Requiem for a Rodent-Related Rumor

During the day I may compose a post that I'm mentally writing—something poignant, evocative, multilayered, shot through with a sense of poetic transience straight out of Asian philosophy.

This one, however, is just silly. I was over at Wonkette, where the commenters talk obsessively about non-vanilla sex, and they were snarking down on this Utah state senator for talking obsessively about non-vanilla sex. And for some reason, I remembered half a lifetime back to this amazing rumor that went like a tsunami through the Philadelphia area to the effect that a local newscaster had shown up at a hospital for—let me put this as delicately as possible—the removal of a rodent.

Let me say parenthetically that there are lots of things folks do when they're at home that I really don't understand the appeal of, but hey, if everyone's consenting, it's your life. The problem here is that I have to think that any gerbil that would consent to this sort of thing would obviously need psychiatric treatment and the consent wouldn't be valid. It's like there's free speech guaranteed in the U.S. Constitution, but you can't slander or libel people. There have to be limits, and I really do see a bright line here, so to speak.

So. Anyway. This newscaster. The rumor roars through in the course of a day—rumors got around fast even before the Internet, my children—and of course I watched the guy that night. He looked pretty mad, although I suppose that could have been my imagination.

As time went on the rumor was debunked. But just today I wondered if the rumors were echoing on the Web, and don't worry, they are, which is bad enough in itself. What really gave me a pang was some copy about the rumor in the Google listing for a site that was clearly the guy's booking agency. Can't be, I thought—it would be unprecedented. It would be like the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library having a diorama of JFK in a penthouse, Manhattans on the coffee table, a Brubeck LP playing in the background as he unhooks Marilyn Monroe's bra. But no, the guy's an actor now, specializing in playing reporters and newscasters, and a ways down in his bio it mentions his being remembered in the Philadelphia area for "being the victim of false rumors of a rodent (hamster, possibly gerbil) related fetish." I won't link—this is appalling enough as it is, without doing any more SEO on it. This thing is that firmly attached to the man, and for so long—it's as chilling as the chains on Marley's Ghost.

I don't know. Occasionally you hear of some poor child in Ecuador or somewhere so horribly disfigured that it's as though the entire world takes pity and the child is flown to the States or Europe or somewhere and plastic surgeons fix him or her up and restore the chance at a normal life of which fate robbed them. I think we should pity this man the same way. Every time he meets someone, the person looks pensive, wondering why that name is familiar. For a quarter-century now! It's heartrending. We can fix a face, if we care enough. But alas, there's no operation to fix a horribly disfigured reputation, even when it's no fault of the rodent-related rumor victim. There's no operation for him. But I sure did wish there were, for a minute there.

Um—I should probably make breakfast and do something constructive now. Bye!