Commentary - Viagra Nation, from today's WSJ
By MARK STEYN
"Hi, I'm Walter, your waiter, and today's special is Linguine Viagra."
"Mmmm," said my friend Earl appreciatively. "That's what I call al dente."
I'm beginning to feel like that guy in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" who
was out of town the day the alien spores wafted in. You spend a quiet
month ice fishing in Queen Maud Gulf and return to find the country
changed beyond all recognition. Everywhere you turn, the Viagrification of
America proceeds apace. Even in the tiny portion of the news that isn't
devoted to Viagra, it seems implicitly present--the surging Dow, El Ni¤o,
the rush to megamergers. I quote from memory: "The First National Bank
of Little Snake, Colo., announced today that it is merging with New
Mexico's Banco Flaccido to form ViagraBank, the world's biggest
financial institution ever. In other news, Hurricane Viagra swept through a
Florida trailer park, leaving 53 double-wides up-ended."
'One Too Many'
Forget Microsoft; Viagra now commands
98% of the metaphor market--and
Congress isn't doing a thing about it. Frank
Luntz has poll data showing that 83% of
soccer moms want Republicans to use
more Viagra imagery ("education vouchers
will be the Viagra of our nation's SAT
scores"). Al Gore's minders are already
working up self-deprecating Viagra jokes:
"OK, Mr. Vice President, all you have to
say is, 'Recently. I was. Proud. To take.
Viagra.' Then you simply stand there,
completely stiff from head to toe, same as
always, and just say in your usual monotone, 'Whoops. Guess I. Took
one. Too Many.' "
As the only guy in the country not taking the tablets, I wasn't sure I knew
enough about the subject. So my pal Earl and I repaired to Starbucks after
lunch, where I told him I was writing an article on Viagra.
"Grrrrrreattt!!" he said, slapping my back. "I write all my articles on
Viagra. Guess you've finally figured it out, amigo: The milquetoast
pantywaist Andy Williams Prozac era is over. I used to be like you,
cranking out reasonable on-the-one-hand-on-the-other-hand wimpsville
stuff for Harper's. Now, thanks to the little blue diamonds, I'm a ferocious
right-winger with my own column in The American Spectator! That'll put
the lead back in your pencil, buddy boy." He glanced at the menu. "Hey,
what's the flavor of the day?"
"Viagraccino," said Kelli. "One cup and you'll be up all night."
Earl is, of course, not his real name. His real name is Chuck. He just called
up to make sure I mention it. Chuck Malmquist, 57 Elm Street, apartment
B. Second left after the Citgo station. Chuck says it saves a whole lot of
time if the chicks already know you're on Viagra.
Presumably that's why every medical correspondent on every American
magazine has no problem lining up on-the-record testimonials from "Tom
Cannata, a 43-year-old accountant from Springfield. Mass.," and "Ronald
Marrocco, a 55-year-old diabetic from St. Petersburg, Fla." My favorite
to date--I mean my favorite so far, not my favorite to go to dinner and a
movie with--is Irving Mesher, described by Time as "a 73-year-old retired
New York City firefighter, who currently lives at a family-owned nudist
resort in Pennsylvania's Pocono mountains." Mr. Mesher, according to the
newsmagazine, has sex "three or four times a week with several girlfriends
in their 20s." He is planning "a Viagra party."
I suppose it was too much to expect American men to take an impotence
pill without advertising the fact. After all, the U.S. not only has more
women with breast implants than any other country on the planet, but also
more women happy to tell you they have breast implants--see Pamela
Lee, Jenny McCarthy, Jane Fonda. This is in the same fine tradition of full
disclosure as the cereal packet: "Grandma's Country Kitchen Old-Time
Vermont Maple Oatmeal. Made in Wisconsin entirely from artificial
ingredients." But, contemplating a society in which artificially aroused men
pursue artificially enhanced women, I wonder if we haven't unnecessarily
complicated the whole business.
Besides, I can't see that America needs more 73-year-old nude firemen.
It's bad enough with the old coot down the street standing under our
window with his ukulele every night serenading my wife with "Viagra Con
Dios." After my month away, my lovely bride was looking forward to my
return, but I couldn't help noticing on my first evening back that she
seemed vaguely . . . dissatisfied.
"Well, it was OK," she said after some prompting, "but why can't you be
more like Bob Dole?"
"Bob Dole?" I scoffed. I was laughing so much I rolled off the bearskin
rug.
It was only later that I discovered that the test group for the new
impotence pill had included the Republican presidential candidate--ex
officio, one assumes. Doubtless the congressional leadership made up the
rest of the group. But Bob Dole's endorsement does make you wonder
about other possible side effects--a sudden urge to dive off the stage, a
tendency to refer to yourself in the third person. I asked my pal
Earl--sorry, Chuck--if he was worried.
"Chuck Malmquist's not worried," he said. "Chuck Malmquist's gonna pop
a couple of Viagras, head downtown. It's about America, leadership,
babes, whatever."
As I understand it, although Viagra dramatically improves sexual
performance, it can also cause headaches, impaired vision, rashes and
diarrhea. Chuck was unperturbed. "Sure, the first time was a problem," he
said. "I was in the bar putting the moves on Tina when I suddenly had to
rush for the men's room. By the time I got back, the impaired vision had
kicked in, so I went to the wrong table and put my arms around Norm
from accounting. He wouldn't have minded, but my face was breaking out,
so he fled screaming."
"Good grief, that's terrible," I said.
"Not really. By then I had the most appalling headache, so I just wanted to
go home anyway. But I'm on top of it now. First, I take two Viagra, then
one Arret for the diarrhea plus another Viagra to counter the side effects
of the Arret, then half a dozen Children's Motrin, followed by Vagisil for
the rash plus a couple of Propecia . . ."
"But Propecia's for baldness."
"Hey, don't knock it. My new sideburns cover the rash. Then I take
another Viagra to counter the potential libido-depressing effect of the
Propecia, followed by two Lipitor to lessen my risk of heart attack."
"But you're not at risk of heart attack . . ."
"You try doing the mambo with 30 pounds of tablets in your pocket."
National Conversation
As Chuck roared off in his new Chevy Agra--the sport-utility vehicle with
the world's largest cup holder--I reflected on how far we've come in just a
few weeks. I can dimly recall hearing something about Viagra on the
radio a month or so back, but assumed it was just an obscure African
dictatorship, the latest stop on the Clinton Apology Tour: "The president
today apologized to the people of Viagra. 'The United States has not
always done the right thing,' said Mr. Clinton. 'We discriminated against
the Viagran people for no other reason than that their skin was
different--slightly flushed, with a bead of sweat on the upper lip and an
agitated look in the eyes. As president, I would be calling for a national
conversation on Viagra, if we weren't already talking about nothing else."
Last week, it was announced that Viagra will soon be available in wafer
form, bringing our social evolution full circle. A century and a half ago,
Sylvester Graham, nutritionist, reformer and author of "The Young Man's
Guide to Chastity," invented the Graham Cracker as an aid to diminishing
the male sex drive. Today, the Graham Cracker must yield to the Viagra
wafer, an idea whose time has come. The Clinton presidency has at last
stumbled on its rendezvous with history: While Ronald Reagan and George
Bush presided over the fall of Communism, Mr. Clinton presides over the
rise of Viagra. It may not be true that any young boy can grow up to be
president. But at least, thanks to Viagra, any young boy can grow up to
be this president.
Graham Cracker, anyone?
Mr. Steyn is the theater critic of The New Criterion and the film critic of
The Spectator in London. |
