By now, everyone living in this part of the Milky Way Galaxy has heard of Arnold Schwarzenegger's child-out-of-wedlock.
Me, I'm big on Schadenfreude. When I see a Republican – the enemy! - make a big goof, I'm all over it, tongue lolling out of my mouth, gibbering with glee. I love seeing Republicans make fools of themselves.
And why? you ask. Well, they're the Party Of Values, aren't they? They oppose the evil anarchy that is gay marriage. And legalized abortion. And all kinds of other unthinkables.
And then, we find, they have affairs, and get (many) divorces, and have babies they aren't really comfortable with acknowledging. (Remember Strom Thurmond and his black daughter?)
(I can't get over the Christmas tree in the above picture. The invocation of the Virgin Birth, and the sweet innocence of that little blond boy with a Hispanic mother, and apparently no one noticed the resemblance . . . )
Ah well.
Here's the thing: I don't really feel glad about this.
I am sorry for the little boy, who will be saddled with this story for life, and I hope he doesn't let it drag him down.
I am sorry for the poor mother, who had sex with an attractive man (well, he was sort of attractive at the time), and probably liked him, and had a little boy whom (I'm sure) she loves very much, and who is now the target of much unwanted attention.
I am sorry for Maria Shriver, who should have known better. Maria! I could have given you my copies of “Stay Hungry” and “Pumping Iron,” for God's sake! But no. She has kids by the big Austrian goof. And she probably even really cared for him. So: fine. Let it go. Lesson learned.
I am even sorry for Arnold. Do you remember, a few years ago, media discussions about amending the Constitution so that naturalized citizens could become President? That was all about Arnold. He was big and handsome and Republican, and he governed California during – um. Perhaps not its most glorious epoch.
Now he has become what his detractors called him: a glory hound, a bodybuilder/action star who got into politics on the basis of name recognition. (Better they should have elected Gary Coleman, don't you think?)
He didn't turn out to be a total dullard, like – ahem – Jesse Ventura. (Jesse: in future, look before you leap. On the other hand, if I'd been a Minnesota voter, I probably would have voted for you. I'm a pushover for pro wrestlers.)
Anyway: no Schadenfreude today. Let Arnold and Maria and their whole extended mishpocheh go.
Vanity of vanities, saith the prophet, vanity of vanities; all is vanity and vexation of spirit.
Momma's tired. Let's do Schadenfreude some other day.
No comments:
Post a Comment