A MERRY INSTRUCTIVE CHRISTMAS

And so it's Christmas. I go to the supermarket for some last-minute milk and bread. I get into the checkout line.

Now this is where the small epiphany takes place. Usually when we think of places that capture the flash and feel of our country -- it's great good and bad -- we think of places like Manhattan. Or San Francisco. Or the sprawling beauty of our national parks. But we needn't go that far.

It's right here in this line...! Surrounded by the music and festooning which reflect our best selves, these magazine racks reflect our worst selves. Well, actually just our most absurd selves. Like a gauntlet of fire, you're compelled to stand in line engulfed by the grinning, bosomy air-brushed personas of the new Madonnas: Oprah...Nicole...Britney...Lindsay...Rachel...plus a legion of nameless, over-exposed anatomies.

The real Madonna gave birth on this special day. The faux Madonnas at first offend; but then actually serve a purpose. Each is here trying to sell us something. That other Madonna -- well, she was here trying to give us something.