April 14, 2005

Below the Belt

Print More

Moderation? Huh? Why? Michael Jackson advised that it would be preferable if you “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.” Perhaps such counsel seems less than encouraging considering the subtext here was actually “Don’t (under any circumstances, no matter how many times they arrest you for stroking a preteen’s balls) Stop (stroking the preteen’s balls) Until You Get Enough (of stroking the preteen’s balls, an unlikely scenario considering the ever-increasing pool of preteens, half of whom have balls). But it was a nice thought nonetheless.

Indeed, what if there was a limit on how many times P. Diddy was permitted to remind people that he happened to have amassed a considerable amount of wealth during his tenure as a rapper/political activist/fashion designer/weapons enthusiast/long-distance runner/philanthropist/host of Making the Band along with Making the Band 2 or in the bad boy’s own words, “I’m rich black and famous, with money hangin’ out the anus.” Why, that would be impossible! You see, that’s what the Diddy does best — remind people that he is rich. To be fair, he does more than just remind the public that he is rich. He also reminds his friends that they too are rich, as evidenced by the following set of guidelines included on the invitation to his 35th birthday extravaganza: “pull out the flyest shit in your closet, or have your stylist pull something for you. Definition of fly shit: The Top Designers i.e. Sean John Collection (wait, isn’t that Diddy’s label? Who slipped that in there, ahead of all those fancy Italian labels?), Gucci, Dolce and Gabana, Versace.” Of course this may seem a bit harsh, but Diddy proceeds to assure the invitees that the payoff will be well worthwhile: “It’s an honor to be a part of history in the making, this WILL go down as THE GREATEST PARTY OF ALL TIME!” Can you honestly imagine telling this guy that he could only sometimes remind people that he was rich?

Or, perhaps, can you imagine restricting the amount of times per day in which Ashlee Simpson was able to “la la?” Of course not! That’s what our dear Ash does — you know, la las. And all the force of the universe couldn’t stop her — she’ll la la wherever she damn well pleases, be it the kitchen, the floor, the door or wherever she happens to be. The point is, the girl really likes to la la. She doesn’t want to la la some of the time. She wants to la la all of the time. And nothing you can do will stop her.

So why, then, are the people of Sesame Street trying to tell Cookie Monster that he can only eat cookies some of the time? This is preposterous. Cookie Monster is, by definition, an individual who is entitled to rabidly eat cookies. They claim that it’s because Cookie Monster, who is known for eating two whole plates of chocolate chip cookies in one sitting (as well as the plate), along with a host of non-edible objects including, but not limited to, a series of still-life paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Although it is true that obesity rates may be soaring, I hardly think that’s Cookie Monster’s concern. Besides, he never actually ingests the cookies, he merely places them in his mouth and watches the crumbs get caught in his blue fur, a common affliction among those who lack both throats and digestive tracts. So I hardly think there’s room for calorie consciousness among anyone who happens to be blue, furry and created by Jim Henson. They claim it’s because Cookie Monster is an “educational figure,” which could possibly be a valid point, save for the fact that Osama Bin Laden probably has a better handle on English grammar than Cookie Monster, who is known for his frequent outbursts that “Me want cookie!” They’re even making Cookie Monster abandon his signature “C is for Cookie” in favor of a new anthem, entitled: “Cookie is a Sometimes Food.” All this from a show that turns a blind eye to the possible health ramifications of living inside the confines of a trash can, or the possible emotional damage associated with a compulsive need to count everything in sight.

Maybe for the rest of us cookies are merely a “sometimes” food. Cookies are more than just a hobby or a snack for our googly-eyed monster. It’s his means of subsistence. It’s his job description. It’s his passion. And that, my friends, is good enough for me. Let him eat cookies.

Archived article by Talia Ron
Sun Staff Writer