early teasing edges of springtime. But I am living here and now,rncomposing this text in early January of 1994. It is a frozen,rngrungy day outside, gray on gray, with clumps of old snow in allrndirections, and if the weather report is to be believed, morernsnow on the way. Nothing much going on out there in thernneighborhood. Not a dog barking, not a car growling up the hillrnoutside. Not even the demented woodwind noise of the usualrnblack caucus of crows anywhere nearby. Inside I have thernnewspapers with their annual lists of what’s “In” and what’srn”Out.” I gather from the Washington Post’s half-serious considerationrnof the topic that Heidi Fleiss, Janet Malcolm,rnDonald and Maria, Robert Reich, and many more are in.rnEvidently, the out basket contains the likes of Joey and Amy,rnRichard Gere, Catharine MacKinnon, and, to be sure, ClarencernThomas. However, the big news is found a few pages later underrnthe rubric of “Names & Faces.” “Michael Does Vegas,” saysrnthe headline. The brief story tells how Michael Jackson, identifiedrnas “beleaguered pop star,” appeared in person to watchrn”a Las Vegas casino pirate show” in the companv of the casinornowner, somebody named Steve Wynn, together with (are yournready for this?) “junk bond king Michael Milken, along with arnphalanx of security guards.” “Phalanx,” that’s a nice touch. Inrnthe morning’s mail came Vanity Fair with its lead article—rn”Heidi Does Hollywood.” Which I don’t have to read, anyway,rnbecause the Associated Press has a piece in the papers—”Vanit)’rnFair names names in Fleiss story,” where I can quickly learnrnthat customer Charlie Sheen “liked to hire a blonde dressed uprnin a cheerleader outfit who would pretend she had a big gamernthe next day, Fleiss said.” My New YoTk Times tells me all aboutrna popular new video game, “Police Quest: Open Season,” designedrnand created by Daryl Gates, late of the Los Angeles PolicernDepartment.rnIn short, friends, the world looks to be cuckoo. Bananas…rnInterruptions flutter a few similar days (like those blowingrncalendar pages in old-timey movies), grungy, still gray on gray,rnand I can read in the Washington Post, in the front news section,rnmind you, how “ROCK MUSICIAN’S CONVICTIONrnPROMPTS CANCELLATION OF AD ON CONDOMrnUSE.” This is a little glitch in the major radio and TV advertisingrncampaign, sponsored by the Centers for Disease Controlrnand Prevention, part of the Department of Health and HumanrnServices, which, in its lofty wisdom “has ordered the immediaternwithdrawal of its AIDS-prevention public service announcementrnfor radio featuring Red Hot Chili Peppers singerrnAnthony Kiedis.” Seems that this fellow, this spokesperson forrnclean living and good behavior had earlier been convicted (inrna real live courtroom—Fairfax County Circuit Court) of “sexualrnbattery and indecent exposure.” Since it is her bailiwickrnand the buck always stops somewhere, Donna Shalala had torncome up with something: “We must not allow a single ad tornovershadow the vital lifesaving message in the campaign.”rnDear Miz Shalala,rnWhen the poet Marianne Moore, in her poem “In Distrustrnof Merits,” said “Beauty is everlasting and dust is for a time,”rnshe said a mouthful.. ..rn—Go away, Towne! My readers don’t want to listen to yournany more. Be reasonable.rn—Okay, boss. I was just leaving anyway. May I make onernpoint, though, what I was fixing to say in my letter to MadamernSecretary?rn—Go ahead, but make it quick.rn—Have you ever noticed that our American Presidents, atrnleast the ones of our lifetime, like to surround themselves withrnpeople of certain definite types? Roosevelt liked smart-mouthrnintellectuals; Truman liked laughers and scratchers; Kennedyrnliked Harvard men and lace-curtain Irish; Johnson liked littlernbitty short guys like Jack Valenti and Moyers—it made him feelrntaller than ever; Carter liked undisguised crackers, etc., etc.rnWhat’s the Clinton pattern?rn—Beats me.rn—Ugly. He has surrounded himself with some of the mostrnsingularly unattractive people ever collected. It makes him feelrnbetter about himself, don’t you see? Bye-bye….rnWhere were we? Oh yes, stories in the papers. Well, thernbig news today, prominently on page one as well as inrnthe “Style” section of the Washington Post, is the Lorena Bobbittrntrial, just getting underway at historic Manassas. (The SanrnAntonio trial of some of the leftover Branch Davidians gets a lotrnless attention. No celebrities involved.) The Bobbitt event isrndescribed as big-time show business: “About 20 satellite trucksrnlined the roadway leading to the courthouse yesterday, and vendorsrnturned the walkway into a carnival midway, hawking commemorativernT-shirts, boxer shorts, knives, and penis-shapedrnchocolates.”rn”What does all this have to do with popular culture in therndear old U.S. of A.?” you ask.rnReader, this is Popular Culture. This is what it has come to.rnAnd if I get half a chance between interruptions, I am going torntry to tell you how and why it has come to pass.rnDear Mrs. Bobbitt,rnLooking at your picture in the paper today, my good friendrnRichard allowed: “Boy, that looks like a woman who would cutrnyour d— off.” He’s right, too, but please don’t get us wrong.rnWe have just founded a local chapter of the Lorena BobbittrnMarching Society and Fan Club. I thought you would like tornknow that there are guys who admire and respect you as well asrnthe feminist gals. Today’s Washington Post, in the “Style” sectionrnsays (in a subheadline), “As Lorena’s Trial Begins, WomenrnGrab Onto a Powerful New Symbol.” So? Guys, too. We arerngrabbing and holding onto our symbols for dear life.. ..rnSomething happened in the four generations of this centuryrnto change forever a popular culture that was essentially local,rnspontaneous, essentially amateur when compared andrncontrasted with the present, though modest amounts of moneyrndid indeed change hands from time to time. At the beginningrnof the century only opera singers and stage actors werern”stars” in a contemporary sense. Both of those forms, operarnand drama, were parts of the national and international popularrnculture of the time. Both are now merely shadows of themselves.rnBoth are classified as “elitist” entertainment, togetherrnwith symphony orchestras and art museums, subsidized andrnsupported by taxes and philanthropy. Where in the late 19thrncentury most forms of culture of any kind were local and regional,rnthere was scarcely an American town that did not havernat least a theater and an opera house. Now only the largest ofrncities, and only some of them, still try to continue to enjoyrnthese once-popular arts.rnWhat followed, at first gradually enough, was the developmentrnof technology (movies, radio, television, cable television,rnvideos, computer networks), which, bv linking us all to-rnAPRIL 1994/21rnrnrn