Jacob Gelt Dekker

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Face Lift The Music

Now that the Democratic race is over, it’s time to get back to the important issues. (Face facts, people: You can’t win the nomination once Sherri Shepherd, "View" co-host and Albert Einstein of the YouTube age, has publicly switched allegiances.) The Party has bickered and fought and thrown so much mud, no one’s addressing the most important topic in the country - one that does keep me up till the wee hours, wide awake and covered in fear.

I’m speaking, of course, of Madonna’s face-lift. Madge went plastic on us, and almost as upsetting as that news is, is the even scarier notion that people haven’t bothered to weigh in, so bitterly divided they are over re-counts and super-delegates and whether Sarah Jessica Parker truly is the unsexiest woman alive, as reported by Maxim magazine, the ACLU of the publishing industry.

Thank God my mother’s back. Over the past year, Mom stayed away from those political spats, but decided that, no matter the price, she had to enter the face-lift fray. Unlike last year’s brutal partisan battle over who was the more bankable movie ticket, Dakota Fanning or Abigail Breslin, this crises, she says, is one that crosses party lines and can’t afford NOT to be addressed, like global warming or whether sterilization should be mandatory to anyone even distantly related to George Bush.

"It’s as if Madonna wants to look like ’a woman’," said my mother, who’s now offically the Cindy Sheehan of the Entertainment World. "Even worse, a ’rich woman.’" As most of her detractors know, I’ve defended Madonna during some of her most embarrassing phases - Writing, Rapping, Ritchie. But "a woman"? Next thing you know she’s going to reinvent herself as having "a vagina." Thank God Justin Timberlake’s on the new CD to take care of that department.

Speaking of people who’ve reconstructed scientific matter, Ms. Shepherd’s not alone on the flat-planet issue. On "60 Minutes," Al Gore said Dick Cheney and anyone else who thinks global warming is nonexistent belongs in the same category as people who think the world is flat and the moon landing was staged in the Arizona desert. Which, of course, is ridiculous because even Sherri Shepherd knows that to keep production costs down they had to film it in Toronto.

My friends are all mad at me because I won’t admit I’m racist. Turns out, "Racial Tendency" is the latest craze sweeping the country, and the first step is to admit it’s some other fucker’s fault you’ve got a problem. I’ve never been the type to join fads, however, especially one those damn Europeans probably started. Besides, I’m waiting for the day it’s trendy to be racist AND misogynistic; that way I can admit to wanting to smack Tyra Banks every time I see her on "America’s Next Top Model" without having to worry about repercussions.

Since my old pals have taken to hating those who won’t profess to hate, I joined MySpace to find friends. The problem with these social-networking sites is that, once I create my profile, the only responses I get are from people with names like "Debbi," and whose pathetic message reads, "I’m a shallow sex-crazed slut with a big chest and low standards, who likes big swarthy masculine men to ravish and be done with me, then leave without asking my name. Ex-convicts a plus!" Granted, Debbi’s profile’s exactly the same as mine, but she’s not quite the "FB for Life" I was looking for.

So I went back to TV. As thrilled as I am that "Dancing With the Stars" has returned, it was a little sad to watch Steve Guttenberg flail about and make goofy faces and try like heck to seem like a pro even though it was obvious he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. I’m talking, of course, about his movie career. What’s scary is that dancing might have been the stronger of his two talents. Priscilla Presley is the eldest star they’ve ever had on the show (hard to believe, as just by looking at her you can tell she’s Lisa Marie’s daughter), and I admire her chutzpah. Underneath that facade of optimism and stoicism and humor is a woman irreversibly scarred. I would imagine she has a few emotional scars too. Honestly, why are these women so hell-bent on reversing nature’s course? Sometimes I find myself scratching the Rogaine on my head trying to figure it all out.

Thinking fluffy magazines would be welcome relief, I picked up People magazine and stumbled across Natalie Cole’s negative reaction to Amy Winehouse’s Grammy wins. And once again, I found myself caught up in a bitter divide. "It sends a bad message to our young people who are trying to get into this business," said Cole, the Emily Post of the music industry. "We have to stop rewarding bad behavior."

Thank god someone has the smarts to realize the Grammy’s, like the Oscars and the Presidency, are about rewarding manners, not merit. To show my solidarity, I’ve started a petition to take back every honor bestowed upon those "bad behavior" artists, a list that includes Joplin, Hendrix, Elvis, Raitt, Jagger, Richards, Tyler, Perry, Morrison, Nicks, Houston, Garland, Minnelli, Ray Charles, Charlie Parker, Billie Holiday, Billy Idol, Billy Joel, Elton John, John Denver, the Pointer Sisters, the Righteous Brothers, the Beach Boys, Boy George, George Michael, Michael McDonald, Don Henley, Etta James, James Taylor, Bing Crosby, Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and, of course, Natalie Cole and Cole Porter. Since my petition is retroactive, Ms. Cole’s going to have to return those eight Grammys she won for (the horror!) singing ability. But, unlike Cole, those statues won’t be forgettable. I understand Debbie Gibson’s been terribly overlooked all these years.

I finally decided to give up on it all and listen to the music. (Living in Manhattan, I certainly can’t take comfort in an afternoon stroll, as all around me cranes are collapsing, windows are smashing, and bullets are flying over Broadway and beyond. Your only sure bet for survival here is to take a job as a window washer and fall 47 floors on a scaffold - you know, that guy would never even make it on "Dancing," as those all-too-savvy audience voters would site his skyscraper free-fall as "professional Quick Step experience.") Sure enough, there’s trouble in iTunes city too, as Madonna’s new CD, "Hard Candy," is in direct competition with Mariah Carey’s new CD, "E=MC2" - the latter of which must be some kind of sick, sex-laden text-message.

The divas are fighting it out over whose single will do better on the charts (Ms. Ciccone’s whip-smart "4 Minutes," or Carey’s slutty-as-she-is "Touch My Body"). You’ll have to take a side, as these two won’t ever be on the same concert ticket. Since I’m unbiased when it comes to wife/mother/activist/defenseless victim Madonna versus the chick who married into the business and stole every award she’s ever gotten and whose voice sounds as authentic as her perpetually-wind-swept Long-Island-trash hair, I’m going to remain completely neutral as to who you should support. I’m the Switzerland of the column business.