Shotgun Confessions

Okay, am I the only one who thinks the biggest enemy we face now isn't the Taliban, or Al Qaeda, but bad taste?

Just when it looks like we've heard enough about Roman Polanski's capers, and after we finally laid Michael Jackson to rest, David Letterman has to go and open his own peculiar pandora's box by revealing affairs with staffers and an attempt at extortion, both before a live audience.

We must really love reality, in this country, because we can't seem to get enough reality TV. Either that, or we have some celebrity whose water is about to break pouring his heart out about transgressions that, frankly, we could have done just fine without hearing about.

In this, what someday may be known as "too much information" age, we know which stars are wearing underwear, which senators are in bed with whom, and who's playing footsie in the stall next to us. Jeez, I liked it better back when boundary issues had to do more with foreign policy.

Call me old-fashioned, but I'd much rather hear what Dick Cheney told the FBI about Valerie Plame, as a federal judge ordered today, than about rogue sex acts committed by overzealous celebrities.

What's more, if there are to be any redactions, they should apply to gratuitous salacious details of sexcapades not egregious violations of law committed by elected officials!

And, in the end, as the song goes--you don't need a Letterman to know which way the wind blows.