I've said it many times before. But this time I mean it: Barry Manilow represents everything that is wrong with this country.
Before, it was in jest. Because I was raised listening to his muzak and have a special secret place deep in my heart where listening to it doesn't make me grind my teeth to powder. And let's give the Devil his due: he has written some of the catchiest tunes in the American catalogue, even if you only count the millions of advertising jingles he has composed and, of course, the old theme to American Bandstand.
But all that is out the window now. Flushed down the toilet of poncy leftist hypocrisy. (It's a big toilet. It rarely gets flushed, and it backs up and oozes stench and filth all over the arena of ideas.) All because the man who writes the songs that make the whole world sing refused to be on the View.
Before I go on, let me say this: The concept of the View, when you think about it, is sort of beautiful. Four women of divergent backgrounds and philosophies discussing events and ideas in an open forum. Beautiful, really. And furthermore, give Barbara Walters credit for teaching us all the true value of the cat fight. Add a good natured hiss here and an ideological scratch there, and a good (but slightly stayed) concept has teeth.
On the other hand, the one time I tried to watch it, actually made me wish for death. I didn't want to live in the same world as that show. It was embarrassing that I could feel that kind of visceral hatred for four reasonably intelligent women. So I tried to be serene and let these ladies have their say. I even found it in my heart to be grateful for the show, because it inspired some really great parodies on SNL.
Even so, when I heard Mr. Manilow had refused to appear, my heart applauded a little. Until I found out why.
Turns out he is not a discriminating viewer of televised infotainment. Neither is he a dedicated artist who refuses to lap up even the most offensive opportunity for exposure. He is, simply, a ridiculous hypocrite. The reason he refused to be on the show is that he disagrees with one of the women. I didn't know which one at first, because her name is the same as an NFL quarterback, and that is where my knowledge (and interest) ends. So I forced myself to watch an entertainment show, to find out she is the so-called "conservative one." I don't care which woman it is, but if you have to run scared from her views, than yours must be exceptionally petty.
Think of it: here is a show that celebrates diversity of opinion. Barry Manilow's response is to take a stand against diversity of opinion. "I disagree with you" he says, "therefore I refuse to even occupy the same room as you." The sad result is that thousands of intellectually bankrupt haus fraus are deprived of hearing a song that might have reminded them of the halcyon days when they could fit into their husband's jeans (and when he wanted to get into hers). You might have even brought back a few of the overweight lesbian demographic that left when Rosie turned tail.
Come on, Barry! I might be petty and celebrate that those four yapping blabbers are silenced for a few minutes, (even if it has to be by the mellow tones of an aging, jobbed up composer of elevator muzak). But I at least consent to the fact that those women should have their say (and not have to temper their views--not even to cater to the man who gave us "Mandy.") I would never dare send the message that if someone disagrees with me, then I'm just not going to show up. You are pitiful. You are a joke. You and everyone who applauded your action is a mental pygmy who will rot in the cellar of humanity's wasted brains. Go to hell and fester there, you colossal idiot. I don't even believe in Hell in the traditional religious sense. But I'm making an exception for you (and whoever invented easter grass). At least there you'll be surrounded by individuals who won't hate your guts for looking down your nose at someone who represents another side to an argument. No, they'll congratulate you and tell you how brave you were for taking a stand. And you'll feel that same sense of inflated self worth that was your bread and butter on earth. And you'll be content.
Until someone turns on the TV. Because Hell has only one station. And it plays only one show around the clock.
Enjoy the View, Barry.