Just as victory over Hitler brought us face to face with Soviet expansionism, the Gulf War has nurtured a new menace within our midst: the French!
A medium-sized European nation not much larger than the state of Wyoming souffléd, France has never renounced its Napoleonic ambition to rule the world. With vast reserves of crude style, its stranglehold on consumers reaches far beyond the boutiques of Fifth Avenue and Rodeo Drive to the malls of middle America. The United States and its fashion-loving allies have no choice but to draw a hemline in the sand and declare war on France.
America's dependence on foreign style first reached critical proportions during the Jeans Crisis of the late 70s. OFAB (Organization of Fashion-Aggressive Bullies) exercised its longstanding designs upon our social fabric, glutting the market with over-stitched, status-mongering Euro-denim. Americans reacted by turning to domestic style sources, rallying under the leadership of Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein and the GAP to beat back the buttock-captioned behemoth.
But the upwardly mobile excess of the 1980s has renewed America's style dependency. Over the last decade France (and its Northern Italian client state) have taken control of the trendy dollar, imposing a regimen of haute couture and cuisine on status guzzling Americans. No major city or university is without its fifth column of Eurotrash, willfully deconstructing and recycling our culture at five times the price.
Many believe a war with France would be long and bloody. Not so the experts. According to retired general Helmet Shirtscuff, military consultant to the Home Shopping Channel:
“We'll probably knock out most of their fall line right on the runway. Seventh Avenue and the Millinery-Industrial complex have developed a whole toolbox of high-fashion weaponry. Once we've established hair superiority with our coiffure-seeking missiles, we can decoordinate their ensembles in a matter of days. Our chic bombs will demolish their shoulder pads and designer labels while leaving foundation garments intact. Of course, there's bound to be collateral damage -- some accessories may not survive the war. But we want to avoid couture house-to-house combat. If we have to send in the models, fighting could get Condé Nasty.
“We've heard a lot about the enemy's fabulous wardrobe, but much of it's overrated. It looks great on the rack, but try maneuvering in it without making stains. Sure they've got Charles Jourdans, but they're no match for our Air Jordans. We can run faster, jump higher . . . when it comes to sportswear those sedentary café potatoes are hopelessly passé. In short, nothings too haute for our troops to handle....
"They do possess weapons of mass deconstruction. They've assembled a gruesome semiotech arsenal. They may resort to verbal-mental terrorism, leaving a cloud of verbiage and Gauloise smoke that could hover over Europe for years to come. But we've stockpiled enough Sartre bombs to give them a bad case of existential anguish if they so much as try.
“Our only real worry is their underwear. The French are well ahead of us down there. But if they resort to lingerie warfare, they're in for a few surprises. They have the bustiers, but we have the bodies. A couple of our well-toned battalions will have them retreating in shame if they try to outstrip us on the battlefield.
"Our ultimate weapon, though, is our own bad taste. No self-respecting Fashionist can take it. Our attacky helicopters armed with leisure-guided missiles can swathe them in enough polyester to destroy their fighting fiber. After the screams of humiliation subside, we can just strike a pose and watch them crowd into our POW camps. After all we’ll be showing Jerry Lewis movies in the commissary."
Tuesday, July 9, 1991
Gulf Today, Gaul Tomorrow
Wednesday, June 5, 1991
Armies of the Blight
Amid the confusing welter of organizations and armies marching in next Monday's parade, lesser known groups tend to fall between the cracks. This is unfortunate. The Gulf War stirred patriotism in many unlikely sectors, whose representatives deserve no less recognition than their better-known peers. In the interest of fairness I have compiled brief statements from the leadership of several groups omitted from the official roster of participants:
Association of Vietnam War Movie Veterans - We were there for the big ones -- Apocalypse Now, Platoon. The enemy came at us in quadraphonic, dolbies blazing. Some of us still wake up screaming the soundtracks. We're glad we've finally got the Vietnam War Movie Syndrome out of our system. Desert Storm gave us a great new set of special effects and enough hightech ordinance to keep the Cineplexes air-conditioned till the year 2000. Gulf War movies may not be as bloody, but we can take the whole family and leave the theater smiling. You bet we'll be at the parade -- if we can pry our members loose from their smart bomb videos.
National Organization of Ambivalents - We were and were not for and against the war, but we are totally behind the parade. Many of us were sorry to see the Cold War go. America was at war and peace simultaneously. But the Gulf War taught us that you can fight and not fight a hot war just easily. Kill and not confront death, kick butt and still watch Oprah, win without defeating the enemy. Desert Storm gave new meaning to ambivalence. We consider it our duty to march, though we're not quite sure in which direction.
