Part of the birthright of being an American is entitlement to express an opinion on anything and everything. It’s not important that you know anything about whatever it is that you’re expressing an opinion on, or that the subject be any of your business. What’s important is your opinion, and your God-given right via The Founders to express it.
And so, every American gets to have an opinion on Anthony Weiner’s penis. People who three weeks ago had never given a single thought in their lives to Anthony Weiner’s penis, are today voluble instant experts on it.
There is of course precedent for this. To wit, the 18 months during which the entire nation was wholly consumed by The Clenis.
Prior to the advent of The Clenis, Clintontime had been a period of relative political rest for me; Bill-O didn’t seem to be mucking things up too badly, so I didn’t have to pay that much attention to him. But then some nosey buttinskys discerned that The Clenis had gone on walkabout. Cue wailing and garment-rending. From dawn till dusk, and on to dawn again. All day. Every day.
Eventually, I awoke to the fact that, during that time when I hadn’t been paying much attention, the world had somehow turned into an uber-absurd mad-hatter convocation of ur-humans. For, in the fullness of time, the United States House of Representatives entered the history books as a legislative body that put all other matters aside in order to vote to condemn a penis. The penis then formally went on trial before the United States Senate. It was touch and go there for a while, but in the end the penis was acquitted. Barely.
As I have mentioned here before, I chose to abjure television when it began blasting forth Beethoven’s “Ode To Joy” to sell me dishwashing detergent. Could be a genetic thing: my brother once hurled his television set into a rice bog because people on it were lying to him. But I am deciding of late that it is necessary to return to television. Because without it, certain things cannot be explained. For instance, Sarah Palin. Her persistent presence on the national stage can only be understood, I think, via television: she is a sort of ongoing reality-TV show; say, Hell On Wheels.
So too the national noshing on Anthony Weiner’s penis. I know from my reading that there are whole television shows more or less dedicated to “regular people” who go on to relate, and receive feedback from perfect strangers on, what they have done with their penises and vaginas. And there are whole other shows dedicated to the various comings and goings of the penises and vaginas of Hollywood people. Gary Hart and Monkey Business, and then Clintontime, permitted “news” anchors to soberly discuss the peregrinations of penises and vaginas who are in some way involved in politics. It seems somewhere along the line to have occurred that one’s genitals are now also the province of other people. They have moved from private parts, to public parts. And so, yea verily, there are even TV phone-in shows enabling what George II would call “this new birth of freedom.” All day. Every day.
It’s a new dawn.
So what is my opinion of Anthony Weiner, and his penis?
Apparently, he has one.