Wordsmoker

We may have to revisit “Fifty Shades of Grey” again because I need the therapy. I have a lot of friends—all women whose views I usually respect—who are treating this book like it’s the fucking anthem of a generation. The other night I was told by one of them that I needed to stop criticizing the book, like I had crossed some sort of line. I’m being as serious as I have ever been on here when I say that I’m really disappointed with how well this book was received by the public. Whatever used to be American culture may really be dying or dead. We make shows like “Mad Men” and “Breaking Bad,” but they’re on AMC and aren’t quite as popular as “Real Housewives of Aurora, Illinois.” This country gave the world Jazz, the Blues, and Rock and Roll. We filmed the greatest movies in the history of the world on giant lots in a desert town. We produced the Beatles, the Who, and the Rolling Stones. All right, not true, but we at least knew that they were fucking good. We had a culture that didn’t celebrate spray-on tans and muffin tops. I’m not blaming politics this time; I’m blaming parents. What the fuck kind of records did you have lying around for your kids to listen to when they were little? Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine? We have talent in this country, but no one wants to pay for it. Everyone wants cheaper content. That’s why you have stations, like Bravo, that are built on reality television shows. That’s why Amazon’s arteries are being clogged up by self-published garbage. People want fame and require no payment for their work as long as they achieve it.