Lord Jim (Crow) Society - We are a group of middle-aged white men who avoided service in Vietnam through grad school, ROTC, and national guard commissions. Though we have risen to positions of power and prominence, we have always wondered whether we would have the courage to do the right thing if tested again. We need question no longer, for when the clarion sounded we were able to send our troops off without cowardice or hesitation. It is an honor to march with the dark young men and women who risked their lives for our conscience, as long as they don't get too close.
Committee in Solidarity with People of Royal Families - Queen Elizabeth's visit demonstrated America's deep-seated longing for monarchy. But what is bowing before a king or queen compared to dying for one. Our victorious troops have the honor of being the first American soldiers to shed blood for a hereditary monarchy since our forefathers brought forth freedom upon this continent. The Gulf experience has done more to kick the 1776 Syndrome than a thousand Nancy Reagans, Leona Helmsleys and Madonnas put together.
Committee to Abolish Sixties Nostalgia - America's been romanticizing the sixties since the day they were over. For years kids have been running around with pony-tails and peace signs, scalping Grateful Dead tickets. The Gulf War showed how truly terrifying it is to be a long-haired peacenik when the majority of Americans would just as soon string you up by a yellow ribbon. Now that they've had a taste of the real thing, we can start reviving the 70s. You'll recognize our contingent in the parade -- we'll be wearing leisure suits.
The American Lesion - Most thinking Americans agree that their brain is an outmoded organ. It doesn't have remote control or as many channels as cable. As lesionnaires, we welcome the wound the Gulf War opened in our craniums as the portal through which mind and video will merge. The War helped us achieve oneness with our TV sets. Regardless of our physical location, we will all be at the parade. Many bodies, one consciousness linked by satellite and the voice of Bernie Shaw.
Act-out - We are a collective of passive-aggressive former yuppies who will never know a six-figure income or a Corner office. The recession has robbed us of our birthright and our future. The Gulf War gave us a focus for our hostility and helped restore our self-esteem. We may never boss around our countrymen, but our countrymen can boss around the world. Marching at the side of conquerors is a far more fulfilling way to pound the pavement than what we've been doing for the last then months.
People for the Orwellian Way - 1984 came and went and all we had to show for it was a teflon ninny in White House and some junior league photo opps. But in one short year we've seen the advent of global television brainwashing, a war to rival Oceania's assault on Eurasia, and a president worthy of the name Big Brother. We will join the masses in celebration of the Brave New World Order, and no matter how lost we feel in the crowd, we know someone will be watching.
Wednesday, April 17, 1991
Soundbiting the News They Feed Us
America cannot stand by and let Saddam Hussein massacre his people -- we reserve that right for ourselves.
If stun guns were outlawed, only outlaws would be cops.
There are no bad policemen, just bad victims.
The People camcorded will never be defeated,
Stalin: socialism in one country. Gorbachev: no socialism, no country.
How many Poles does it take to restore capitalism? One to hold power, ten million to be unemployed.
To incur debt is human. To forgive it, executive privilege.
If I accept capitalism, will they forgive my debts too?
Tuesday, April 9, 1991
Lessons of the New War Order
The price of freedom is eternal vigilanteism.
We would have won in Vietnam too, if we'd all worn yellow ribbons and the enemy hadn't fought back.
The Mother of God beats the Mother of All Wars, when deployed in a Hail Mary play.
Former allies makes the best enemies. Former enemies make the best financial contributors.
Hell hath no fury like a president slipping in the polls.
Americans support just causes -- just the causes, not the consequences.
The Republican Guard is easier to defeat than the Republican party.
You can fool all of the people all of the time.
The world should have listened when Kurt Waldheim met with Saddam and said, "I knew Hitler. I worked with Hitler. And Mr. Hussein, you're no Hitler!"
Friday, March 15, 1991
A Pax on Both Choices
"I am and am not for and against the War, and I believe the majority of the American people share my opinion," said Leona Tolstoy, a long-time war-and-peace activist.
Wearing a black armband and a yellow ribbon, Ms. Tolstoy was one of several thousand people who gathered last weekend for a meeting of Ambivalents Not Not Against the War. "We aren't against being for the War, but we aren't not against it either. There are two sides to every issue and we ambivalents try to take both of them."
We spoke with Ms. Tolstoy in the lobby of the Howard Johnson Motor Hotel where she prepared to chair the plenary session. "Ambivalence is as American as apple or cherry or blueberry pie," she informed us. "Ever since our slave-owning forefathers brought forth freedom upon this continent, we've wanted to have our cake and eat Ultra-Slimfast too. We want to run the world to make it free. We go to war to ensure peace. We're ready to sacrifice our youth, so long as we don't see their blood. . .
Her diatribe was interrupted by a sudden outburst from the crowd. "What do we want?' a voice bellowed.
"Something!" shouted the crowd.
"When do we want it?'
"Soon!"
Placards reading "Casuistry, Not Casualties" and "Vacillate Now!" waved in the air. The chanting continued until many of the protestors changed their minds, breaking up into small discussion groups to deny what they had just said.
