If it’s Saturday, la révolution est morte!

We were set to expel 2,000 or so words on the Karl Rove affair. Then we remembered we've carefully avoided paying attention to any of it. That we have no facts. That we just don’t care. (We did take note, however, when saw Karl fleeing the jackals last week in a Ford Escape, which according to the U.S. Energy Department is the top-rated SUV when it comes to gas mileage. Boy’s a true conservative!)

So let’s talk metrosexuality instead. Specifically, whether the “metrosexual revolution” remains ascendant, or whether the metrosexual is dead. We’re of two minds on the subject, mainly because we made the mistake of reading not just one but two feature stories this week in the Houston Chronicle (OK, we didn’t actually read that much of either, as we’ve had our hands full with this really loooong sentence in the new Cormac McCarthy novel, but we read enough to get the idea.)

The first time was at the suggestion of a learned friend, who directed us to a story in the paper’s "Star" section on Thursday that had something to do with soccer star David Beckham’s shaving of his armpits and the “furor” it has caused in his native land, the one where the assholes keep trying to blow up the subways and buses (and we don’t think our friend was pointing to the story to say, “Hey, this is a great read --- check it out!”). The reporter, the editor, somebody at the paper apparently thought it would be all hip and edgy and whatnot to go down to the West Alabama Ice House and ask the “graying, grumpy” regulars what they though about armpit shaving, given that it’s “two years after the metrosexual revolution.” (Yeah, that’s a direct quote; we couldn’t make that up.) One Jack Howard was offended by the notion. “Hell no,” he told the paper when asked whether he’d shave his armpits. Then, and we further quote: “Howard stood up, tugged at his green hat, clnched his fist enough to dent his beer can and then chugged to confirm, perhaps, that he was still [a] man.”

Chugged to confirm, perhaps … still [a] man. That’s mighty presumptuous of you, young sir or madam. But, yes, we too would question Mr. Howard’s manhood if we found out that he didn’t rear back and beat all the post-collegiate smugness out of the reporter.

Maybe he did, but we stopped reading at the point. This was somebody’s idea of edgy: Set ‘em up with a stupid question, then make fun of ‘em when they answer (cause they’re gray and grumpy etc.) And make sure the person is totally powerless, like a 62-year old drinking at an icehouse. (And they wonder why newspapers are losing readers?)

In the spirit of constructive criticism, we’d like to suggest that next time the reporter put the question before, say, the board of the Greater Houston Partnership. Yeah, that’d be edgy. Sort of.

But that was Thursday, back in those heady revolutionary days when metrosexuality and the armpit-shaving it spawned were good excuses to mock Jack Howard’s archaic notions of manhood. Today is Saturday, and the early Sunday edition of the Houston Chronicle proclaims “The metrosexual is dead.”

Yep. That was the only line of the story we read, but apparently he and his revolution have been done in by the “Palooka,” who, at least this week, is dominating the pop culture whatsis with his more traditional notions of masculinity. Best that we can tell, the metrosexual expired on Friday, and the paper was playing catch-up.

The front page of the early Sunday paper was dominated by a huge picture of a 16-oz. glove smashing the mug of what we suppose was a metrosexual. (Come on –-- somebody seriously thinks that’s gonna move papers?) We know we've ambled in our life's journey far beyond the prized reader demo these poopsy-cute lil' stories are supposed to appeal to, but the picture was too much. It's obvious that the Houston Chronicle is promoting metrosexual-bashing, and we hope you'll join us and Jack Howard in demanding redress from the paper’s reader representive. And as soon as we finish this Cormac McCarthy sentence and figure out what he's saying, we'll also be taking our complaint to the woman who writes that insanely funny “diversity” column.