Column X

Originally published March 6, 1998, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1268

Assorted thoughts…

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Two television series noted for unanswered questions, Byzantine plot structures and wheels-within-wheels have finally overlapped each other. Consider the following bizarre coincidence:

In the recent episode of The X-Files penned by Stephen King and Chris Carter, a town in Maine is menaced by an evil doll… indicating why King is the master of suspense, since it must’ve taken a whole twenty seconds to haul out that hoary device. Even the eminently credulous Mulder, upon learning of Scully’s suspicions as to the toy’s animus, asks skeptically, “You mean… like Chucky?” Although on this series one shouldn’t rule out the possibility that we’d have a flashback to Lee Harvey Oswald with one of those dolls next to him on the Grassy Knoll saying in that little voice, “Let’s have fun!”

In any event, the slight wrinkle introduced is that the doll’s killer tune-of-choice is an endless rendition of the “Hokey Pokey.” Having been to sufficient Bar Mitzvah parties in my life, the notion that the playing of the “Hokey Pokey” could drive one to self-mutilation and/or suicide is not as far-fetched as it sounds. The “Alley Cat” has already reached that status with some, and the “Electric Slide” is not that far behind. However, personal loathing aside, there is never an explanation (or, if you will, an X-planation) given anywhere in the episode as to why this song in particular is the tune from hëll.

Maybe King or Carter hate the song, but in theory, that shouldn’t be enough. Why the “Hokey Pokey?” There’s no personal significance to it within the context of the story; it’s not like, in childhood, one of the protagonists was beaten up while the song was playing thereby establishing a personal reason for nasty associations (as one might have with “Singing in the Rain” if one were a character in A Clockwork Orange.) There’s nothing behind it, no substance. It’s just an oddity, it seems, Yet Another Mystery in a show that’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in confusion.

Ah, but think about this–several centuries later, in “real” time as it were, Ambassador Londo Mollari will become obsessed with the “Hokey Pokey.” No reason will be given on Babylon 5 as to why that particular ditty will capture the attention of the Centauri Ambassador during the show’s first season.

He will study it for endless hours, he will try to search out the profound significance, and he will be driven to irrational fits of anger upon being able to decipher any deep, hidden meaning to it. But this is B5, after all, the series that thrives on hidden meanings. The most casual throwaway comment in season one can turn out to have unexpected hidden meanings four years later (although I’m somewhat despairing of learning what the dámņëd raven on Ivanova’s shoulder during the dream sequence has to do with anything, unless it refers to Claudia Christian flipping them the bird for the fifth season.)

Here, then, is Londo Mollari, unarguably touched by darkness, obsessed with an apparently innocuous song that was tied in to dark and fearsome killings centuries before. To say nothing of the fact that Mulder’s sister was ostensibly kidnapped by aliens… aliens who might very well be connected to Babylon 5.

Coincidence? Or is it something… more sinister?

You decide. Perhaps the truth isn’t just out there. It’s way, way, way out there.

* * *

You couldn’t pay me enough to be a teacher of current events these days. Frankly, I’m still rather fuzzy on how a mandate to investigate a failed real estate deal in Arkansas four years ago has somehow morphed into a probe into Clinton’s sexual activities regarding a White House intern.

More and more it’s coming across as if Kenneth “The Unreachable” Starr is just so fed up that he’s determined to nail Clinton some way, any way. The only problem is, the American public knew Clinton was a hound when we elected him. We chose to give as much of a dámņ about it as we do about Bill Gates’ sex life in terms of how it impacts on Windows 95, i.e., as long our computer doesn’t go down, we don’t care what else does. One’s concern about this whole business tends to be defined by how concerned one is over the notion that the president may have been willing to lie about his sexual exploits and so anxious to cover them up that he tried to get someone else to lie as well.

Is it possible? Sure it’s possible. Does it bother me? Not especially. I mean, I’m sorry, maybe it should. Maybe I should be morally outraged because the presidency should stand for something greater. But c’mon, who doesn’t lie about sex? Perhaps it’s arbitrary and hypocritical, but it’s not as if Clinton were a cat burglar on the side and he was trying to cover his butt on that score. Or, as in Wag the Dog, it’s not as if he made sexual overtures to a Campfire Girl.

Should he have lied about any possible affairs, particularly under oath? Of course not. Do I want to boot him out of office over it? Not really. If I thought his possible sex addiction was remotely relevant to his job, I wouldn’t have voted for him in the first place. If he were the president of France, he’d be elected for life by now. Besides the choice was always between Bill Clinton and George Bush, or Bill Clinton and Bob Dole. No matter who you voted for, you were going to get a stiff of some kind or other in the White House.

I mean, heck, I still think it’s Dickensian that his name is Clinton. Long time comic fans know that “Clint” is one of those names you never use in comics (Hawkeye’s ID the rare exception) because the L and I can run together to create a whole new word. Same with “flick.” It’s a rule that I used to think was silly until I was present when the powers at be at Marvel got an irate letter from a woman over a then-recent issue of Power Man/Iron Fist (I think it was) wherein a villain threatened, “I will flick you like a fly!” and the letter writer misread it.