"Looks like the Gulf War has got your organization pretty agitated," we noted.
"Alot of us miss the Cold War. We were at war and at peace simultaneously. We could be as hostile and aggressive and kinder and gentler as we wanted without disrupting our lifestyle. This war is different. We may actually have to fight! We believe in patriotism, 'kicking ass,' and Kuwait's democratic right to live under the monarchy of its choice. But we also believe in Oprah, EARTH Day, and the security of small furry animals. We're afraid we may have to choose between our inconsistencies."
"So you disagree with the way things are being handled?"
"Yes and no. So far this has proved to be a short winnable war that will take a long-time to win, in which we have and have not established air superiority, having wiped out all the Scuds except for those still being fired the night we decimated the enemy's still functioning command control, assuring that we will and will not have to fight an all-out limited ground war in which casualties will be kept to a very heavy minimum. The administration has done a superb job of maintaining ambiguity in the heat of battle. But there's always the danger that something decisive might happen and force us to take a stand."
"For instance?"
"Casualties. Soldier moms crumpled in the sand. Incinerated pen pal partners. Unsightly burn victims on city buses. The preempting of baseball by special reports. A surcharge on taxes. Anything that brings us face to face with the consequences of having done the things we're in favor of doing. As Americans we like to support just causes -- just the causes, not the consequences. .. ."
"So how can we keep the war's consequences from affecting our opinions of it?"
"That's the job of the media. As long as we can represent ourselves as ready for the sacrifice whether we are or not, we'll be okay. As Ted Turner didn't say, 'Television is reality by other means."
"But if the networks fail, it could be the sixties all over again with an unpopular war and mass dissent."
"The coming era will be another 1960's, and another 1930's with a collapsing economy, and another 1940s with global mobilization for war, and another 1914 in that war's potential for carnage, and another 1890s in its fin de siecle stirrings, and another 990s in its millennial fervor.... These are heady days for ambivalents. So many pieces of history to not learn the lessons of at the same time. Unlimited positions not to take on every issue. The hour of indecision is approaching Hopefully our leaders will have the good sense to keep putting it off till tomorrow.”>
Tuesday, February 12, 1991
Let Us Now Praise Downwardly Mobile Men
And their spouses, such of them as still have jobs and such as have lost them, such as were partners and such as merely associates, such as whose firms are failing and such as whose firms having restructured their debt must yet endure unhealthy levels of stress, not having received a year-end bonus, forced to commute by subway in the cold and car-serviceless dawn carrying their lunches, their brave little lunches, in the obscenity of brown paper bags ...
Let us praise their Children, never to know a nanny's love, the fitted grace of Baby Dior designer kidsware, the thrill of overachievement with a Fisher Price developmental plaything, trust funds frozen to pay off VISA charges, Aprica strollers rusting no less than prospects for a fast-track pre-school, replacing hopes of Harvard with the bitterness of Nintendo with last year's games....
Let us praise their power ties and Rolex watches, hands sweeping time's pitiless face unbroken by appointments, praise also their designer logos, Izod and Polo Western pony flapping from the frayed all-cotton fibers of a once defiant breast, linen crushed like expectations, Peter Pan collars forever young while dreams grow old, blunt cuts that cannot blunt the pain, Reeboks worn thin on pavement pounded not in preparation for the marathon but in search of work....
Let us praise their cuisinarts and croissants, and the tortellini salad days of youth, the red of their radicchio, the extra-virgin olive of their oils, their wild porcini and the sticky running of their Brie, conspicuously consumed in lingering brunch beneath a firmament that sun-dries all tomatoes, days of white wine and mimosas so swiftly turned to nonbalsamic vinegar of grief; oh Haagen-Dazs for umlaut the bell tolls, praise these who yet can summon courage to grind the beans for their espresso, to eat of foods that have not been reviewed, to face plates whose minute portions signify starvation not nouvelle cuisine ....
Let us praise their health clubs, and their bodies aerobic, misled by Stairmaster to an ever upward climb, going for the bum and getting burnt: Lifecycle's programmed karma coming due, sweatsuits become the slothful signs of unemployment, daily workouts replaced by days spent out of work ....
Let us praise these simple time-share croppers, Information Age Arrivistes, Postmodern Proletarians, who tilled the soil of our supply side with the sleight of their hand and the sweatbands of their brow. Salt-free of the Earth, Turners of the Rolodexes, Makers of the Mergers, who brought forth profit from junk, co-ops from tenements, nutrition from Tofutti. Broke but yet unbroken. Credit poor but infinite in self-worth. The mesquite grill still glows within their hearts. They have not lost their faith or self-esteem. The Chapter Eleventh hour may yet issue in the dawn:
Networkers of the World Arise!
You have Nothing to Lose, but your Stocks and Bonds!