Well, of course you’ve all been hearing about the legal troubles
of poor Martha Stewart. Such a shame to see a nice person like that
unfairly hounded by the publicity-hungry prosecutors and the media
jackals; I really feel sorry for her.
Well, of course you’ve all been hearing about the legal troubles of poor Martha Stewart. Such a shame to see a nice person like that unfairly hounded by the publicity-hungry prosecutors and the media jackals; I really feel sorry for her.
Tell me you didn’t believe me there. If there is an area of my consciousness that has any sympathy for Martha Stewart, it is as yet unexplored. I will not hide my membership in the unruly mob that wants to see her go down like the Titanic. This is no doubt ungenerous of me, an unhealthy symptom of a society that delights in the fall of giants. Perhaps, as has been alleged, it is because she is a powerful woman in a man’s domain. Yes, I’m sure that’s it.
Say what? How many powerful men is she competing with in the notoriously testosterone-charged Gracious Living segment of the economy? Is Arnold Schwartzenegger coming out with a line of casual-yet-elegant patio place mats? Have I missed the roll-out of Bruce Willis’ playful but practical Matisse-inspired sheets and pillowcases for that ho-hum guest room?
Or are they saying we just hate her because, unlike the Administration, she has so much money she could give America a tax cut without having to borrow? OK, so she’s filthy rich; so what? We’ve been burdened with the filthy rich since forever and they don’t all inspire national bloodlust when they make a boo-boo. It can’t be that.
And it can’t be the insider stock-sale thing that, technically speaking, is the basis of the charges. Hey, rich people talk to each other, just like real people. They have casual conversations about, you know, whatever – the kids need braces, what’s with the Yankees this year, oh by the way, the company I own that you have googobs of stock in is about to take a swan dive into the deep end of the commode and nobody knows it yet, the weather – you know, just regular stuff.
It doesn’t bother me that rich people cheat; I expect them to cheat. I mean, what good is power if you can’t abuse it? Of course Halliburton is raking in the bucks in Iraq because Dick Cheney was its CEO; of course Bechtel has the inside track on every government construction contract worth more than $1.43 because of its ties to major politicos; of course energy companies get to write public energy policy. This should not surprise anybody, and it should not surprise anybody that people who know what’s going on inside corporations might let a little useful information slip to their good friends now and then. If friends didn’t help friends how could Dubya have gotten a 3,000 percent return on his investment in the Texas Rangers without lifting a finger?
Naw, I hate Martha Stewart not because she’s a woman or because she’s rich or because she’s well-connected; it’s because she’s an outrageous phony. Every morning on my car radio I hear her Zoloft-tempered tones giving me helpful hints about how to make an exciting centerpiece for my next party out of lawn clippings and grapefruit rinds, or how with a little imagination you can make family photographs look like old tintypes by soaking them in a solution of weak coffee and 3-in-1 oil. AND WE ALL KNOW SHE NEVER ACTUALLY DOES ANY OF THIS STUFF! Her servants maybe; her support staff, minions, underlings, and go-fers maybe. But not her – is there a person living who can even imagine Martha Stewart making her own centerpiece or turning her old tea towels into adorable stuffed animals? I think not.
I hope her sentencing judge makes her spend the next five years personally, with her own hands and no help, turning all that weird used-up stuff you have around your house into exciting, fashionable, casual-yet-distinctive license plates.
