The Letterman thing exposes something. Something other than what's being discussed.
It's difficult to write, and in turn, tell jokes. Really funny people rarely tell jokes. They outline a narrative in a humorous way. If you sprinkle in a funny turn of phrase here and there, those are jokes, but they're not the point. If you've ever seen a good comedian appear in a nightclub when they're working on new material, it's generally really disjointed and unfunny. There's no thread running through it yet, and the jokes bomb or get a laugh, but you can't get a wave to ride on.
A monologue done nightly is just watercooler chat. The day's happenings in a stream. But Letterman's DOA joke about Sarah Palin's daughter wasn't really topical, and it wasn't funny, and it stuck out like a sore thumb. It was an excuse to be vicious, and it showed that Letterman had been waiting for quite a while for any chance to say something unpleasant about someone he really doesn't like.That's why it seemed so jarring.
Letterman likes to trade on his midwestern homeliness, and likes the association people have always made between him and Johnny Carson. Carson was from the midwest, too, of course, and Carson liked Letterman and had a lot to do with his success. It always rankled Letterman that he didn't replace Carson. He's become bitter about it, and it shows.
But the impetus of the joke that bombed is exactly why Letterman never replaced Carson. Carson was talented, and funny, and wry, and light on his feet, and he was every bit the equal of every star that sat across from him. He knew what to talk to stars about, because he was a star. Letterman was always a kind of lame-o Lucifer to Carson's Archangel, and everybody knew it. Letterman made his name by being the king's fool. The king suffered someone aping him, to amuse him, but a fool is always a fool. You're allowed to say what you want, but there's no promotion ever in the offing. You get to hang around until you put your foot in it. And when you displease your sovereign, you get the ax, not the hook.
Letterman's congenital problem manifested itself in spades. He is a Beta male in an industry filled with Beta males. Even the industry's a Beta. He's not even an entertainer -- his job is to talk to and about entertainers. They say politics is show-business for ugly people, and the similarities are manifest. Politics is often home to Beta males that try to cut in front of the big men on life's campus by the side door. Same deal. That's why they get along famously.
That's why men like Letterman always end up groping the help. All the Beta males do this. Look at John Edwards, Bill Clinton, Bob Packwood, Newt Gingrich... this will grow monotonous. They're lame, and know it, and so they try to get themselves in a position of power over the men they used to resent, and the women they never had a shot at. But the men are all dorks of one sort or another, and the women they never had a shot at are still out of their range. They can lord it over whatever women are handy, but eventually find that they are in the thrall of someone as defective as they are.
So Letterman sees Sarah Palin, and he sees red. He sees every real woman he sat next to in English class that wouldn't give him a second look. He sees her with a decidely Alpha male, everything he's not. It's Groundhog Day, and even though he's on the high side of sixty he's still the pimply adolescent. But it's always been Bizarro Groundhog Day for David Letterman. He thought he could take Johnny Carson's place by being the anti-Carson --moody, snarky, pretending to be ambivalent about everything and keying the cool kids' Camaros in the intellectual high school parking lot before taking the bus. Not likely. Leno sucked, but he was facing the right direction, at least. Letterman loves to bruit it around that Carson wanted him, but if that were true it would have happened.
It was almost touching to hear of Letterman's non-apology for suggesting the statutory rape of Palin's child would be a hoot. He invited Palin to come on his show.
Dear lord, it's the class reunion, and she's still pretty, her husband could kick your ass if he had swine flu and you had a club, and she's showing pictures of a bunch of her children she manifestly loves. You? You married your second wife as an afterthought, after your kids just sort of showed up and got old enough to ask. You left your wife home, too, because she's gone a bit thick in the middle and never was very pretty.
So you're drunk and bitter, and you totter over and tell her how much you've always hated her; tell her she's not all that; tell her you've got a Camaro now. Then you ask her back to dance as she walks away. You'd probably murmur "You're not so tough" after her husband was out of earshot if he beat your beta ass as you so richly deserve, but neither of them could be bothered really, because a loser is a loser.
Hey Jenny Slater. Hey Jenny Slater. Hey Jenny Slater.
