need to cut
costs occasionally. I guess Christie Brinkley's exercise-machine infomercial
career must not be pulling in as much as revenue as expected. This is
surprising to me, because when I saw it at three in the morning the other
night, she looked like she was doing a great job: looked directly into the
camera, smiled broadly and evenly, even turned her head to make eye contact
with the spokesperson when delivering the line "You're right, it really does
tone the calves!" The plight of the former model in this country is an
interesting one. Where do they go after Donald Trump is done with them and has
moved on to weightier matters, like running for president or opening tacky
casinos or dating the next supermodel in line? Christie at least has her
painting to keep her occupied, apparently having already learned Monica's
lesson about the importance of being free-spirited with her creativity years
ago, without the benefit of the fashion world's fastest-rising new
purse-merchant. (I know about this aspect of Brinkley's creative life because I
recall she did a Billy Joel album cover several years back when they were still
married. Not that I had the record; I saw a segment about it on Hour
Magazine or something. If I remember right, it had some sort of watercolor
waterfall or river or something, and she explained that the idea "came to [her]
in a dream.") The time is right for a brand-new charity: Save Our Aging
Hardbodies, which would set up a home to provide care for all the
now-slightly-less-beautiful women society is no longer interested in.
And while we're on the topic of people who really know how to work it for
the camera lens, I see on the Chicago Tribune 's front page that the
ever-photogenic Jesse Jackson went and got his bad self arrested again, this
time at Eisenhower High School in Decatur, Ill. I'm sure his cause was a noble
one and everything, and I don't want to go on and on about this simply because
the good reverend's noted skills at making love to the camera have been
exhaustively remarked upon elsewhere, but it sounds like this incident was
notable even by his standards. Get this: "Dozens of [photographers and
reporters] jockeyed for position so frantically that they almost knocked over
an elderly woman in a wheelchair who had come to watch." It goes on to say that
the crowd of press was so voluminous that the police had to actually come to
Jackson's aid in order to clear a path so he could get arrested by them. The
photo accompanying the piece looked good, though. Jackson is biting his lower
lip sternly, looking earnest and rugged like Clinton sometimes chooses to.
Regarding the EgyptAir crash, they say they still don't know if it was
really a deliberate suicide thing or what, but it gives me an idea. Plane
crashes are one of those terrible things, like that "I Like Girls Who Wear
Abercrombie & Fitch" song or cervical cancer, that just happen without any
exciting drama or justification to explain them away. So, maybe we'd all feel a
little better if every time a jetliner went down, the press concocted a big
exciting international-intrigue murder-mystery plot to go along with it? Later,
after a newer, different disaster had occupied the national attention afresh,
they could announce that subsequent investigations had ruled out the theory.
Meanwhile, everyone would have the comfort of pretending that, in this sad
life, all the tragedy and death wasn't simply meaningless. What do you think?
Will it play in Peoria?
Until tomorrow,
Todd
