Halftime show wasn’t super

STEVE SMITH

The Jan. 19 issue of People magazine featured Britney Spears on the

cover with the headline, “Is she over the edge?” When I saw this in

the checkout aisle of the supermarket, all I could think of was, “Who

cares?”

But apparently a lot of people do care because they keep buying

People and really want to know what’s happening with her, with Ben

and Jennifer and with the other trivial lives featured in People.

They also buy Us magazine and if there were magazines such as “Them”

and “They,” they’d probably buy those, too.

As I write this, I am bracing myself for the next batch of

magazine and tabloid covers that will be out Tuesday. Anyone want to

wager that Janet Jackson will be on half of them? During her Super

Bowl halftime show, Jackson finally exposed herself for what she is:

an immoral, deceitful has-been who was desperate to prop up her

sagging career. She is Norma Desmond with a nipple ring.

When I heard the lineup of halftime entertainers, something

occurred to me, so I asked two of my nieces, both in their 20s, for

confirmation.

“Aren’t all these people kind of ‘yesterday’?” I asked.

“Yes,” came their reply.

But there they were, with their old dance steps, tired fireworks

and bad dancers wearing skimpy, trashy costumes -- all done before,

all very boring. Oh, crotch-grabbing while walking -- now that’s

original! Not.

Want a good halftime show at the Super Bowl? Put a kicking tee

down at the 30-yard line and have a series of Joe and Josephine

Sixpacks from the stands try to kick a field goal for $100,000.

Where’s that whippet that used to catch Frisbee discs in his mouth

after running 40 yards and jumping six feet in the air? How about

putting the two team mascots on the 50-yard line in full costume and

let them mud wrestle. Or get some 12-year-old kids out there to throw

a football through a moving tire at 30 yards for the chance to appear

onstage at the end of the show, plus a jersey autographed by the

entire winning team. And whatever happened to halftime card stunts?

We want card stunts, not lip-synching, no talent nobodies who look

and sound like a hundred other lip-synching no-talent nobodies.

Crowds go berserk for that contest stuff, but the brains on

Madison Avenue and the executives at the television stations have

decided that you don’t want to see fun, tricky stuff. They’re sure

you want skin and bumps and grinds and peek-a-boos and tease and

sleaze. And who’s to say they’re wrong? Not me, certainly, and not

most of you, apparently. And also apparently, you don’t care if

that’s how you are perceived because out of an audience of about

95-million people, only 100,000 of you bothered to voice any

objection to Jackson’s shameful display or to any of the other trash

that is on the tube, in the magazine racks and on the billboards and

bus stations along our roadways.

Yes, sex sells, and I wouldn’t care as much but for the fact that

it is increasingly entering my world without my permission. If your

product or service has no real benefits or advantages over its

competition, sell sex if you must, but before you do, I insist on the

option of whether you can display it in front of my children without

my OK. I don’t want your trash in the checkout aisles (I’m still

waiting for the brave supermarket chain that will cover up the

provocative magazines) and I don’t want it on billboards and bus

stops where my kids can see it without my permission. Keep it to

yourself.

The “right” to plaster sexy garbage on a billboard does not

supersede my right to an offense-free environment. And if my version

of what is offensive is subjective, it is no more or less than your

opinion of what is acceptable.

Offended by my encroachment on your so-called right to free

speech? I’m offended by your message, so there.

Not everyone thinks that this trash means freedom of expression

and that we’re moving in the right direction. There are plenty of

people out there just like me who really do mind this

envelope-pushing, but we’re being drowned out by a new generation of

Americans who have not had their entertainment dished out to them any

other way. They don’t understand images without sex or violence and

they don’t want images without sex or violence. If you doubt this,

take a long, hard look at the contents of the movies on the shelves

of your local video store.

The cable generation has taken over, folks. They want your hearts,

minds and wallets like never before and they’re willing to do or show

whatever it takes to keep you drooling. Be prepared.

* STEVE SMITH is a Costa Mesa resident and a freelance writer.

Readers may leave a message for him on the Daily Pilot hotline at

(949) 642-6086.