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James
Miller Miller on Tap |
I, James Patrick Miller, a card-carrying male, really hate Jenny McCarthy.
Before we get into this, let's distinguish this from a physical argument. She is a fine-looking woman. I'd be a giant liar if I tried to tell you that I don't think a former Playmate of the Year is not very easy on the eyes. She is one hell of a piece of eye candy, and you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who thinks otherwise.
Nor is this a philosophical argument. I don't think that the lovely Jenny objectifies women everywhere or creates a climate of unhealthy sexuality in America. I think this would be giving her too much credit. At least, I certainly hope that someone who makes her living by getting 12- and 13-year-old boys to commit mortal sins doesn't dictate social norms. No, this is a complaint based solely on her merit, or lack thereof.
She was a good Playmate. Maybe even the best of Playmates (no disrespect to that venerable grande dame Vanessa Williams). But there have been, and always will be, lots of good Playmates. However, doesn't it seem like it's a violation of the natural order of things for Playmates to have a life after leaving Hef's auspices? The talent of these women only exists between the ass-kissing interviews and the Tom Wolfe stories of Playboy's glossy paradise. Like seeing your elementary school teacher at the supermarket, there is something unsettling and out of place about seeing a Playmate in other areas of public life. It's unholy, I tell you.
And then she moved to "Singled Out."
To be fair, I've always had a profound, seething, Ahab-like hatred for the show. It encourages stupid people to copulate, for one. And besides, how many tight shirts, empty heads and guys from Salt 'n' Pepa videos does one need? Jenny made it worse. I have yet to see a woman who irritated me faster. She smacked around the male contestants. She made gross faces into the camera and expected it to pass for humor. She makes sex jokes on a dating show filled with folks who spent their formative years feeling each other up to Bel Biv Devoe albums and poisoning their brains with hair gel and Stussy hats. I liked her the first time, when she was called Bob Eubanks.
And then, all of a sudden, everyone decided that she's a talented comic actress (probably the same people who think the Wayans brothers are funny.) Never mind that talented female comics like Janeane Garafalo can't catch a decent break and have to play second banana to the emaciated likes of Uma Thurman. Jenny should have her own show. Of course she should! Why, just look at the rapport she has with the contestants! They're riveted to her.
Of course they're riveted to her! They're staring at her chest! I'm sure people wouldn't be able to take their eyes off a chick with three arms and a hump, but that's not a good reason to shove her in front of a camera.
Remember when only talented and original people got their own TV show? I don't. But every time I see Jenny and her "talents" I think I hear the faint sound of Mary Tyler Moore crying herself to sleep.
To no one's great surprise, the show is just not funny. Predictably, the laborious half hour is filled with vomit and armpit-hair jokes and other routines that look as if they were lifted from the pages of a third-grader's notebook.
But I think I've figured out her secret (I mean, apart from the cleavage). It's only funny because she's fine. I don't think anyone would watch some great big fat thing with boils and frog warts grab her breasts on cable (no one outside of the fetish market).
But what bothers me most about the broad is what she says about men everywhere. She makes us look absolutely foolish. We follow with rapt attention. We stare at "Singled Out" like dogs out a car window. We allow ourselves to be led around by our Johnsons by this trollop. We prostrate ourselves before the craven MTV god-images and come back for more, eager to be a part of the dumbing-down of American society for a half hour of cleavage and butt shots. She kicks us in the teeth and, because she shoots a few sultry glances into the camera and grabs her breasts for us once in a while, we come back for more, smooching her butt and lusting for more.
MTV says she's funny, but I can't help but have a solid distrust of the network that tells me to shut up, chew my cud and kneel before Planet Hollywood. Men, please, our penises have to be smarter than this.
- James Miller can be reached over e-mail at jamespm@umich.edu.