COLUMN: Somebody's gotta do it

From Tom Nessinger's, "Insepartable My Nose and Thumb," Fall '96 From Tom Nessinger's, "Insepartable My Nose and Thumb," Fall '96Now that JFK Jr. is marriedFrom Tom Nessinger's, "Insepartable My Nose and Thumb," Fall '96Now that JFK Jr. is marriedAmerica's new Most EligibleFrom Tom Nessinger's, "Insepartable My Nose and Thumb," Fall '96Now that JFK Jr. is marriedAmerica's new Most EligibleBachelor may be on campus. From Tom Nessinger's, "Insepartable My Nose and Thumb," Fall '96Now that JFK Jr. is marriedAmerica's new Most EligibleBachelor may be on campus. OK, OK, you don't have to twist my arm. I can read the newspapers. I can watch the tabloid TV shows (when I'm forced to). It's become all too clear that there exists a void in our universe, and since I abhor a vacuum almost as much as nature does, I'm willing to step into the breach. You've all by now heard that the previous titleholder, John F. Kennedy, Jr., took a dive in the first round on some uncharted desert isle off the coast of Georgia. (Rumor has it that the Skipper officiated, with the Professor and Mary Ann serving as, respectively, best man and maid of honor.) It was the end of an era. No more sightings, no more catty comments and snide dissections of every bimbo-bimbo John-John was dating-dating. Well, it's high time the honor got around to me, say I. After all, when you think about it, I'm the perfect individual to fill those expensive Italian shoes. Consider: · We're both roughly the same age (he was born in 1961, I in 1960); · Both of us are lawyers. In fact, if I may toot my own horn, I passed the bar on my first try, whereas it took John Jr. three cracks at it. Then again, I didn't have People magazine snapping pictures of my every tort and estoppel while I was studying, either? · We're both giants in the publishing industry (stop laughing); · We're both boyishly handsome (hey, I mean it now, stop laughing); · His grandfather owned the Merchandise Mart in Chicago, and my grandfather worked as a printer for the Chicago Tribune, right down the river from the Merchandise Mart (um? next slide, please); · His father's secretary was Mrs. Lincoln, and Abraham Lincoln's secretary was Mrs. Kennedy! (Whoops? wrong list. Sorry.) Well, you get the idea. But don't think this comes without a great deal of personal sacrifice. Not easily do I trade the old La-Z-Boy recliner and the Rocky and Bullwinkle videos for the constant drudgery of dating supermodels, actresses and waitresses (damn right, waitresses -- what do you think all those supermodels and actresses did before they modeled and acted?). Not without grave misgivings do I trade the relative obscurity of DP columnhood for the electron microscope that is life as a celebrity. How would you like it if some paparazzi was waiting with a Nikon to snap a picture every time you grabbed that extra helping of garbanzo beans at the Sizzler all-you-can-eat salad bar? But then again, think of the nation's economy. Look at all the people who could go out of work without a Most Eligible Bachelor to cover. Hell, they just started Access Hollywood, and already their hot topic has up and gotten hitched. How many stories about Steven Seagal can any one show do? Isn't it my duty as an American to fill in the gap? We're already hearing the cries from the media. The Philadelphia Inquirer's Kathy Boccella has gone on record lamenting the lack of Kennedy spawn after whom to sniff. "Now that he is hitched," whines the ever-sensitive Boccella, "Kennedy-watching will be much less fun." Poor baby. She wonders aloud if marriage would make John Jr. "as boring as his middle-aged, society matron sister, or if the union will continue to sizzle. Let's hope for the latter -- and a quick pregnancy." Which just goes to show why it's best to stay an Eligible Bachelor. Marriage in this country, especially among us glitterati, has pretty much been reduced to a spectator sport, the parties shaking off a failed marriage with much the same air as a middle reliever who just pitched a gopher ball with two men on. See, for example, Liz Smith quoting Us magazine quoting Julia Roberts (you don't mind getting your news fourth-hand like this, do you?) as saying that, in retrospect, maybe her marriage to Lyle Lovett didn't work out because "[i]t just didn't work out on a very specific being-with-someone level." Think about that next time you plan to get hitched because you and the significant other are getting along great at that very specific "being-three-thousand-miles-away-from-each-other level." But shed no tears for Julia. "I'm glad I got married to Lyle. It was a hoot. We had a great wedding and a great time, and it was a great adventure." There you go. Marriage, boiled down to a combination of an "Evening at the Improv" and an Outward Bound weekend. In fact, one wonders why anyone would want to get married anymore. In 1990, the last year for which I have statistics (I know; I've got to get a newer almanac), there were 1,175,000 divorces in this country. One in two marriages ends in divorce. Yet Congress thinks it's gay people that are attacking the institution (I assume that's what they think, since they named recent straight-only legislation the "Defense of Marriage Act"). Even if you assume that the marriage-for-breeders-only people may have a point, how much more harm could anyone do to the institution of marriage? It's not a sacrament anymore; it's a sport. What's more, as much as it's a spectator sport for the paparazzi and the tabloids, it's become like keg softball for a lot of the participants -- played badly for a few short-lived laughs and without much regard for the ultimate result. Often while drunk. No, no, no. Far better to don the mantle of Celebrity Singlehood and like it. So in two weeks I'll be writing to you from Planet Hollywood, with Elle MacPherson on one arm and an on-the-rebound Darryl Hannah on the other. Just remember, guys: it could have been you. You can thank me later.