A week of public hand-wringing may have exhausted readers' interest in the recent displays of boorishness by political, athletic and entertainment figures.
But I'm going to write about it anyway. Because this is my column. It's got my name on it, plus a picture of my face. Why else would you be reading Sandy Banks if you didn't want to know what I think? What matters is me.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Wednesday, September 23, 2009 Home Edition Main News Part A Page 4 National Desk 1 inches; 39 words Type of Material: Correction
Kanye West: Sandy Banks' column in Saturday's Section A said musician Kanye West commented during a Hurricane Katrina benefit concert that "George Bush doesn't like black people." In fact, he said that "George Bush doesn't care about black people."
Like, if I wanted to stride on stage and snatch the mike from an award winner in the middle of her thank-you speech. That's not rude, that's just keeping it real.
Or insult the president by calling him a liar in the midst of his address to the nation. Or curse out and threaten an editor . . . er, line judge . . . who makes a bad call in a big match when I'm already losing.
Rules don't matter, other people's feelings don't matter, respect for institutions doesn't matter. . . . Because it really is all about me.
That's the kind of out-sized sense of self-importance that landed the unlikely triumvirate of Congressman Joe Wilson, tennis player Serena Williams and musician Kanye West in a shared spotlight this week.
Their outbursts sparked a pitched debate over the nation's sinking social mores, the presumed decline of civility, the lingering racism in our supposedly post-racial society.
But a week riding the roller coaster of excuses, judgments and apologies has led me to a more optimistic place.
We still recognize rudeness. And we responded as we should -- with a collective knuckle-rapping.
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What happened to their manners? That was my first thought. I cringed at the images of Wilson, then Williams, then West in action.
If you've watched them often enough -- on blogs, new shows, the downloads on your kids' iPods -- you could, depending on your personal lens, see the acts as something more ominous than simple discourtesy.
There was musical genius Kanye West -- with his dark glasses and edgy haircut -- muscling in on waif-like Taylor Swift in the middle of her thank-you speech at the Video Music Awards. Her country music innocence upended by his hip-hop swagger.
And tennis champion Serena Williams looking like a schoolyard bully, marching toward the line judge -- who seemed so tiny in all that rain gear -- waving her tennis ball like a hand-grenade and hurling curses, straight outta Compton, it seemed.