All of the foregoing is, as noted, derived from the concern over how a teacher handles social studies these days. Even Garry Trudeau is commenting on it in a sequence that’s just beginning to run. The irony of it is that even in anything-goes cities such as New York, Newsday (and elsewhere, for all I know) pulled the strip off the comics page this week and are running it in the editorial section due to the explicit nature of the jokes. The mere presentation of the problem serves to simultaneously underscore it. When I was a kid, teachers assigned us to clip out stories that were of interest and bring them in for class discussion. Considering what most teenagers are preoccupied with under normal circumstances, I wonder if teachers even bother to hand out that assignment nowadays for fear of what they’ll be faced with.

* * *

 

I have not joined the enemy… but I’m chagrined to admit that I hedged my bets.

My laserdisc player died, so I bought a new unit that plays not only lasers, but… yes, God help me… DVDs. I haven’t purchased any of the hated little things yet… but, depressingly, I know I’m going to. How do I know? Because they’re going to be releasing a new edition of Little Shop of Horrors (the Frank Oz version, not the original Roger Corman version) that’s going to feature, among other things, the original filmed ending in which a gigantic and out-of-control Audrey II attacks New York a la Godzilla. And it’s only going to be on DVD. When I heard this, it was with the same sinking feeling as when I learned years ago that they were reissuing 1776 with forty minutes of footage cut back in, including the entirety of “Cool, Considerate Men.” That sense that said, “You have no free will. You will join us. Resistance is futile.”

Speaking of being assimilated…

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Let’s see how many people I can really annoy, because I haven’t accomplished that in a while:

I love being Jewish and everything, but I’m getting sick of reading articles where various Jewish pundits shake their heads and say the Jewish peoples totter on the brink of extinction due to assimilation, intermarriage, etc. How it’s necessary for Jews to close ranks, as it were, if we intend to survive as a people.

I was thinking about this, thinking, let’s consider the history of the Jews:

First off, people keep trying to kill us in large numbers, when they’re not busy taking away our property or enslaving us. Clearly we already have a serious PR problem.

And how have we dwelt with the diminishment of our numbers? Well, let’s see:

We encourage marriage only within our dwindling population, thereby guaranteeing the kind of limited gene pool which leaves Jews vulnerable, either exclusively or in large percentage, to such genetic diseases as Tay-Sachs, Gaucher Disease, Familial dysautonomia, Bloom’s Syndrome, Pemphigus Vulgaris, and a rather nasty mutation of cystic fibrosis.

We don’t have a central religious figure telling us not to use birth control. As a matter of fact, family planning–particularly in times of limited resources–goes all the way back to the actions of Joseph in Genesis 41:50-52 who practiced birth control during the famine in Egypt. This resulted in Talmud tractate Ta’aanit 11a which observes, “We learn that a man must practice abstinence during years of famine” (although, to be fair, even the most flexible definitions of family planning still feel that a Jewish male is constrained to produce two children in line with the admonition to be fruitful and multiply.)

We have a strict prohibition against proselytizing. “Jews for Jesus” aren’t really, by definition, Jews anymore since they have publicly embraced another religion. Not only are Jews not supposed to encourage others to become Jews, but converts are actively discouraged.

With all that… for heaven’s sake, do the math.

Part of the reason that Jews are called “the chosen people” is because the fact that we’re still here when so many people have tried to annihilate us would seem to suggest that nothing short of divine intervention can explain it. But God helps those who help themselves.

Might be time for a change. Might be time to rethink things.

Might be time for a recruitment drive.

Go for a double barreled approach. First, you have a series of ads which feature high-profile, popular Jews. Dress them really sharply, with a nicely flattering Star of David pendant conspicuously featured, and sporting a milk moustache–or, even better, a full milk beard. And the slogan can be, “Got Milechdik?”, a slogan so bizarre that people will feel constrained to read the rest of the copy which sings the praises of how great it is being Jewish (you immediately get premiere status in the entertainment industry, and a free copy of The Joys of Yiddish upon joining up.) Join now, and we’ll even waive the circumcision requirements.

Then you have a second series of ads featuring such annoying people as Newt Gingrich with the copyline, “Not Jewish.” The message is clear: Don’t blame us. We didn’t have anything to do with it.

Based on the relatively minuscule Jewish population of this country, the prospect of repulsive people being Jewish is rather slim. In one stroke, Americans can distance themselves in a concrete way from individuals that they’d rather not even share a relationship to as a species, much less on a religious basis.

I mean, granted, there might be counter advertising (Jeffrey Dahmer remains something of a sore point… and I’m not sure, but with our luck the Unabomber’s Jewish) but we can handle that. I mean, hëll, the entire Ferengi race is one big Jewish parody, and we’ve withstood that okay.

And it sure beats sitting around wringing our hands while carrying with us the same kind of population-limiting rules that put an end to the Shakers (a religious order that advocated celibacy for its members, and wasn’t that a bright move.)

Wow. I’m on a roll. Next week I think I’ll talk about how the entire consciousness of sexual harassment and what that’s spawned is the worst thing that’s ever happened to women. See how many more people I can irritate.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705. It’s a perversity of his that he always gets a notion to write his most inflammatory columns right around the time that the CBG ballots go out, as if hacking people off around voting time is a bright thing to do.)