Super Sunday’s Unnameable One

American English is a relaxed, anything-goes affair. Swear all you want, or make up words, or mangle the grammar and it’s fine. There are still a few words and phrases that stop the music and make all the cowboys turn around, like the n-bomb or the c-word, but the sharp corners on those are being worn down too. Euphemisms for death and other bodily functions persist but without serious effect; saying “gravedigger” instead of “funeral director” is an eccentricity and not an abomination.

But there are forbidden words and phrases, just forbidden not to all. Important temple priests, once ordained, must not use these without permission and sacrifice, on pain of severe punishment.

Two of these are “The Superbowl” and “The Olympics.”

Ordinary people are allowed to say “The Olympics are less exciting this year!” or “Come to my Superbowl party.”

However, those who sell, or promote, or even report professionally are forbidden to use these phrases unless they’ve given an expensive sacrifice to the appropriate temple. If a bar has a Superbowl Super Happy Hour, or a snack company suggests a Superbowl Dip Bowl, or a newspaper has a special Olympic Games section, an inquisition of attorneys arrives and begins punishment.

This is why confusing advertisements appear saying things like “Get ready for the Big Game with Triscuits!” or “FOX Sports is your Summer Games coverage HQ!” Brahmin who utter these things without having sacrificed and cleansed are struck down by God’s hands in the form of intellectual property lawyers.

News media are stuck in a theological No Man’s Land where they tussle with the priests. They say “we’re reporting on events! We’re atheists, and you can’t judge us for the holy words!” The guardians of the temple disagree, and blood is shed.

So, a happy Super Sunday to all! Enjoy the gladiators, the entertainments, and the snacks. But spare a thought for those for whom this is holy, and for those persecuted for penetrating a hermetic sanctuary forbidden only to them. Without them, all our commercial pleasures would fade into the shadows to join the lost power of profanity and euphemism.

My high school as reality show

http://www.ocregister.com/news/newport-beach-laguna-1781409-mtv-new

Sadly they are not going to film at my alma mater, although the show is going to be called “Newport Harbor.” There goes my chance to point out earthquake damage and places where people peed on things or did drugs.

The new cast of “Newport Harbor” will feature Chrissy, a smart, pretty high school senior with three top colleges to pick from; Allie, the girl whom all the boys want and all the girls want to be; Clay, a shy, good-looking junior who turns to his gregarious best friend Grant for confidence; Grant, a bad-boy junior who’s the life of the party; Chase, a senior who has a way with the girls; and Taylor, a sophomore who’s the youngest of the group and who is dating Chase.

I’m not sure where the geekulous nerds in the “inner quad” fit in, here. Oh wait, we didn’t.

The official site is at http://www.newportharbor.mtv.com/

What’s even “better” is that MTV’s Second Life clone, http://www.vmtv.com/ is going to have a “virtual Newport Harbor” which I hope includes a first-person shooter segment.

Okay, now I’m *REALLY* going back to bed.

PS: The actual reality show about this town is called “Arrested Development.”

PPS: The actual REAL real Orange County has a lot more tweakers, corrupt cops, toxic dumps, lower middle class suburban despair, brush fires, exhausted Mexican laborers, and skin problems.